Stolen Fate (The Mythean Arcana 4)

With a shaky hand, she mashed the End button and returned her attention to the road.

“I’m going to call Lea.” She pushed buttons on her little phone while glancing up occasionally. “Lea? This problem with the Book of Worlds is worse than we thought.”

Ian listened with half an ear as Fiona explained to Lea what Logan had told them. The telephone she used was so tiny—even odder, it had no wires connecting it to anything. He shook his head. The world had changed very much indeed.

While Fiona talked on her tiny phone, he looked around the vehicle, noticing anew how modern and small the car was. He was so close to her he could smell her soap, clean and fresh and very suited to her no-nonsense personality.

The car sped through the dark night, and he marveled at freedom. And how different the world was, though he’d barely seen any of it. He needed the book to bargain with if he wanted to make this permanent. But when she’d said that she was the worst kind of failure, he’d been dumb enough to say no’ for long. If he stole the book from her, he’d be screwing her. And he liked her. Damn it.

But he didn’t have a choice. The thought hardened his resolve.

As they drove, the country road turned to suburb and then to city street. Suddenly, there were flashes of dozens—no, hundreds—of lights hitting him in the face.

“Jesus,” he breathed. Cars streamed by on the other side of the road. Nothing at the university or the pub—besides the cars—had looked terribly different than it had in 1916. But Edinburgh…

Fiona continued to talk into the phone while she swerved in and out of traffic. Ian’s eyes ate up the changes to Edinburgh as she neared Old Town. His gut clenched at the sight of the familiar old buildings.

He’d made a point to stay out of this part of town once he’d escaped it as a child. The construction of the Scottish Museum of Antiquities in the early nineteenth century had been the only thing that could drag him back, but only for brief visits to add to his collection.

Fiona dropped her little phone into her lap and said, “Right. Lea said that she has to alert the rest of the university to the fact that a god is after the book.” She swerved to the side of the road and tucked her car neatly into the little space between a lorry and a motorbike. The museum rose tall on the other side of the street. “Here we are.”

“What’s your plan then?” he asked when they got out of the car. He sucked in the cold winter air. Even city air tasted fresher than the air of the prison or Moloch. He wanted to tear the collar off and disappear down the street.

“Try to get it before they do. It’ll take at least a day for them to compile a team. I want to be the one to find the book. I have to be. I did what’s right and told them about it, but my department thinks I’m a failure and a jinx because I’m a Failte. They doona trust me to go after it and would yank me off this case and shove me back into the stacks

. So we go in tonight.”

“I like how you think.” Less supervision by the university meant he’d have no trouble snatching the book from her and bartering for the removal of his collar. He stifled the twinge of guilt he felt at putting her in such a shite situation. But it had to be done.

He followed her across the rain-darkened sidewalk toward the brick building that loomed in front of them. People rushed by on their way to pubs or home, but it felt like he and Fiona were an island unto themselves. After so long in prison, he craved the intimacy of that connection as much as he feared it.

Damn it. He couldn’t let her distract him.

Ian followed Fiona up the stairs, his gaze riveted to her form and the trousers that molded to it. Christ, the way women dressed these days. The way the clothes moved on her body, clinging to curves and muscles, sent a jolt of lust through him. His palms itched to touch her. With an internal curse, he dragged his eyes away.

He’d done everything he could to keep from turning into an animal in prison. No way he was going to let some tight trousers turn him into a slavering beast now that he was free.

I am no’ an animal, damn it.

But damned if she didn’t make him feel like one. He’d been going mad in prison, driven insane by the misery of repetition and constant toil. The lack of freedom to decide his fate had been nearly unbearable. Then she’d opened the door and let in the light. She’d led him out. Of course he couldn’t keep his mind off her.

Finally, they reached the top floor and Fiona unlocked the door to flat 7A. It swung open and they entered the small space.

Ian glanced around. Kitchen and living room combination on one side and a small hall that led to a bath and two bedrooms on the other side. The kitchen was strange as hell and vastly different from the ones he’d seen before. There was a low hum of the electric appliances. The prison had electric lights, but other than that, not much had changed there since he’d been incarcerated.

“No’ bad for a base,” Fiona said and dropped her bag onto the couch.

Though the hum of the appliances was unsettling, he liked how different it was from the prison. He could get used to modern conveniences. He followed her to the window. The view of the huge, ornate building that housed the Scottish Museum of Antiquities made his blood run faster. His fists clenched like a junkie’s in need of a fix.

He’d missed the rush of thieving while he’d been in prison, more than he’d ever expected. It was the thrill that had sent him back to it time and again, even after his fortune had grown ridiculously large. On the black market, it took time to turn artifacts into money. Eventually he’d had such a backlog of artifacts that he knew he’d never need to steal again. Added to what he had in the banks, stealing was just an unnecessary risk.

But he’d done it all the same. For the love of it. For the security his fortune brought him. His wealth kept him comfortable in the knowledge that he’d never have to return to his roots. Except he had, in a way. He’d been thrown into prison, and it had been worse than anything he’d suffered as a boy.

He scowled at the memory. “We’ll go now. It’s after ten. The back alley should be empty at this hour.”

“Agreed.” She walked to the bag she’d brought, pulled out two long daggers, and slipped them into sheaths that had been built into her tall boots. She shoved a small leather case into the pocket of her jacket.

“Do you have another?” he asked.