Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,64
Catherine Street. The Blackbirds’ headquarters was midway down; it was a four-story red-brick building with three arched, ornate windows on each of the top three floors. The ground floor windows were square, with the top portion being simple stained glass squares. There were a couple of small round tables sitting at the front—both of which were occupied—and it looked to be fairly full inside.
He opened the door, then once again touched my spine and guided me through the maze of tables to the rear of the old but charming café. After going through another door and past the public bathrooms, we came to an elevator.
“I take it this means I have clearance to enter hallowed grounds,” I said as he shoved a key into the lock and turned it sideways. The elevator began to descend with a loud—and worrying—clanking sound.
“Yes. Sorry, the call came through at our bathroom stop.”
The door opened, revealing an old-fashioned but grand cage elevator. I stepped in somewhat gingerly and resisted the urge to huddle close to Luc as he pressed the top floor button. I didn’t mind elevators when they had four solid walls, but these things had always given me the willies.
The door closed, and the elevator slowly began to ascend. It came to a bouncy stop, then the door opened, revealing what was obviously a library archive. There were soldier lines of bookcases stuffed with all manner of books, and what looked to be vintage wooden map drawers lining the wall opposite the elevator.
Luc stepped out and then turned left, walking down a narrow corridor to an area at the back of the building. The arched windows had been covered with some sort of opaque film that diffused the light—maybe to protect the books in the nearby bookcase, which looked and smelled far older than the volumes nearer the elevator. The space between the bookcase and the rear wall was obviously a designated reading and researching area; not only were there half a dozen antique-looking mahogany tables, but also a number of comfortable leather lounging chairs. Near the rear was a small kitchenette.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Luc asked. “I’m afraid we’ve only tea bags, not leaf—”
“Bags are fine.” I looked around. “The scroll’s not here.”
“No, but Ricker will have been informed that we’ve arrived and bring it up.”
I pulled out a chair and sat down at the nearest table. The wood was almost black with age and heavily scratched and dented by time and use. “Why isn’t it already here, in the archive?”
“Because the main meeting area is on the second floor, as it’s the most secure. It’s also where the round table is located.”
“Meaning I’m not going to see this mythical table of yours? Damn.”
“No one sees that table but Blackbirds.” He filled the kettle and then placed it back onto its stand and flicked it on.
“Shame, because there’s definitely a tourist market for anything involving Witch King antiquities.”
He glanced at me, amusement twitching his lips. “I actually can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”
I grinned. He rolled his eyes and added, “Not.”
As he made our drinks, the bell above the ratty old elevator pinged, and the doors clanged open. The man who appeared a few seconds later was older than Luc by about ten years, if the amount of silver in his short black hair was anything to go by. His face also lacked the utter perfection of Luc’s, thanks mainly to his jawline, which was much squarer and had a bold indent. His eyes were the same glorious shade of jade but his build longer and leaner. In his right hand was what looked to be a rolled-up bit of leather.
“Luc! Good to see you again, buddy.” His deep voice was filled with warmth, but his bright gaze centered swiftly on mine. “I’m Ricker, and you’re no doubt Gwen. I hear you’re causing Luc all manner of problems.”
I grinned and briefly shook his offered hand. “And it’s all well deserved, let me tell you. Is that the translation scroll you’re holding?”
“Yes.” He carefully unrolled it along the table. “It’s a bit hard to read, though, thanks to the fact it had been shoved into the back of a damn cabinet and forgotten about. Time has not been its friend.”
The scroll was made out of some sort of hide that had a faintly disgusting smell, but the center portion of it was supple and had a rich patina of color. Its edges were dried out and cracked.