Freya had made the right choice, for herself and for her health. But I sensed something deep down she didn’t care to admit—Freya believed the reason she’d struggled during training was that she wasn’t actually talented. She downplayed her skills continually, never seeing her true value.
“This is very special,” I said to Cora, but eyes still on Freya. She flushed a little before disengaging, turning back to face our elegantly dressed thieves.
Cora tipped her head. “Do you know what the two of them look like, Thomas?”
He was red-faced, still distracted. “No. What?”
She seemed truly thrilled. “The next leaders of The Empty House.”
38
Sam
“We must be heading back into the tunnels?” I asked. A few people had come and gone on the elevators as we’d descended—but if our elegant attire and garish masquerade masks intrigued them, they didn’t say.
“Definitely not,” Thomas said. “Ward didn’t tell you? It’s a whole affair. Takes him weeks to pull together—longer because it all has to be done in secret.”
The doors opened at the basement level—the old speakeasy Cora had told us about. The place where I’d bumped into Ward that one time. He’d been getting things ready.
“Oh. We’re in the basement,” I said for the agents listening in. There was no one in the hallways, but the space felt crowded with a low noise, shuffling feet and muted conversation. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up.
Cora stepped over to the hollow wall I’d tapped on. Knocked four times. She was clearly enjoying herself. Freya kept her hand looped around my arm.
A knock came back.
Cora knocked three more times.
And then the hollow brick wall transformed into a door, opening up six inches. Freya’s hand tightened as a large guard waved us inside. Dr. Ward stood next to him, surrounded on both sides by golden sconces, flickering with candlelight. He wore his Indiana Jones hat with his tuxedo, and I could see the gun holstered on his hip. It had a pearl handle. Freya must have seen the same thing—her hand left my arm and very lightly touched the small of my back. Abe had loaned me his gun.
“Welcome to the auction,” Ward said with a grin. “The night you’ve been waiting for. I trust that the two of you have come prepared to bid. To bid and to win.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
The guard peered at us suspiciously—the mask blocked my peripheral vision, which was spiking my adrenaline. I didn’t like having one of my senses compromised when I was about to walk into a dark, secret basement with a bunch of people I couldn’t trust. The guard was gigantic, and his uniform read Dresden Security. He scowled like he’d made it his mission to scare the shit out of us. His eyes hardened when they landed on mine, and I didn’t dare back down.
“I greet each attendee personally to ensure discretion and secrecy are of the highest order,” Ward continued. “Do not use names or say anything that identifies the people in this room. Your phones and identification will be removed from you and stored in this safe. Pictures and recordings are absolutely prohibited. Do not mention what happens this evening to any other person in your life. Spots available for this auction are extremely limited. The general public has never—and will never—know about it.”
Freya and I nodded as we removed our wallets—stripped of anything identifying other than our fake IDs. We’d been smart enough to leave our phones back with Codex.
“I’ll need to pat you down for weapons and hidden cameras,” the guard grunted.
“Are weapons common at this event?” Freya asked, staring pointedly at Ward’s gun.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Ward said. “I’m never not carrying a gun. But I’m the president. Which means everyone else needs to drop their weapons here for safe-keeping.”
Her fingers dug into my arm. “This pretty little head isn’t even a bit worried.”
I looked at the guard. At Ward. At Thomas and Cora watching us expectedly. Which action would earn us more trust?
With my palms up, I stepped away from Freya and faced Ward and the bodyguard. “I have a gun holstered at my back. I’m going to reach for it and place it on the desk.”
The other man went for his own weapon, but Ward stopped him. “Wait.” Ward stared openly at me. “Although I’m surprised to find you carrying a gun.”
“My father is an excellent marksman,” I said. Which wasn’t a lie. “The shooting range is the only place where we’ve ever connected.”
His