CHAPTER 44

Corin was pouring over his sales figures in his office, trying to find even one statistic that offered hope when he heard the front door open softly. Problem. He glanced at his watch. Ten fifteen on a Thursday night? A little late for shopping. But maybe not too early for a little breaking and entering.

He stood and eased toward his office door. The sound of heavy shoes—boots by the sound of it—echoed toward him from two different spots on his showroom floor. There was more than one of whoever it was.

Corin slipped his cell phone out of his pants pocket and pulled up his text messages. Yes. A. C. was the last person he’d texted. Please have your cell on, pal.

Corin stabbed his thumbs at the letters. Faster. Have to get this out before they come back here. AT THE STORE. IN TROU—

His office door flew open and smashed against the inside wall as a man thick in the shoulders and neck with a glistening shaved head stepped into the door frame. A wide grin played on the man’s face as he glanced around the office.

“Hello, Corin.” The man extended his hand and beckoned with his fingers. “It’s probably not a good idea to be texting anyone right now. We need to have a chat and I wouldn’t want you to be distracted by someone texting you back in the middle of our conversation. Can I have your phone, please?”

Corin pressed down on his phone hoping his thumb was in the right spot to send A. C. the text, then slid his phone onto his desk and turned back toward the man.

“Thanks for stopping by Artifications, are you in the market for an antique?”

“Interestingly enough, we are. One particular piece we understand you might be able to help us with has caught our attention in a substantial way.” The man ambled over to Corin’s desk and fished out the cell phone from where it had slid under a stack of papers. He batted the phone to the center of the desk with a finger of his gloved hand and glanced at its display.

Corin’s heart hammered.

“Let’s hope”—the man peered closer at Corin’s phone—“A. C. doesn’t get the message before we leave, hmm? For his sake. And yours.” He raised his elbow above the phone and brought it down hard. Then again. The man laughed. “I call that the iSmash. Almost as good as that Will It Blend guy on YouTube, don’t you think?” He laughed again, then motioned Corin toward the door. “Shall we?”

Corin found two other men standing in the front area of his store. One was around five eleven and looked like he should work at a university from the 1950s. All he was missing was a tweed jacket. But his shoulders were broad and his boots looked steel toed.

The other was maybe six foot, his hair cut short in front with a ponytail in back, and a tattoo of a dagger on both sides of his neck.

“I understand you gentlemen are doing some late-night shopping.” Corin forced his breathing to steady and wished he’d taken more of Tori’s classes. His skills were at the level of would-get-himself-killed-if-he-tried-anything at best. And he suspected his guests knew more about street fighting than the average grizzly.

The man with the ponytail grinned. “Yes, we’re interested in buying a chair. But the one we want doesn’t seem to be on display tonight. However I have it on excellent authority you haven’t sold it yet.”

“And what chair would that be?”

“A powerful chair. A miraculous chair. One worth going to great lengths to possess.”

“I’m not sure I know which piece you’re referring to.”

“I think you do.” Ponytail Man tilted his head and closed his eyes. “I so wish you would be truthful with us.”

“All the chairs I have for sale are on the floor. So if you don’t see it, I don’t have it.”

The man sighed and pulled a photo out of his pocket. “It looks like this.”

Corin glanced at the photo of his chair. He hoped his face didn’t betray his question of how they got a picture of it. “I don’t have anything like that.”

Ponytail slipped the photo into his back pocket, eased over to Corin, and poked him in the chest. “Get me the chair. Now.”

“It’s gone. I sold it.”

“I see.” The man waved his hand at Baldy and Mr. 1950s. A minute and a half later Corin sat tied in a dining room chair from the thirties, thin brown twine cutting off the circulation in his wrists.

“We asked you to simply leave it in the barn, but you couldn’t do that, could you? So let me ask again. May we have the chair, please?”

“I sold it.”

Ponytail looked at Baldy, who backhanded Corin’s jaw. His head snapped back and it felt like the car accident he’d been in two years earlier. Whiplash, lights, and exploding brain cells.

“Let me ask again, Corin.” The man licked his lips. “Where is it?”

Corin let out a soft moan. “I don’t have it.” They could beat him all they wanted. He wouldn’t give up the chair. Ever.

“Okay.” Ponytail nodded and rubbed his temple. “Fine. But let me explain something to you. This isn’t the movies. If you don’t tell us, we don’t give you a long speech or torture you, and we don’t kill you. We all go find Tori and torture her and kill her in front of you very slowly.”

Mr. 1950s wandered over to Corin, pulled a spartan knife out of his pocket, drew it along his jeans, and winked at Ponytail. “Then we quickly separate your muscles from your bones, without giving the cavalry time to come crashing through the door.”

A moment later the cavalry crashed through the door.