The first bank Dani decided to try the safe-deposit key at was the second oldest in town, but it had the benefit of being more or less on the way to the Federal Medical Center.
She had managed to toss and turn for a few feverish hours—Van Gogh sunflowers like orange-yellow-gold explosions behind her fevered eyelids, the walls of the Fortress tumbling down on her in a fun house of portrait faces, Archer cool and serene and pale, laughing silently, Brad’s easy smile, and then Elliott’s face. His appearance disturbed her enough to wake her. There was no point in making an attempt to go back to sleep once she started dreaming about Elliott.
Dani had a while to kill and her focus was shit. She could sort through more information, but she’d only have to do it again. Sunflower was happy to go on a long, dewy, sunrise walk through grass so green that if you tried to capture the hue in paint it always managed to look neon, fake, impossible. The difficulty of that green was at least half the reason so many painters from Kentucky did thin, cheap-looking work. The rest was the reliance on an endless boring monotony of horse scenes. It took no skill to make a boring-ass painting of a horse, and real talent to make a good one. Why bother to split the difference if it sold? Lots of people preferred mediocre art, with its ease, the lack of challenge it presented.
Dani parked at a bank that might be in any town—a square box of reflective windows. She rotated the safe-deposit-box key in her fingers, palming it on her way inside.
They never did bank jobs, but she found herself casing the place anyway. Second nature. If she got lucky, she’d walk in to see her mother with a card tucked in her back pocket. There was no way this key got hidden in the wall by accident.
Three security guards were on duty. Two on the door, who both smiled pleasantly at her. Another stood by a large reception desk with two tellers at it. The rest of the lobby was bland and white and modern, Ikea style, redone within the last five years. The art was a series of shockingly bad abstracts, but probably expensive. They should’ve stuck with horses that looked exactly like horses, running across too-green fields.
Dani approached the desk and the man on duty gave her a tired nod. The woman beside him had a line of small porcelain collectible dolls on her side of the shelf, propped to face her. One of them was a clown. She must be a delight to work with.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked.
Dani wasn’t sure if she was relieved or insulted she wasn’t yet in “ma’am” territory. She felt about a hundred years old—as old as that painting of Archer apparently was. She smiled her safe smile, the “don’t worry about me, I’m as normal as it gets” smile she mastered from watching her mother, and opened her palm to produce the key.
“I’m, ah, closing up a family estate and found this. One of yours?”
The man bent closer to look at the key. The woman beside him stared at Dani. A true stare, like she was watching a hit-and-run and needed to get Dani’s license plate. Or like she was trying to place her.
The man squinted and finally shook his head. “Not ours. You might try Trust Bluegrass. I hope you find it.”
Dani should nod, keep smiling, and go. Instead she pocketed the key and stared back at the woman. “Yes?”
“You’re her.” The woman lifted a finger to point and caught herself. She hissed to the man. “That’s her.”
The man started to apologize and Dani interrupted, “You’re right, I am her.” She leaned over the countertop. Lexington was too big to be a small town, but she had forgotten how it managed to be so despite that. For better and worse. “You a true crime fan?”
The woman nodded.
Of course. The local interest angle of some special hour or another probably grabbed her attention.
Dani truly should leave. That was another of her magic acts. Let people talk about you, just don’t let them see you react to what they say. Leave before they know they’ve drawn blood. That it was even possible to. Not that a woman like this could manage that, but Dani was on her way to see her mother, who could and would, without even meaning to.
“Thanks,” Dani said to the man and then she reached over and plucked the clown from the row of dolls. She looked at the woman with a dare for her to do anything, then to the security guards. She made it all the way to the door on their frozen shock and tossed the doll into the trash can there.
“Don’t worry,” she said to the security guards. “I won’t be back.”
Fuck, what was she thinking? She wasn’t. The result was she’d be lucky if they didn’t warn every other bank in town she had a safe-deposit-box key and was incoming.
She grinned in the seat of her car—a real smile. She’d defended herself, and she didn’t regret it. She might have a little of her mother left in her, after all.
No, that was a foolish thought. Her mother was never impulsive.
Which meant Dani was probably still the same person she was as a kid when she exploded their life.
The open sweep of a city park alerted Dani she was close to the detention center drive, so she didn’t miss her turn despite forgoing GPS. She provided her name and showed ID at a guard booth, and proceeded up a pockmarked asphalt lane toward a long parking lot and the complex beyond. The Federal Medical Center itself looked less like a prison or a hospital than a high school in bad need of an update.
Dani checked in at the front desk and was told to take a hard plastic seat and wait until the inmate count was finished. She let her mind wander and it settled on the first job her mother ever brought her along on. It wasn’t the first time Dani did work for her; her paintings began to pass muster when she was twelve. She’d be provided with the closest to the original materials or simulations as her mother could manage through her network, because she always cautioned against relying only on Dani’s magic. “Magic can fail you at the worst of times,” her mother would say, and Dani would wonder why she said it, what she meant, when her mother’s ever had…At least that her mother knew about.
She might have even asked once—though her mother wouldn’t have answered.
The job was a private home collection, lower stakes than some others, because if anything went wrong, the owners would be less likely to advertise they’d been a target. The rich often purchase art for its financial value, and writing off the loss is just as good as the work on the wall. Even if the person happens to love it, the chagrin at revealing that their security wasn’t up to snuff often kept such incidents quiet. And the FBI Art Crime Team tended to honor the wishes of the owners, because if they didn’t, fewer people would report thefts. So despite the splashy headlines, and the cachet in the criminal world, museum thefts were far less common than those from private home collections.
That was the night Dani received her first ski mask. Probably not something a lot of kids found significant. Or, if they did, it was to go along with the memory of a snowy day. Sledding down a hill in bright hats, screeching with glee and bombing snowballs at the rest of the neighborhood. But for her, accepting the black mask from her mother had been a sacred rite. She had pulled the scratchy cotton over her face with the feeling of standing on the cusp of everything she longed for. She was certain she would emerge from the night as sure of herself as her mother was, and closer to her mother than ever.
But the night had begun and proceeded with a continual series of cautions followed by corrections. Dani was no natural cat burglar, based on her mother’s reactions. She was a cob horse, plodding, no good for fieldwork. It was only when they finally reached the gallery and had swapped out a small Renoir for Dani’s copy wrapped in cloth in her backpack, that her mother had put an arm around Dani, squeezed her shoulder, and tucked her into her side. She said, “Remember this moment.”
Obviously, Dani did. She’d soaked in the command, every second available for her to revisit. But what she remembered most? The feeling she didn’t belong there. That she and her mother were two entirely different people. That Dani would mess things up. Somehow. Eventually.
She remembered she’d been right.
The heavy door to the waiting room cracked and a woman in khaki scrubs called, “Miss Poissant?”
This time, the “miss” made her feel even younger. Dani rose to her feet.
“This way,” the woman at the door said. And after she closed it behind them, “Your mother is…something. But you must know that.”
“Mm.” Dani focused on preparing her game face.
Her mother’s charm, her ability to manipulate, wouldn’t have gone away just because she was behind bars. As it was, she’d been so notorious about swaying people to her side that by the time of her trial, she always had two guards assigned to her. They might not know about magic, but they’d figured out she could win people over if she got them alone.
Dani often wondered what her mother might have gotten by with if her power had a few less limits. If she could use it on multiple people at a time, if the effects didn’t wane eventually…And she imagined the possible range of reactions if Maria ever found out it didn’t work on Dani.
The woman led her far beyond the regular visitors’ lounge, on a winding path through halls with the smell of bleach barely covering the stench of illness. And then, at last, they slowed at a line of patient rooms.
A guard was posted at the door they stopped at, and Dani spotted a second just inside the threshold. The protocol hadn’t changed. She wasn’t surprised to find it a single either, not since they’d mentioned an attack. They’d want to keep her isolated, in case it was gang or grudge related, making a repeat attempt more likely.
Dani still couldn’t imagine anyone having the guts to come at her mother.
The bare-bones décor continued the run-down prison non-chic. If it was possible for sheets to have a negative thread count, the white set on the bed looked scratchy enough to manage it. A cuff bound her mother to the bed’s side rail by her left wrist.
She sat up, her posture erect as any queen’s. Someone had challenged her rule, though. A deep gouge with stitches marred her perfect cheek, a healing black eye above. But those alone wouldn’t be enough to get her sent here.
“How are you?” Dani asked.
Maria ignored Dani and looked to the escort. “I was hoping we could go out to that cute patio next door. I heard sometimes you let people visit out there, since Covid.”
The escort eyeballed the guard, who shrugged. “She asked.”
The woman turned to her mother. “You took a knife to the stomach that could’ve killed you. You’re on bed rest. When you are feeling better, you’ll be going back to your own camp. Now, you have twenty minutes with your daughter. You will take it here.”
“Can we have privacy?” her mother asked, but it didn’t sound like a question.
“You okay with that?” the woman asked Dani.
Dani nodded, still trying to find words.
The guard said, “We’ll be right outside. Just let us know if you’re ready sooner.”
The woman shut the door behind them and there she was, alone with her mother.
Dani hesitated. She had been looking forward to the buffer of other people. This…Even with the guards outside, they were alone.
She pressed down a relentless wave of emotions: dread, fear, regret, and—the worst, the one she couldn’t ever trust—hope.
Her mother looked at Dani finally. “Are you going to sit down or not?” she said.
Dani walked across the linoleum as if it were a plank. She might as well be boarding an enemy captain’s ship.
There was a small chair bolted to the floor beside the bed, and Dani took it.
Injured or not, Maria Poissant was as self-contained as ever. She somehow managed to make the baggy scrubs of the inmate uniform fit as if tailored to her—hell, they might have been, by some new sycophant, for all Dani knew. Well, except they clearly had enough information about her ability to manipulate people that she wasn’t being allowed to mingle.
Dani examined her more closely.
Whatever she expected, it wasn’t this. All these years she’d wondered, obsessed, over what her mother’s life in jail had been like. There were two lines, faint, on either side of her mouth. The suggestion of crow’s feet. Other than the injuries, no time might have passed. Her hair was still black, any gray hidden, an impeccable bob.
Her mother placed her free hand on top of the cuffed one on the rail, and then Dani noticed another difference. Her nails were bare. No French-tipped manicure.
“You look good, considering,” Dani said. And added, “You haven’t aged at all.”
Her mother stayed quiet for a long moment. Then, “You’d better not be fucking Archer.”
Reality stuttered and Dani blinked.
“Nice to see you after all these years too. How have you been, Dani, my long-abandoned daughter? Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m making it okay.”
Maria pursed her lips. “Well, are you?”
It was ceding ground, but Dani answered. “No. Of course not.” She shook her head. “I thought you might be dying when I got the phone call last night, but now I see that’s not the case.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “Darling, take it down a notch. You of all people know why I’m here.”
A punch to the heart. Even though she knew it was coming. “I don’t, actually, know why you are here now.”
Her mother nodded. “Yes, you do. Do you know how much it pained me to have to sweet-talk someone inside on a basic smash and grab into stabbing me so I could come see you? She threw in the scar and black eye without my approval.” Maria’s lips tightened. “And you’d best be glad I’m here.”
Maria reached over to the table beside her bed. It held a plastic water cup and a newspaper, which she picked up. “What did I always say about discretion?”
She unfolded the paper and pointed to the photo accompanying the story below the fold on the right. Dani immediately saw herself behind Rose and beside Brad Hackworth. The headline was, predictably, about the auction.
Shit.
How hadn’t she seen this coming?
Her mother tilted her head, birdlike, considering. “Dani, did I really teach you nothing? What is this amateur-hour bullshit?”
Dani didn’t bother reaching for the paper. Her mother’s statement meant she was mentioned in the story too. That’s why the woman at the bank recognized her.
Yes, it was sloppy. She was going to have to do better. No one paid attention to the kind of jobs she usually did; that was why she picked those targets. “Look…”
“Shhh,” Maria said. “I’m here now because Archer asked me to help you.”
Dani’s jaw clenched tight, but she got the words out anyway. She spoke with care to leave her mother’s belief intact, that she wouldn’t have remembered Archer when they met. “He claims you were partners. Who is he? And why am I stealing a painting of him?”
Maria’s lips quirked, something like a smile. “Because I’m not exactly available.”
Close to the same phrasing Archer had used.
“You know,” Maria said, “I lost everything because of you. Only Rabbit stayed in touch.”
“I would have been there.” Maria hadn’t even let Dani apologize. Dani managed to keep her voice neutral, then realized with horror that her hands were extended to her mother.
Maria looked at them.
Dani hesitated, then pulled her fingers back into her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said. “So sorry. For everything. I screwed up.” I was afraid for you, Mom, she didn’t say. For what Archer might be doing to you.
“I got the letters,” Maria said. “Now’s when you prove it. You can’t afford mistakes like this.” She tucked her chin toward the paper. “I need you to pull this off, so don’t fuck it up.”
“Did you know Hackworth’s secret? What the collection is?”
Maria sniffed. “Of fucking course. I may be trapped in here, but don’t underestimate me.”
Maria Poissant was all politesse when Dani was growing up. Sure, she could terrify anyone, and no one crossed her unless they were complete fools, but she maintained a sheen of class that she’d adopted, not been born with, no matter what. When they arrested Maria, she had extended her hands and looked—just looked—at Dani, after asking, calm as a flat gray line on canvas, “What did you do?”
She rarely used what she called “vulgarity” and sometimes tsked foulmouthed Rabbit. She was, in fact, the only member of the crew who didn’t throw around “shit” and “fuck” and “damn” like a spice. Except Dani, and that was only to keep her mother happy. There had been more changes in Maria; they just weren’t visible.
“I wouldn’t even try to estimate you,” Dani said.
“Good.”
“Where is Archer? How do I reach him?”
Her mother’s lips tightened, and then, “Where were you, when he came to you?”
“St. Louis. Why?”
“He’ll be spent, recovering. You’ll see him soon, I’d wager. But remember, he only sought you out because of me.”
A weird answer, but maybe it had something to do with his particular power.
Dani had circled what she asked next in her mind, never saying it out loud. “Is he my father?”
Her mother lifted her chin, haughty. “Don’t be silly. Though he did encourage me to have you. You should be thankful for him.”
That was about the last thing Dani felt. She kept it to herself.
Maria continued, “To help you—to help you help him—I’ve released them. They can and will work with you. All of them. You’re back in, so don’t waste it. Call Rabbit.”
Dani didn’t know whether to thank her or not, after Rabbit’s slap. “I’m doing this for you, Mom.”
“I know. Be more discreet,” Maria said, nodding at the paper. “Don’t ruin our family name. We’ll talk again.”
Maria raised her voice and called, “Ready.”
The door opened, and the guard reentered. The escort had waited. She smirked at Dani as if to say, I knew you wouldn’t last long in there.
A million questions rose to Dani’s tongue, but she had to swallow them. Like always.