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“Do not underestimate your abilities. That is your boss’s job.”
~ Unknown
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Bear stepped into a sparsely decorated office, and instantly wanted to punch someone in the face. He never trusted money, or, more specifically, the people who had a lot of it. He had no problem with the dollar bills on their own and spent the majority of his adult life trying to make as much money as possible. This probably made him a bit of a hypocrite, but having a consistent hate-on for the wealthy made it easier for Bear to steal from the rich.
The penthouse office in downtown Vancouver with floor-to-ceiling windows screamed money. Yet, no name plaques or business decals decorated the door or hallway, or even the front of the building.
An illegal business.
Perfect.
They might be his client today, but tomorrow they might be his target. Thieves owed loyalty only to themselves. And in Bear’s case, his family.
A receptionist who looked more like a plastic mannequin than a human, with a fancy hairdo and painted face, stared out from behind an empty counter with the shiny surface. No business cards. No papers. No printer that he could see.
A pop-up business. Too bad. He’d continue to note the security details for future reference, just in case, but this “business” would most likely be gone tomorrow.
All the usual warning bells went off in his head and like always, he ignored them.
Eli had kept him busy these last few months since the botched book deal, but none of the jobs had been financially lucrative. The payout promised for this job would allow Bear to finally step out of the shady world of criminals and start his own legal business where he’d make his own name, be his own boss, and finally have something he could be proud to show his family. He wanted to prove he wasn’t useless.
He could’ve worked as a private investigator for his stepfather, of course, but he never would’ve raised enough capital to branch out on his own, he’d always be that guy leaching off his parents, and he’d have to take orders from someone else.
He didn’t dislike his stepdad. Quite the opposite. He respected the man for his principles and for stepping in to help raise Bear and his twin sister when other men would’ve run. Bear couldn’t work for Terry because he wanted to prove to his stepfather he could be his own man.
The pristine counter reflected his face when he stepped forward. “I have a three-fifteen appointment.” He didn’t offer a name. He didn’t need one. Real names in this business were just as dangerous as the clients.
The receptionist blinked and nodded once. Her fingers flew across the screen of a tablet on the ledge behind the counter. Beside the tablet rested a coffee in a takeaway cup with the name “Rybekka” typed onto a sticky label underneath the name of the actual order, which was too long and too complicated for Bear to give a shit. Coffee was just coffee.
Bear cringed, half-expecting his twin sister, Raven, to leap out from behind the counter to smack him for the coffee-blasphemy. His shoulders dropped and a mix of relief and sadness passed through him. Bear missed his twin, but it was probably for the best that his loud-mouthed, prone-to-disaster sister wasn’t here.
Beside the receptionist’s takeaway cup was a romance novel. She must be bored out of her mind.
“Right this way.” She pushed away from the desk and stood. The tight pencil skirt made him think of a teetering top hat. That made no sense, of course, the woman was beautiful and didn’t resemble an old-school childhood toy in any way. She took short steps in tall heels to walk around the counter and extended her arm toward the hallway.
Bear nodded, pulled his shoulders back and followed the receptionist. Would she fall over? How did she defy gravity like that? A security camera tracked his movement, picking up the field of view where the other camera outside the elevator left off.
Rybekka sidled up to large double doors. Though she was beautiful, she looked ridiculous taking short little steps on her stilts. A lot of men would drool over her beauty, but not Bear. She looked as though she’d break like fine china. Pretty to look at, but a pain to handle.
Bear wasn’t a rough guy, but he liked capable, hardier women. Women who didn’t cave to this plastic version of beauty.
The receptionist stepped back and plastered on a fake smile with perfect teeth.
If he felt anything for this woman, it was sadness. He’d hate to find either of his sisters dolled up and prancing around like this. Maybe this woman didn’t have a choice. Maybe she did what she did to pay the bills. And maybe, just maybe, she enjoyed her work and took pride in how she looked, and Bear was just a judgemental asshole.
Probably the latter.
Bear sighed. Maybe he should stop dissecting the internal motivations of a receptionist he had no intention of trying to get to know better and focus instead on the bigger issue. The more dangerous issue.
“Thank you,” he said and pulled open the door to the right. A red light blinked above the door—a motion sensor embedded in the door frame. Slick.
Rybekka dipped her head and teetered back to the front desk, while Bear slipped into the office and let the large door close behind him. In less than a second, Bear took a snap shot of the room, committed it to memory and analyzed the results.
A large executive desk sat in the middle, sandwiched by two office chairs worth more than his car. Aside from the furniture and fairy filter, the otherwise barren room lacked any unique or worthwhile sensory details. Sterile.
The giant office reminded him of an operating room without any equipment, patients, or hospital staff.
Okay, so maybe not quite like an operating room, but it had the same clinical feel.
Someone had set a fairy filter on one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, preventing the less-than-desirable stink of the neighbourhood from entering, letting in only the sweet smells of summer.
Bear took pride in evaluating his surroundings and how well he blended in. His leather jacket and ripped jeans stood out. The scruff on his face stood out. His very presence stood out like a dark stain on a white shirt. Even if he wore a stolen suit, he’d stand out in this room.
A tall man in a business suit stood facing the floor-to-ceiling windows with his back to the room. Making a statement without words. He couldn’t possibly be this cliché.
“Mr. Crawford. Please take a seat.” The man’s low rumbling voice filled the room.
Bear eyed the office chair with its sleek black leather upholstery without a single crease from wear. Had this client dropped a couple of grand on office chairs just to furnish the fake office for this meeting? Amateur. They could’ve met in a pub, an alley, or a coffee shop. These pretenses were unnecessary. At least for Bear.
Bear didn’t typically meet clients. That was why he had a handler. Eli normally gathered the particulars. This client had demanded to meet with Bear personally instead of allowing the handler to act as a go-between. Along with the office set-up and rent-a-model receptionist, this meant the client was a control freak. He needed to control every aspect of this meeting down to the very furniture they sat on.
“I’ll stand, thank you,” Bear said. Control that.
The man turned around, arrogance and power evident in his stern features. His expensive suit had been custom tailored to fit his large frame, but no amount of clean lines could hide his powerful build. Annoyance streaked across his expression.
Yup. Control freak. Bear nailed it.
The man’s dark energy vibrated off his skin and travelled in waves across the room to push against Bear.
Bear stiffened. Too much dark energy. Fuck. The client was a dark fae lord. The power punching Bear’s senses right now confirmed he was at a severe disadvantage if the meeting turned confrontational. Bear wouldn’t walk out of here alive if the client took exception to anything he said or did. So, basically, he was fucked.
If he had to bet money, this guy was another bored bastard who’d slipped past the barrier to try his hand at “playing reg,” a despicable practice where dark fae pranced around, pretending to be regular mortals, while enticing the very people they pretended to be into making deals they couldn’t possibly keep. The client wasn’t even particularly good at it. He only half-ass shielded his power.
Dark fae got their name because they hailed from the Underworld. Though they had a wide range of physical traits from heights, hair colour, skin tone and build, they were all attractive and had potent magic. But the main way to identify a dark fae was their black irises, which bled out to cover the whites of their eyes when they experienced intense emotion or accessed their power. Eyes of the Underworld, like his.
Apprehension gripped his gut. His muscles tensed and he looked for possible exits. This wasn’t the first job to trigger the fight or flight response, and it probably wasn’t the last, either. Mortals weren’t welcoming to the fae. Did the client not worry about the repercussions of exposure? Or was it simply the fae was so powerful, Bear and whomever he may or may not report to didn’t factor into his concerns at all?
“It’s unusual for a client to ask for a face-to-face meeting over a contract,” Bear said.
The man smiled slowly and walked over to the desk. “I don’t wish for the guild to know the particulars of this job.”
That actually made sense. Going through the guild held a certain risk for clients. It could end up a double-edged sword. Bear nodded to concede the client’s point. “Let’s discuss the task, then.”
The man pulled out a matching office chair on his side of the barren mahogany desk and waved at the other chair for a second time before sitting down.
Bear swallowed a growl and sat on the stiff unused leather.
“I require you to procure an artifact from a secure compound.”
Bear nodded again. This information had been included in the contract along with the offered payment. That was about it, but the latter part of the contract was enough to entice Bear.
“Who owns this compound and exactly how secure is it?” he asked.
“The compound is owned by a merchant of sorts. Not big in the game.”
“Does this merchant have a name?”
The client shook his head and reached into his jacket to pull out a white business card. He placed it on the desk and slid the card across the smooth surface.
Bear plucked the card off the desk. A number was embossed in magnetic gray on one side. He flipped it over. On the back, in elegant handwriting someone had written an address. Bear sighed. He’d prefer the owner’s name and security details, but this was enough to find out more. After all, it was a part of his job to find out this information, and even if the client provided security details, Bear always double and triple checked. He never trusted clients to pass along accurate information.
Bear pocketed the card and returned his attention to the man. “And the artifact?”
“The Klee-uhv Suleesh."
Bear raised his eyebrow. A fae name, presumably for a fae artifact. “How do you spell that?”
“C-l-a-í-o-m-h S-o-l-a-i-s.”
Ugh. Fucking fae words with their weird fae pronunciations. He knew he should’ve taken fae in school instead of Canadian French. He mentally spelled the word out in his head repeatedly, training his brain to remember by repetitive thoughts. Claíomh Solais. Something to do with light. “What does it translate to?”
“White glaive of light.”
“A sword?” Bear frowned. He didn’t often steal weapons. Those jobs tended to go sideways fast.
The client shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket again. He pulled out a phone, tapped the screen and swiped. When he found what he was looking for, he paused, hesitating before turning the phone so Bear could see the screen.
Bear leaned forward. Definitely not a sword. A box. A little wooden box with intricately carved designs on its sides. “Any chance I can get a copy of this photo?”
“None.”
Bear glanced up at the cold tone. The man’s stony expression startled him. Bear’s stomach sunk. As if hearing a jail door slam shut, Bear knew, just knew, he’d somehow passed the point of no return for this contract. The man’s face and body language spelled death. Bear had seen the picture and if he backed out now, somehow, someway, he’d end up floating in the gelatinous Burrard Inlet.
Bear swallowed. He didn’t need a copy of the photo. The artifact had already left an impression on his memory, anyway. He doubted he could forget it now. What he needed was a way out. Out of this job, out of this man’s office, out of this building. There wasn’t one. Not one that left him alive. He pushed forward instead. “Do I need any special equipment or instructions to handle the artifact?”
Something flashed in his client’s cold gaze—a gleam, an instantaneous moment of emotion. This man wanted the Claíomh Solais. And he wanted it badly. “There’s no special handling requirements for the artifact itself. However, be warned, the moment you touch the Claíomh Solais it will most likely trigger a silent alarm.”
“Alarms can be—”
“Not this one. Plan to get out of there right away. A lodestone. A portal. Something. Move quickly. Get to a safe place and once there, draw these on the walls.” The man reached into his inside pocket again—making Bear wonder what else this man had stashed in there—and pulled out an aged piece of paper. He slid it across the desk like he had the card.
Bear glanced down at the paper. “Runes?”
“They will trap the artifact in the room and prevent anyone from portalling to you.”
Bear studied the runes again. “When do you want it?”
“By the end of the month.”
Bear looked up from examining the runes. “That doesn’t give me a lot of time to plan and carry out the task.”
“And the price I’m willing to pay for this contract compensates for the rush job, wouldn’t you agree?”
Bear ground his teeth. Yes. It certainly did. The price tag did more than adequately compensate and was just what Bear desperately needed.
“And you know it’s at this location?”
“I’m certain of it. The merchant keeps it in a secure vault.”
Bear tapped the table by the paper with the runes scribbled on it. He’d have to practice drawing these things. Artwork wasn’t one of his specialties.
Well, not making art. Stealing it was another story.
“Do we have a deal?” the man asked, casually, as if asking Bear if he planned to watch the game, or if he wanted some tea. As if Bear saying no wouldn’t result in anything other than a polite farewell.
Every alarm bell rang in his head this time. Like a cacophony of seven year olds armed with recorders. Everything in his body said, “No.” But Bear didn’t get where he was today by running from tough or dangerous jobs. He took risks. Calculated ones. This man may try to double cross him, but he had a plan for that.
Bear stood and nodded, not officially voicing consent, which the fae could and would use against him. “I’ll be in touch.”
Something flashed across the man’s face as he stood. “One more thing.”
Bear groaned internally. “Yes?”
“Don’t open it.”
Wasn’t planning on it.
“It will be your death.”
Well, fuck.