“He is.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was told my entire life that my father was dead, that he died before I was born, in fact. So you’ll forgive me for being a tad suspicious when you suddenly claim that he’s not only alive but also the world’s foremost expert on all things Cain.”
Dicky raised his hands. “I don’t know what to tell you. I have been friends with Abel for going on a decade now, but he told me his real name only a fortnight ago when he delivered the message. Said it was important I know his real identity in case something happened to him and one of his kin came looking for him.” Dicky sighed and shook his head. “And now he’s disappeared, so there’s no way to ask him to sort this out.”
I frowned. “Disappeared? When?”
“Three nights ago,” Dicky said. “He was supposed to come by the bar that night but never showed.”
I closed my eyes and willed the fist in my throat to disappear. Three nights earlier, the night Cain murdered Maisie, he’d figured out how to break the spell that kept him in a coma. According to Erron, Abel had captured Cain a decade earlier and placed him in a state of suspended animation. The fact no one had heard from Abel since told me Cain’s first item of business after gaining his freedom was to punish his captor.
Giguhl piped up. “Maybe Abel escaped before Cain could kill him.”
Dicky pursed his lips. “If he did, why hasn’t he contacted me for help?”
“He could be hiding out. After all, if he’s alive, he’d be high on Cain’s To-Kill list, right?” Adam said. “Any idea where he’d go if he did escape?”
“I was hoping you might know,” Dicky said, looking directly at me.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “None of this makes any sense.”
“You mentioned a message?” Erron prompted.
The Brit went over to a set of shelves that held supplies. He moved a few bottles around in what seemed to be a pattern or code and then suddenly the shelves popped away from the wall. He pushed the whole thing aside, revealing a secret room. “Follow me.”
Adam and I exchanged tense looks. Erron, however, didn’t seem fazed by Dicky’s behavior and followed him into the room. I was tired of the mysterious bullshit, but I knew if I wanted answers, I’d have to follow him, too. And, holy shit, did I want answers.
The room had a recessed floor that required a couple of steps down. “What is this place?” I asked, ducking under the low stone arch to descend the stairs. The air here had the musty heaviness of age and the temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees.
“Originally it was a tomb, left by the Etruscans. But since then, the various proprietors have used it for different purposes. The cheese maker who owned this building before I opened the bar used it as an aging cellar for his pecorino.”
“Really?” Giguhl exclaimed. “I don’t suppose you got any more of that cheese lying around?”
I shot the demon a glare.
“What?” he said defensively. “It smells fucking delicious in here.”
Actually, it smelled like feet and wet stone. I rolled my eyes at the demon and shot Dicky an apologetic look. “What do you use it for?”
He snapped his fingers and the room was suddenly bathed in the warm glow of hundreds of candles set into niches in the walls. Niches that used to house cheese wheels and bodies. Now, the shelves without candles stored antique bottles filled with herbs and mysterious liquids. “This is my spell room,” he said. “The bar is a front for my magic solutions business.”
“Magic solutions?”
He nodded. “Sure. Italians love homemade remedies. Took a while for word to spread that a Brit had some skill in potions but now I supply all sorts of elixirs to little old ladies and lovesick boys.”
As he spoke, he bent down and pulled an old leather-bound book from one of the shelves. I had assumed it was his magical grimoire, a book mages used to record their spells, so I was surprised when he opened it to reveal the book was hollow. The interior was lined in wood—cedar, judging from the scent that tickled my nose. Lying inside was a black velvet bag.
Dicky held the box out to me. “Take it.”
I frowned, wondering why he didn’t just hand the bag to me. It made my sense of self-preservation prickle. What did we know about this guy, anyway? For all I knew, he could work for Cain and this could be a trap.
I guess Dicky noticed the indecision on my face because he quickly explained. “Your father warded the bag. Didn’t want anyone to see it but you, I guess.”
Adam grabbed my arm. “Wait a second.” Turning to Dicky, he said, “There’s no ward on earth that is undone just by a certain person touching it. There’s usually some sort of magical key.”
The Brit smiled. “Righto. Only someone from Tristan’s lineage can open it. She’s going to have to prick her finger first and let the blood drop on the bag.”
I sighed deeply. Blood was serious. I was already up to my ass in debt to a god over blood sacrifices. “No way, dude.”
Even Erron, who until this point had remained quiet and unruffled, looked concerned. “What kind of trick are you trying to pull?”
“No trick.” Dicky shrugged. “Tristan wanted to be sure no one could see this except his own flesh and blood.” He nodded in my direction. “This was the best way to ensure that.”
“I think we’re going to need to see some proof this is really from Tristan,” Adam said.
Dicky’s smile fell. He stepped forward. “Are you sayin’ I’m lying?”
Adam didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Giguhl nodded his bald head vigorously.
The Brit blustered for a few moments. “I didn’t ask for this, you know. Just doing a favor for a friend.”
“Look, dude,” I said. “You said it yourself—these are dangerous times. We’d be idiots not to ask.”
“I’m tempted to kick you out again,” he grumbled. “But I suppose you have a point.”
His lips pursed in annoyance. “Look at the bag.” He held up the false book for us to gather around it. Sure enough, there was a symbol embossed into the velvet.
Silence followed. I frowned at him. “What the hell is that?” The symbol depicted a sword and chalice. I’d never seen it before, but generally anything involving a mysterious symbol spelled trouble.
Dicky frowned. “What do you mean? It’s the symbol of Abel. All his allies know about it.” His eyes widened. “You really have no idea what you’re doing, do ye?”
I threw my hands up. “No shit.”
“Wait a second,” Erron said. “He’s right. Abel was wearing an amulet with that symbol when I met him.”
“Anyone could have placed Abel’s symbol on that bag,” Adam said, crossing his arms.
“Janus, Minerva, and Jupiter,” the Brit exclaimed. “I don’t know what else you want from me.” He jiggled the box at me. “There’s only one way to find out if I’m telling the truth.”
I looked up, not at Adam whose opinion I had a pretty good grasp on, but at Erron. He had far more experience with both Dicky and Abel and thus had the most informed opinion of the three of us. “Do it,” he said, his expression grave.
Finally, annoyed and ready to just get some freaking answers already, I handed Giguhl to Adam and pricked my finger with my fang. I massaged the tip until a bright red drop formed. “Here goes nothing.” I blew out a lungful of air and slowly moved my hand to hover over the bag.
Everyone held their breath. The blood fell in slow motion. The instant it made contact with the velvet, a bright blue flame flared. In the blink of an eye, the bag disappeared and revealed a small, yellowed scroll. I couldn’t tell if it was yellowed from age or the effects of the flames, but either way the paper had seen better days.
No one moved. Then I realized they were all waiting for me to do something. With a trembling hand, I reached for the message. When my fingers made contact, a tingle spread up through my digits and through my wrist and up my arm. The mark on my left shoulder—Maisie’s mark—tingled. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation but it felt meaningful. I stilled, waiting for some sort of magical fallout, but… nothing.
“Open it,” Giguhl urged.
I looked up quickly. Erron, Adam, and the cat were leaning toward the box, their eyes lit up like treasure hunters on the trail of pirate gold. My heart thudded against my rib cage. My palms were sweaty but my skin cold.
Finally unable to stand the suspense any longer, I grabbed the parchment and unrolled it. Holding it close to my chest, I peeked down. A single word written in bold calligraphic strokes stood out starkly against the yellowed paper.
Pasquino.
Almost as an afterthought, someone had written in hasty scrawl at the bottom, “Trust no one.”
I frowned and flipped the sheet over, wondering if I’d missed something. I held it up to the light in case Abel had used invisible ink or something, but no other clues appeared.
“What’s it say?” Dicky tried to move closer, but I held it out of reach.
“I’m not sure.” That wasn’t a lie. But I also wasn’t eager to share this one meager clue with him, either. Abel had gone to great lengths to magically guard this word from any eyes that were not mine or my sister’s. So even though I didn’t know what the hell it meant, I wasn’t about to share the single word with anyone I didn’t trust implicitly.
Pasquino.
Adam caught my eye and raised his brows. I shook my head slightly. We’d discuss it later. In the meantime, I needed some answers from the expat. “When did he give this to you?”
He frowned and pursed his lips, thinking back. “I told ya, two weeks ago.”
“What?” I said, my voice rising in shock. “That’s impossible.”
“Why?” Erron asked.
“Tristan told Dicky that one of his daughters would show up with two birthmarks.” Adam jerked a thumb toward my back. “She got the second one only forty-eight hours ago. How in the hell would he know that was coming?”
