Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

me the grand tour.
    The sound of Jenks’s wings slowly became obvious. “How long we got?” I said when he hummed around a corner, taking it tight so his dust made a wide arc.
    “Depends how long that alarm stays on,” he said, and as if mentioning it had been the trigger, it went off. “Seven minutes,” he muttered. “Where’s the elven crap?”
    “We should have done this at night,” I said, as he flew off faster than I could run.
    “They have dogs at night!” he said, hovering before a pane of glass for a second before going to the next.
    The floors now had carpet squares, and air smelled like lemons instead of tuna fish. We were close, and I fingered Barb’s ID. “I like dogs,” I said, peeking into the room though Jenks already had. “Dogs and I get along great.” Seven minutes? It was going to be close.
    “Rache!”
    Three doors down, he was dusting heavily, and I jogged forward. Before I even got there, he had darted under the door. I looked past the glass to see long tables covered with artifacts in cases ready for display. My heart pounded.
    “Got it!” Jenks sang out. “Run your card!”
    Smug, I ran my card, and the door clicked open. Barb wasn’t cleared to be down here, but thanks to Jenks, the door’s security system was recording the last number that had been used.
    “Go,” I said as I went in, my fingers already unhooking the lanyard to lighten the load. Jenks snatched it, his flight bobbling as he headed down the hallway to the elevators. I didn’t like separating like this, but if all went well, Ivy would join us soon.
    “Like clockwork,” I said as I shut the door behind him and turned. Riffletic, I thought as I scanned the room for the rings. I needed the pair donated by Riffletic. They were perfect, and probably exactly what Riffletic’s estate said they were, seeing as I had found two confirmations of it in Trent’s books. Crap, I’d forgotten to take those back this morning.
    I took the doppelgänger charm off, shuddering as I felt the magic leave me. I smiled when I saw the rings were all together in one case, and I scanned the little cards under each one, concentrating on the few that had pairs of rings. Slowly my smile drained away. No Riffletic.
    Concerned, I paced through the entire exhibit, thinking that such valuable rings as elven wedding bands might have been given their own case. Statues, books, pictures, and even an ancient tea set, but no more rings.
    “Son of a bitch!” I whispered, hearing the sound of soft-soled shoes in the hallway, then pausing when I spotted two of the three tarot cards I’d once seen hanging in Trent’s great room. Had the Riffletic family pulled their rings from the show upon hearing I wanted them?
    The card reader beeped, and annoyed, I spun to the door. “Where are Riffletic’s rings?” I asked Ivy as she came in, then froze when I realized it wasn’t Ivy.
    A smallish woman in a businesslike skirt and lab coat was standing there, staring at me. Her glasses were thick, and she had a folder in her hand and a sketch of what looked like a gallery. “Who are you?” she said, clearly affronted. “You’re not supposed to be down here.”
    Crap on toast! I thought, scrambling, then decided to play it to the hilt. “I said, where are Riffletic’s rings?” I repeated tartly, wishing I had a clipboard or something. A clipboard and a hard hat could get you just about anywhere. “I flew all the way here to pick up some stupid rings, and I don’t see them. Who are you?”
    Head tilted, the woman eyed me suspiciously. “I’m Marcie. I’m arranging the displays for the show. And Riffletic’s rings have already been picked up.”
    “Well, that’s obvious,” I said, hand slapping my thigh as if she was being stupid. “If Riffletic’s rings are not on display, then the Cumberland estate wants their pieces back as well.”
    The woman frowned, and I added with a sniff, “There seems to be some question as to the safety of your facility. My God, I got down here with no problem at all.”
    Marcie looked at her open file folder. “I don’t have a record of any Cumberland pieces.”
    “You lost our rings? What kind of rinky-dink museum are you!”
    “We are one of the oldest art museums in the United States,” she said hotly. “Don’t move.” Never taking her eyes off me, she backed up to a landline phone. It looked like it had been down here since they put the carpet squares in.
    “Me moving will not be an issue.