Lupi 09 - Mortal Ties

bear that in mind. I think I should do the dealing.”
    His eyebrows lifted. “I’m quite capable of—”
    “Yes, but it gets you two off to a difficult start if you have to be a hard-ass.”
    “Considering that our relationship began with him stealing from the clan, I’d say
     we’re already well into ‘difficult.’ ”
    “Then let’s not make it worse. Besides, you can’t agree to grant him immunity from
     prosecution, which he’ll likely insist on.”
    He suspected that technically she couldn’t, either, but she could neglect to arrest
     Machek. She must think she could keep this under the table. He considered a moment
     longer, then nodded. “Am I supposed to be the good cop, then?”
    “You can stand there looking mysterious and vaguely scary. You said he wouldn’t talk
     about what he wants until we get there.”
    He nodded, toying with the ring on her finger. His ring.
    “Can you give me your impression of him?”
    “He knows what he wants, even if he wasn’t willing to tell me. He was calm, in control,
     when he might have been panicky or angry about losing something he’d gone to great
     trouble to obtain.” He thought a bit more and added, “He’s educated, or knows how
     to sound like it.”
    “He’s got a degree in art history and owns a small gallery.”
    Art history. Why did that surprise him? He’d known about the man’s existence for less
     than twenty-four hours. Surely that wasn’t enough time to develop preconceptions.
     “Last night I wasn’t ready to learn about him. I am now.”
    She cocked her head. “I’ve got the FBI’s file on him, plus some recent stuff Arjenie
     dug up. You want to see it?”
    The FBI didn’t keep files on everyone. “Do you mean a file or a rap sheet?”
    “No rap sheet. He’s never been arrested, but several years ago he was a person of
     interest in a theft at the National Gallery in D.C. That made it an FBI matter,see—National Gallery, federal law. They never had enough evidence to make an arrest,
     but it’s clear the lead agent had him picked for the perp. He put together the file.”
    “He is a pro, then. As you suspected.”
    “Looks like it, though there’s—”
    Cullen interrupted. “What was stolen?”
    She looked at him. “That was odd. Only one item went missing—a thirteenth-century
     chalice, solid gold with precious gems. No one could figure out why he targeted that
     one item. It was worth plenty, sure, but there were other things he could have grabbed
     that were worth more.”
    “No, there weren’t,” Cullen said.
    “What do you know about this?”
    “That chalice was an artifact.”
    “An artifact?” Rule said, startled. Artifacts were major magic—so major no one on
     Earth knew how to make them. It took an adept to make an artifact, and the knowledge
     had been lost even before the Purge. “What did it do?”
    “No one knows. At least I never heard a whisper that anyone had figured it out, and
     I sure as hell couldn’t. I studied the damn thing for days, but all that showed was
     the trigger—and that was locked.”
    “Locked,” Lily repeated.
    “
Locked
as in keyed to someone who has probably been dead for a few hundred years, so no
     one could use it. Resetting the key would take knowledge we just don’t have.”
    “And you studied it for days?”
    “That was about three months before it was stolen. And no,” Cullen added with preemptive
     irritation, “I didn’t have anything to do with that. Not from any moral objection
     on my part, but I couldn’t afford Umbra.”
    “Umbra.”
    “That’s the name your thief goes by. Or used to. Kind of pretentious, isn’t it?’
    “I don’t know,” she said dryly. “What does it mean?”
    “It’s the scientific name for one part of a shadow. Anyway, everyone assumed Umbra
     was the one who took the chalice because it was such a slick, high-dollar job. Therewas a lot of speculation about who his client might have been, but it was bullshit.
     No one really knew anything.”
    “Who’s ‘everyone’?”
    Cullen waved vaguely. “People. You know.”
    “No, actually, I don’t. But I’d like to.”
    “I’m not going to tell you about them. First, it was seven years ago, and I don’t
     remember exactly who I talked to. Second, if any of them had an inkling I mentioned
     them to someone official, they’d never talk to me again. And that would be bad.”
    “Are they other sorcerers?”
    “Did you hear me say I wouldn’t tell you