Warriors of Poseidon 06 - Atlantis Betrayed

ill of the dead.”
    “I said far worse when he was still alive,” he said dryly, raising one silver eyebrow. He whipped the cover off the silver pot of chocolate, and the aroma teased her senses. “Furthermore, should you ever catch Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of Poseidon 06
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    me wearing silk pajamas decorated with tiny barnyard animals, please feel free to commit me to a home for the senile.”
    “They’re sheep, Hopkins.” She clamped her lips together to keep the laugh from escaping. “You know, for counting sheep? It’s a sort of joke. Also, when will you drop the ‘Lady’ and start calling me Fiona?”
    “Undoubtedly at the same time I begin wearing the barnyard animal nightclothes.” He poured the rich chocolate into a delicate china cup and handed it to her.
    Fiona took the chocolate. It was just easier to go along on the little things. “She means well.”
    “Faint praise, indeed,” he pointed out. His brilliantly blue eyes sparkled with amusement, though, and she wasn’t fooled. She’d caught him bringing chocolate to Madeleine just that morning.
    “Down to business, Lady Fiona. Do you have your untraceable phone?”
    “Always.”
    “Is it charged? When you broke into the British Museum—”
    “How long are you going to hold that against me? I came out of that with an entire collection of jade figurines, including Tlaloc.” She pulled out the top drawer of the Louis XIV bureau until the faint depression in the wood bottom of the drawer was in sight. A muffled click signaled the opening of the hidden compartment, and she removed one of her scarlet hooded masks and a single glossy silver card.
    “Yes, Tlaloc. The rain god. The wettest autumn in recorded history after you brought that home, if I recall. Thank you so much. We certainly needed more rain on our property,” Hopkins managed to say with a straight face. “A clean handkerchief?”
    She froze, slowly turning her head to stare at him. “A clean handkerchief? Are you actually making a joke, Hopkins?”
    He carefully folded her unused cloth napkin, its white linen folds as spotless as the gloves he still insisted on wearing, before he looked up and met her gaze. “I never joke. If an employer of mine is planning to steal one of the most famous gems in history from the Tower of London itself—which is, mind you, absolutely burglar-proof—then by queen and country she will have a clean handkerchief.”
    Fiona stared at the spots of color flaming on his cheekbones and realized she’d been a fool. She’d spent all of her time worrying about the logistics of the job and no time at all concerned with the people who cared about her. She dropped her mask and the card next to the chocolate on the table and walked over to him.
    “I’m not stealing anything tonight. This is just an exploratory expedition, you daft old thing. Now, give me a hug.”
    She thought for a moment that he was actually going to refuse, but finally he sighed and embraced her, patting her back like he’d done when she was a child restless with the burdens of position and, later, tragedy.
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    He quickly released her and handed her the mask, which she tucked into her belt, and then the card.
    “Do you really want to leave your calling card before you take the Siren? They’ll throw everything they have at the Tower to prevent you coming back, after you made Scotland Yard and Interpol look like fools the last time.”
    She shrugged, glancing down at the silver gilt card with the tiny figure of a scarlet ninja embossed in its exact center. “It’s only sporting, isn’t it? Besides, they’ll think I’m taking the entire sword. Perhaps that will mean different security measures.”
    “Sporting might get you killed. Or sent to prison for a very long time.”
    “Not tonight. This is just a scouting trip.” She shouldered her small pack and grinned up at him.
    “After all, how dangerous can it be?”

Chapter 2
    Christophe soared through the air in mist form, circling the Tower of London as he had many times before, but this time with the goal of finding a way inside, instead of admiring the exterior. He recognized the irony of planning to steal William the Conqueror’s sword, famously and prophetically named Vanquish, from the tower whose construction old Will had first begun. Technically, he didn’t need the sword, and Prince Conlan probably wouldn’t like it if he took