Page 140 of Dead Vengeance

“Don’t even try it, Ted.” I cross the room, pulling open one of the old filing cabinets. “I know it was here a few days ago. I know it’s what the police were after.”

“What police?” he asks serenely.

I send a glare his way before pushing on, rifling through the drawer. “I’m not going to tell them,” I somewhat reassure him. “I don’t have any interest in whatever’s going on here. I just need the mirror to solve this case, and then—”

“And then what?” He folds his arms close against his chest.

And then what indeed? “And then I don’t know. He can have it back, I guess?”

Archer lets out a little laugh, which isn’t particularly helpful. I’m doing my best to be a duplicitous criminal, and he could help me by not finding my attempts cute.

Ted eyes him for a moment, then, “Is he… Are you Archer Gravely?”

“I am,” says Archer, picking up a weird stuffed owl, searching its underside.

Finally, I get enough of a rise out of Ted to make him betray his attempted poker face. “Liam, you cannot bring customers back here!” He runs across the room to snatch the owl from Archer. “Out! At once! Both of you!”

Archer meets his gaze coolly. “I’ve paid you people enough to buy and sell all of this junk.”

Ted slams the owl down on Gerald’s desk, stepping in front of it as if that would be the first object Archer would try to run away with. “Well, it’s not for sale. Now out!”

I move onto the next cabinet, continuing the search from the top down. “It’s a little black mirror,” I explain. “Doesn’t even look like a mirror. It’s…” I remember the picture, then turn my attention to Gerald’s desk, shifting some papers around in case it’s slipped beneath them.

“Hands off, Liam, or I’m calling Gerald.” Ted puts two hands down flat on the desk opposite me, forcing his face in front of mine.

“Please call him.” I meet his gaze steadily. “Please call him right now. Because I’ve been calling him all the way over here, and he isn’t answering, and I need that mirror. Tonight. Right now. Ted, where can I get that mirror?”

“I don’t know a thing about a mirror,” he seethes, and he does it so vehemently I think I might slightly believe him. “But here’s what I do know. You walk out that door right now, and you get back to work, or you’re fired.”

The word hits me like an arctic wind.

Fired.

Again.

It’s not like I didn’t know this was a possibility—as if I hadn’t thought that coming into my workplace and stealing a probably priceless, stolen antique with enormous supernatural powers from my boss might land me there, at the very least.

And what if this doesn’t work out? What if I’ve—we’ve—dreamed this all up somehow. And even if I get what I’m after, and I give it to Tezcatlipoca, he doesn’t free Jem? And I end up in the same shitty place I was a few days back, only with no job, and this major connection to the spirit world severed once and for all…

Archer’s hand falls on my shoulder, and he too leans over the desk, making the scene feel like this is some top-secret CIA meeting. His voice drops appropriately for that sort of situation. “If you even think about firing Liam for doing the job I’ve hired him to do, I will sue you and Gerald for endangerment, gross negligence, and fraud, and unlike Liam, I’ll tell the police exactly where they can find that mirror.”

My heart thuds out a grateful rhythm, mixed with fear and the scent of failure, but all dipped in that gorgeous sense of safety I feel whenever I’m close to Archer.

Ted takes a moment, laser-focused on the hand Archer never removes from my shoulder. “Rule six hundred and sixty-seven: don’t fraternise with homeowners on the job.”

I squint back at him. “The rules only went up to six hundred and sixty-six last I checked.”

“It’s new,” he snarls, then turns sharply and walks out the door, flicking off the reception lights as he goes.

I watch him, stunned for a moment. Is he actually going to leave us to do this? Do I get to move ahead with no repercussions or…

I twist back to Archer just as his hand finds my chin, raises my lips, and he kisses me. Kisses me soft and slow, and carries half my worries away with it. More than half. When I close my eyes, for that one brief moment, I could be back in his office, on the floor, not a care in the world. I could be in his arms, in his bed, that Sunday morning wake-up I’ve been dreaming of. Just to be next to him softly.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“I’ve got you,” he says. “From now on, okay?”

This man. This man who is… my fate? How can anything be so true and so beautiful? And how can it come from a god who steals souls in exchange for stolen goods?