Page 13 of Heart of Thieves

“Cut the pleasantries, Magnus,” I say with a voice sharp and cruel enough to mask the pain in it. “I don’t have all night.”

“Of course,” he says, lips pursing as he crosses to a small desk against the wall where a shiny black briefcase lies on its side. He twists the dials on its clasp, its lock clicking as loudly as an old clock. I’ve picked at least twenty briefcases just like it, and I know the instant the combination hits home and the mechanism inside bolts free. “Forty pounds of voratium for the Stanson job, as promised.” He pulls open the top, revealing an array of raw, glimmering black voratium pieces, all cut into disks like Nic’s gambling chips and arranged in careful rows.

“Do you mind?” I raise a brow.

“Go right ahead.” He steps back, gesturing for me to approach.

I cast tendrils of shadow toward him along with the illusory sensation of weight so that when a ghostly hand made of night presses against his chest, he takes several more steps back, alarm widening his eyes.

To his credit, he recovers his composure quickly.

I count out the voratium carefully, fingers listing along the glassy edges of the chips.

I never planned on becoming a seaspawn criminal like the Sinclair brothers, but when the Unbreakable Lie prevented me from asking Enzo any of the questions I needed answers to, clamping my mouth shut anytime I tried, I grew desperate. I’d needed to look to the other players in my kidnapping for information.

Players like my father.

But I couldn’t go to him as myself. I needed an alter ego he would respect enough to speak to and fear enough not to hurt. That’s when the idea of Nocturne came to me. With my ability to channel both Enzo’s and Nic’s powers, I could pull off a pretty convincing disguise.

Thanks to the Devious brothers’ reputation, Aethera’s underbelly was all too willing to welcome a new seaspawn devil, and my father, Salazar, and the other smaller crime families leaped at the chance to win over the rumored daughter of the goddess of night to their causes.

I complete odd jobs for them as Nocturne, and they reward me with the voratium I use to practice my magic. Over the past several weeks, I’ve slowly built a foundation with my father, and tonight I think I’ve finally reached the point where I might be able to dig for one of those puzzle pieces I crave without raising suspicion.

“These chips are perfection,” I murmur. “It’s clear why the Liar chose you as his supplier.”

St. James’s mouth twitches in the faintest smile. “Best voratium you’ll find anywhere.”

“I’m sure such expertise comes with risks.”

“Every business owner faces risk.”

“Ah, but not every business owner has so many enemies,” I point out.

His smile fades. “To what enemies are you referring?”

I shrug, plucking up a chip and rolling it around my palm. “I heard your daughter was kidnapped by such an enemy.”

The air in the room stills as his lips thin. “She was kidnapped by the Thief. Not a political enemy nor a competing voratium supplier.”

“The Thief ?” I raise my brows as though this is new information. “I thought it was Salazar who took her.”

He scoffs, and I hold my breath, waiting. I’ve wanted to ask Enzo a hundred times what happened that night. How he got my father to enter the tournament. How he knew which secret my father would bargain. How he made sure my father lost. I won’t be able to press too hard here if I want to keep up my charade, but perhaps my father will reveal a detail tonight. Something I can grasp onto.

“Salazar did take her,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back, “but the Thief bested him.”

“Why?”

“He wanted Magnolia, I assume.” His eyes flash. “He was the one who convinced me to enter. Made me think he wanted the Unbreakable Lie. Told me he’d find someone for me if I won it for him.”

“Find someone for you? Who?” My eyebrows rise. Who could have possibly been more important to him than me? Important enough to risk my life in a game?

And how did Enzo learn about this person?

St. James regards me carefully, unlacing his fingers. “Why all the questions, Nocturne?”

I sigh, as though the matter is of little consequence to me. “Curiosity, I suppose.” I drop the chip back into the suitcase. That might be all the information I get from him tonight, but it’s something. A piece to the puzzle. A start.

“Speaking of the Thief . . . ,” he says as I slot the briefcase closed and twist the lock. “I have another job for you.”