“You are under a blood oath.” My eyes swing to Dorian, who I’m sure has a gun strapped under his desk. Two shots—boom, boom—and Diem and I are both dead. But either she has a better plan, or she’s just stupid.
“I’m under nothing,” she says, her own accent shining through. “You forced me into this.”
“And I will force you to stay. You want a choice? Here it is. Who dies first, you or him?” He points to me, just as his hand leaves the desk.
I’m on my feet, blocking Diem’s body with my own just as the shots ring out. My right shoulder jerks, but the rush of my adrenaline keeps me from feeling the pain. I look down at Diem, who is blinking up at me. She’s fine. Uninjured. Alive—for now.
I look up to see Clark holding a gun in his hands. Looking behind me, blood is spattered on the wall where Dorian once stood. I slowly get to my feet, helping Diem up, I try to push her behind me, but she moves out of my grip.
“Find the seal,” she orders, walking quickly to the desk. She rummages through the files on top, then glances down at what must be Dorian’s body before stepping over it and opening the drawers. Her eyes are cold and unfeeling. She doesn’t look the least bit concerned that her father is lying dead at her feet. I guess when someone tries to kill you, you tend to lose the love you once had for them.
“Would somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?” I ask, feeling helpless as I just stand here with my hands on my hips.
“Remember that whole trust talk we had a few hours ago?” Knocking books from a shelf, she pauses long enough to look at me expectantly.
“I do. But, obviously you didn’t,” I snap.
“Well, now it’s your turn to trust me. Rookie is outside. I need you to leave with him. I’ll be back at your place in two hours.”
I want to laugh at her suggestion. “Yeah. That’s gonna fuckin’ happen. How about this. Somebody tell me what the hell is going on, or I’m gonna start breaking shit. Starting with your fingers.”
“Got it,” Clark says, grabbing a silver box from a shelf. Inside is an antique seal that dates back for centuries, engraved with the family crest.
Diem pulls some papers out of the back of her pants, laying them out on the desk. Clark scribbles his signature while Diem grabs a letter opener and slices her palm. My eyes widen. “Holy shit. Y’all really believe in this whole blood thing, don’t you?”
Ignoring me, Diem commands that I find Harry, whoever the fuck that is, and bring him back. “Harry!” I yell, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. She shoots me a look and I shrug. The old man with the whiskey walks in, looking at me like I shouldn’t be alive.
“Don?” he asks, searching the room for Dorian. I couldn’t kill this poor man, I’d just have to hit him in the head with a book or something.
“He’s dead, Harry,” Diem informs him, and he looks to me for confirmation.
“Sorry, Harry.”
He closes his eyes, drawing a cross over his chest before kissing his fingers and looking up. I don’t know if he’s mourning Dorian’s death, or thanking God for taking him. He walks up to the desk, signing his name to the paper before handing it back to Diem. Patting her cheek, he gives her a smile. She holds his hand to her face a minute before turning her lips to give it a quick kiss.
I watch him shuffle out, then look back at Diem, who is doing some kind of chant with Clark. Then it hits me; she’s swearing him in. Then I start realizing that there is no one else here. That all is quiet. That Diem and Clark seem to be in a hurry and my shoulder hurts like a son of a bitch.
“Um,” I say, staring at the blood that rolls down my fingertips onto Dorian’s rug. Fucker. “Where the hell is everybody?”
“They left before the elders got here,” Diem says.
“Elders?”
“The old guys from the meeting room. If they get pissed about this, nobody wants to be around to feel the wrath.” She moves the mural on the wall to reveal a safe.
“So should we be around?” I ask as the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I don’t even have a gun.
“Nope. That’s why we’re leaving. Don’t worry. Clark will handle it.”
To confirm, Clark gives me a nod. “Everything will be fine, Shady. Trust me.”
I laugh at the irony. Trust. I didn’t trust anybody anymore. Except for Harry. He walks in, handing me another glass of whiskey. “Thanks, Harry.” He smiles proudly up at me, patting my arm. So maybe Harry is a little crazy.
He walks out, and I whisper to Diem, “How long has he worked here?”