“The question I’m asking myself,” Gansey said, “is why I’m in the Fresh-Fresh-Eagle at eleven P.M.”
“The question I was asking myself,” Henry replied, “was why I was in a thug’s car at I-don’t-even-know P.M. Sargent, tell me you are not part of this sordid ring of thieves.”
Blue, hands in the pockets of her hoodie, shrugged apologetically and gestured with her chin to the Gray Man. “He’s sort of dating my mom.”
“What a tangled web we weave,” Gansey said in an electric, jagged sort of way. He was keyed up after the night at the Barns, and Henry’s presence only encouraged it. “This wasn’t the next step I wanted to take in our friendship, though. Mr Gray?”
He had to repeat Mr Gray’s name, because it turned out that the Gray Man had not been pretending to look at the oatmeal tin; he had actually been reading the back of it.
He joined them. He and Blue exchanged a side hug and then he turned her by her shoulders to examine the stitches above her eyebrow. “Those are neatly done.”
“Are they?”
“You probably won’t have a scar.”
“Damn,” Blue said.
Gansey asked him, “Was the Fresh Eagle your idea or Henry’s?”
Mr Gray replied, “I thought it might be comforting. It’s well-lit, on camera, but not audio-recorded. Safe and secure.”
Blue had not thought about the Fresh Eagle that way before.
Mr Gray added cordially, “I am sorry about the fright.”
Henry had been watching this entire exchange closely. “You were doing your job. I was doing my job.”
What a truth this was. While Blue had grown up learning the principles of internal energy and getting told bedtime stories, Henry Cheng had grown up contemplating how far he would go to protect his mother’s secrets under duress. The idea that they had been any part of this made her feel so uncomfortable that she said, “Let’s stop doing jobs now and start doing solutions. Can we talk about who’s coming here and why? Wasn’t that the whole point of this exchange? Someone’s coming somewhere to get something, and everybody’s freaked out?”
Henry said, “You’re a lady of action. I see why R. Gansey added you to his cabinet. Walk with me, President.”
They walked with him. They walked through the cereal aisle, the baking aisle and the canned goods aisle. As they did, Henry described what he had been told about the upcoming sale with all the enthusiasm of a good student delivering a presentation on a natural disaster. The meeting of artefact-selling denizens was to happen the day after the Aglionby fund-raiser, the better to disguise the influx of strange cars and people into Henrietta. An unknown number of parties would descend for a viewing of the object for sale – a magical entity – so that these potential buyers could confirm for themselves the otherworldliness of the product. Then an auction would follow – payment and the exchange of the item, as always, to take place in a separate location out of the view of prying eyes; no one wanted to have their proverbial wallet lifted by a fellow buyer. Further pieces might be available for sale; inquire within.
“A magical entity?” Blue and Gansey echoed at the same time that the Gray Man said, “Further pieces?”
“Magical entity. That was all the description was. It is meant to be a big secret. Worth the trip! They say.” Henry traced a smiley face on the exterior of a box of microwave macaroni and cheese. The logo was a tiny bear with a lot of teeth; it was hard to tell if it was smiling or grimacing. “I have been told to keep myself busy and to not accept candy from any strange men.”
“Magical entity. Could it be Ronan?” Gansey asked anxiously.
“We just saw Ronan; they wouldn’t try to sell him without having him in hand, right? Could it be a demon?” Blue said.
Gansey frowned. “Surely no one would try to sell a demon.”
“Laumonier might,” Mr Gray said. He did not sound fond. “I don’t like the sound of ‘further pieces.’ Not when it is Laumonier.”
“What’s it sound like?” Gansey asked.
“Pillaging,” Henry answered for him. “What do you mean Ronan’s a magical entity? Is he a demon? Because this all makes sense if so.”
Neither Blue nor Gansey hurried to answer this question; the truth of Ronan was such an enormous and dangerous secret that neither of them was willing to play with it, even with someone they both liked as well as Henry.
“Not exactly,” Gansey said. “Mr Gray, what are you thinking about the idea of all of these people descending? Declan seemed worried.”
“These people are not the most innocent of folks,” the Gray Man said. “They come from all walks of life, and the only thing that they have in common is a certain opportunism and flexibility of morality. Unpredictable enough on their own, but put them together in a place with something they really want, and it’s hard to say what could happen. There’s a reason they were told not to bring their money with them. And if Greenmantle rears his head again to squabble with Laumonier? There’s bad blood between all of them and the Lynches.”
“Colin Greenmantle is dead,” Henry said in a very precise way. “He will not be rearing anywhere soon, and if he does, we’ll have bigger problems to consider.”
“He’s dead?” the Gray Man said sharply. “Who sa— wait.”
The Gray Man’s eyes were abruptly cast upward. It took Blue a moment to realize that he was looking at a convex mirror meant to prevent shoplifting. Whatever he saw in the mirror instantly transformed him into something abrupt and powerful.