Either one of his secrets could have gotten him killed.
The risk of discovery was too great now. He was jeopardizing all he cherished by remaining in Boston.
He’d almost chanced this visit to the museum a couple of nights ago, but he’d lost his nerve and instead skulked outside the building like a wraith. He’d barely gotten away without creating undue notice.
But he had to look upon his greatest, most precious secret one last time—an indulgence he had been careful to avoid at all costs for nearly a quarter century.
Now he was content. He had to be, because today he was leaving for good. He could only hope that his secrets—and the treasure he cherished most of all—would be safer for his absence.
Cass had placed his trust in an ally who had proven his loyalty through years of silence and sacrifice. That trust had been reaffirmed at their meeting a couple of days ago.
Another ally—this one across the globe—one who risked as much as Cass in aiding him, had agreed to look out for Cass’s interests once he’d fled for his permanent exile.
An exile that would begin now.
Resolved, Cass pulled up his collar to shield himself from the slanting rain as he ducked down a side alley.
That’s when he noticed them—the trio of dark figures that had fallen in behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder and his stomach went cold.
Atlantean soldiers.
The three immortals were disguised in pedestrian street clothes, much as he was. But their purposeful stride and menacing presence were unmistakable.
And beneath the long hem of one of their sodden trench coats, Cassian spied the glint of an Atlantean blade.
There was a time he might have turned around and faced this threat. A time when he would have fought it, even unarmed as he was now.
But today, he knew true fear.
Not for himself, but for the secrets he would die to protect.
Cass took off running, leading the legion guards as far away from the museum as he could, calling upon every ounce of his preternatural agility and speed.
The queen’s men were close behind him—too close. They zigged and zagged as he did, never losing sight of him for a second.
In minutes, Cass and his pursuers were in the city’s old North End. He hadn’t intended it, but his feet had carried him to the only home he’d truly known since coming to Boston.
La Notte was just ahead. Through the rain, Cass saw the back entrance of the club a few hundred yards in front of him.
The Atlantean guards had split up at some point.
Cassian lost track of one of them.
He didn’t see the assassin until it was too late.
The soldier from Selene’s royal court appeared out of nowhere, standing in front of him, long blade gleaming.
I’m dead, Cassian realized. It was over now.
He knew it, even before he felt the ice-cold kiss of Atlantean steel biting into the side of his neck.
“A toast,” Carys said, raising a glass of red wine across the table from Jordana at one of their favorite Italian restaurants in the city’s old North End. “To the exhibit grand opening. I know it’s going to be a huge success.”
“I hope so.” Jordana sighed and clinked her glass against her friend’s. “Did you check to make sure the placard on the French tapestry was corrected? And now I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have moved that display of Roman pottery from where we had it for the patrons’ reception. Do you think it should go back to its original place?”
Carys grinned and rolled her eyes. “It’s perfect, Jordana, all of it. You thought of everything. The exhibit couldn’t possibly be in better hands.”
“Thanks.” Jordana smiled at the compliment, but she couldn’t help being reminded of her odd visitor, Mr. Cassian, and the fact that he’d said something very similar to her.
Carys gave her a quizzical look. “Did I say something funny?”
“No, it’s just …” Jordana shook her head. “A man came in to view the exhibit this afternoon.”
Carys frowned. “Someone you know?”
“No, I’d never seen him before. He apparently just wandered in from the street.”
“But the exhibit doesn’t open to the public until tomorrow night,” Carys pointed out.
“That’s what I told him.” Jordana took a sip of her wine. “He didn’t seem bothered that we weren’t officially open yet.”
“Weird,” Carys said, twisting some pasta onto her fork. “What did he want?”
Jordana shrugged. “I suppose he wanted to look at the art. That’s what he said, anyway. We talked for a while about Italian sculptors and compared some of the pieces in the collection, then he left.”
Carys eyed her over the rim of her wineglass. “Like I said, weird.”
“He was … nice,” Jordana said, taking a bite of her scampi as she thought about the man and the short time she spent with him in the exhibit.
He was a stranger, a peculiar one at that, and yet she’d felt almost instantly at ease around him. Despite his oddness and his uninvited presence in the museum, she had felt comfortable with him; safe, in some indefinable way. And she would have enjoyed talking with him a bit longer, had he not left the museum without explanation as soon as she turned her back.
Vanished, more like it.
Maybe Carys was right, there was something weird about the man.
Jordana’s musing was interrupted when her friend’s comm unit pulsed on the edge of the table with an incoming call.
“It’s Aric.” There was a note of bitterness in Carys’s voice as she spoke her brother’s name. Her fingers hovered over the device for less than a second before she drew her hand back onto her lap with a shallow sigh. The comm unit buzzed again, but Carys remained still, her mouth pressed into a flat line.