I stopped. “That.”
By the subject’s white wig and the uniform he wore, the portrait had to be from around the eighteenth century. One of his hands rested on a parchment unrolled across on a tabletop, and the other was placed on his hip. Pinned to his military jacket was a gold badge of honor with a cross on top of a starburst, and a large ruby in the center.
I grasped my locket with Pip’s feather inside and chanted the spell to release the Chiavi. “Libero il Tesoro.” Release the treasure.
A gust of wind swirled around me, blowing Aetnae away.
Gasping, I turned away from the painting. “Aetnae?”
She was gone.
“Why have you called me only to ignore my entrance?” A man’s voice came from behind me.
I faced him. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my friend—”
He held up his hand to stop me. “I am the spirit of the Chiave you seek. Go on now. Remove my badge, but carefully, you understand. You aren’t to ruin the material.” He pushed out his chest and lifted his chin.
Oh gosh, someone thinks he’s special. I dropped my trench coat and worked to free the clasp with nervous fingers.
“Hurry. I haven’t all day, simple girl.”
Simple? Better than being a royal jerk like you. Of course, I would never say that to him. The dude was full-on scary.
The clasp finally opened, and I removed the badge.
He snapped around and pulled himself back into the portrait.
“Wait,” I said.
His eyes went to me as he placed his hand back on the table. When I didn’t continue right away, he snapped, “Out with it.”
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what the Chiave does? The other spirits had an entire spiel about what theirs did. You know, other than actually being one of the keys.”
“Must you annoy me?” A frown deepened the lines around his mouth as he settled back into his pose. “But since you asked, I’m obliged to tell you. It’s a shield, but don’t dally with it. The spell won’t last but a few minutes.”
I glanced down at the metal in my hand. It was a heavy badge. The arms of the cross were thin and widened at the ends, and the ruby was dull with age. “A shield? Will people be able to see me?” I glanced up. He had already frozen in the portrait. “You must’ve been a rude man when you were alive.”
A squeak came from behind me. If the library hadn’t been so quiet, I wouldn’t have heard it.
“Aetnae?” Rushing around the globes, I shoved the badge into the main pocket of my messenger bag. “Where are you?” I called.
Another squeak.
I stopped. My boot was just inches from Aetnae’s tiny body sprawled on the marble floor. Gingerly, I picked her up. She was unmoving in the palms of my hands. I sucked in a breath and tensed as if any movement would make her crumble.
Oh my God, she’s dead.
I gently poked her shoulder. “Aetnae?”
She groaned and pushed herself up into a sitting position. My muscles relaxed, and I expelled a breath. “Are you hurt?”
She brushed her tangled red hair from her face and stood. “No, but that was quite a ride.”
“Listen, I have to go to New York,” I said, placing her on top of one of the globes. “Will you be okay here?”
“Of course.” She inspected her wings. “Who do you suppose took care of me for the few hundred years I’ve been alive? I’ll give you a hint—me. But I should go with you. I’m tiny and make a good watch out.”
“A lookout?” I checked the time. “No. It’s a little after ten here. That means it’s around four in the afternoon in New York. The library’s still open. Someone will see you.”
“As if you won’t look suspicious with all that on.” She waved her hand at me.
“You’re right.” I searched for my trench coat.
Aetnae followed me, bouncing a little unsteadily on the air. The coat had been blown up against one of the globe stands. I snatched it, and a square piece of paper dropped from the pocket and floated to the floor.
“I’ve got it.” Obviously recovered, Aetnae zipped down and grabbed it. She flew it over to me. “Directions to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Is that where you’re going?”
“Yes,” I said, putting on my coat and tying the belt in a knot. I removed my helmet and shoved it in my bag.
“That bulky bag looks awfully suspicious,” Aetnae said.
She was right. The helmet bulged out as if I were hiding a volleyball inside. I removed it and placed it on the globe. I’d have to retrieve it later.
“Better?” I asked.
“Guess so. I don’t know why I can’t go with you. At least to the library.” The pout on her face made me smile. The kids I used to babysit would make the same one after I’d announced it was bedtime.
“Next time, okay?” I said, giving her a reassuring smile.
…
Since the New York Public Library was still open, I couldn’t collect the Chiave, not with a crowd around. So I decided to investigate Gian’s prayer card. But first, I had to do that thing for Jaran. Strolling down the middle aisle flanked by rows of desks, I looked for an unattended cell phone. Preferably belonging to someone immersed in a book or work. And one without a passcode.
The teens in the room never let go of their phones. They didn’t even glance up from them as I passed. Then I saw it. My target. A flip phone sat on the table beside a man with a beard, outdated clothes, and Birkenstocks. Perfect. The phone was ancient, and most of them didn’t require a password or a fingerprint. And definitely not face recognition.
I’d gotten good at phone snatching, but still my stomach shifted uneasily. What would I do if caught? I picked up an abandoned stack of books from one of the tables and headed for the man, pretending to stumble when I reached him. The books shot from my arms and tumbled onto the table and floor.
The man jumped in his seat.
“I’m so sorry.” I feigned embarrassment.
“You should watch where you’re going.” He didn’t say that very nicely before bending over to pick up the books on the floor.
I gathered the ones spilled over the table, along with the phone.
He stood and put the books in his hands on top of the stack in my arms.
“Thank you,” I said.
He grunted.
How rude. It’s not as if he knew I meant to toss all those books at him. Of course, I’d just borrowed his phone without asking, but he didn’t know that. And hopefully never would.
I abandoned the books on a table at the end of the row then searched for somewhere to use the phone. The bathroom was my best option, so I found one and went in.
An Italian-looking woman wearing gray plaid pants, a white shirt, and a red scarf came in after me. I ducked into a stall and didn’t come out until she left.
After pulling out the slip of paper Jaran had given me, I dialed the number on it.
Cole answered his cell on the first ring. “Hello,” he said, sounding anxious.