Say the words “bloated” and “tampons” to a man, and he dissolves. I smiled politely and returned to setting the tables.
The evening seemed to stretch out forever. My nerves were shot after the near thing with the guard in the hallway, and all I wanted to do was leave. But the tables seemed endless, and Jonathan Roth was true to his word—he made people set the same place over and over until they got it just right. As the hours ticked by, almost the entire catering staff became united by our shared hatred of the nasal-voiced banquet captain. When he turned his back to us, we commiserated with the time-honored tradition of pantomiming to each other motions of strangulations, of cutting throats, of legs kicking his butt. Middle fingers were raised. Eyes were rolled. I earned a lot of love by doing very precise imitations of the way he strutted, my face wearing the same pompous expression he had. And, like kids in a classroom, whenever he turned around to see what the giggling was all about, we were all intently busy with the cutlery, lips pursed in concentration. As the evening progressed, his armpits began to acquire matching sweat spots and he had to change shirts again. How many identical shirts did he have in there? Three? Four?
At a quarter past eleven, the final seat was arranged. Jonathan gave us a speech he presumably thought would be motivating. He told us to get a good night’s sleep, that there would be no room for mistakes tomorrow. Most of the staff stared at him numbly, his words meaning nothing. But I took them to heart. There really would be no room for mistakes tomorrow. When I broke into the vault, even the smallest mistake could be fatal.
Chapter Twenty
My school education had been sporadic, dotted with long stretches of absence over the years, but I still remembered what it was like to wake up on the morning of an important test. The eyes open, seemingly into another normal day, the brain still trying to rewire the pieces together, a layer of blissful ignorance. And then the realization hits you. It’s today—the math test, or English test, or whatever test. A test that could determine your future—scientist, or coal miner? Businesswoman or crazy bag woman? There is always a feeling of unpreparedness, and a sense that something will go wrong. You’ll be late for the bus, or won’t find the classroom, or you’ll have to pee in the middle of the test. An impending sense of doom.
When you wake up on the day of breaking into the vault of a dragon, it’s like that—only a hundred times worse. My gut felt as if I had swallowed a ten-pound barbell, and it dragged everything down with it. My mind began racing with all the things I still needed to do before tonight, and with all the possible things that could go wrong. These were endless, and all resulted in me and my friends dying horribly. I began wondering if there was a way to avoid it all. I half-convinced myself I could kidnap my daughter and fly to Mexico—not an ideal solution, sure, but better than being burned alive by a raging dragon, right?
Magnus pattered around me as I shuffled around in my bedroom, getting ready. Those who say that dogs can sense how we feel have never met Magnus. He was obliviously cheerful, nipped at my feet, tripped me twice, and was generally unhelpful. Finally, I grabbed the leash and left with him.
We reached the street that my daughter crossed on her way to school. We were a bit early, and walked back and forth several times as we waited for her to make an appearance, Magnus glancing at me with exasperation.
And there she was. The crushing weight of the day lifted momentarily as she skipped down the street, wearing her pink boots, a purple dress I was pretty sure was new, and a bead bracelet on her right wrist. She was talking to her adoptive mother, Jane, asking something over and over. But Jane was distracted by her phone, and didn’t answer. For a second I was outraged. How dare she ignore my daughter like that? It was her job to raise her! I would never have been busy on my phone while Tammi talked to me.
But of course, I had done far worse. I had given her away, and this woman had raised her to be a wonderful, happy child. And now I’d also let a dangerous gangster find out about her. In the better-mommy contest, I came last, and I probably didn’t even deserve a participation award.
As they went past, she hugged Jane’s leg tightly while Magnus stretched his leash, sniffing at them. I opened my mouth, trying to tell her it was fine. He didn’t bite. But nothing came out.
“Can she pet him?” Jane’s voice startled me.
“Uh… sure.” I looked at her and quickly glanced away before she noticed my eyes. “He doesn’t bite.”
“Want to pet the doggie, Tammi?”
My daughter glanced at her mom, and then at Magnus. Then she gave a hesitant nod, and stretched out one hand, the other one still hugging Jane’s leg. She touched Magnus’ head, and he wagged his tail and licked her fingers. She giggled, pulling her hand quickly back.
“I used to be afraid of dogs,” Jane told me. “When I was a child. I don’t want her to be the same.”
“You’re doing a good job,” I said hoarsely.
She smiled at me warmly. “Okay, come on, Tammi, let’s go. Say goodbye.”
My daughter stared up at me. “Goodbye,” she said shyly.
“Bye, Tammi.” I waved.
They walked away.
My daughter had talked to me. I called her by her name. I was overcome by waves of gratitude, and new strengths. I was ready to kick some dragon ass.
Or at least, sneakily break into his vault.
To keep away from Shade hunters, Harutaka was staying at the mansion we used for surveillance. We had decided to neglect mentioning that fact to anyone concerned. I called Kane, asking him to meet me there, to go over some final details before the job.
I took an Uber to the mansion, the driver mercifully quiet for the entire ride. He gave me a sly look as we got there, probably deciding that I was the owner’s current lover.
Harutaka sat in the dining room downstairs, his laptop on the table, the monitor’s light illuminating his face in an eerie neon blue. The room was dark, the blinds pulled down. I flicked the light on. He squinted and peered up at me. He had a pair of earphones in his ears, and he removed them, unplugging them from the computer.
“Lou!” he said. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“It’s nine in the morning.”
“It’s tomorrow already?”
I folded my arms. “You never went to sleep?”
“This security system is fascinating! So many different encryptions, so many loopholes and dead ends and small traps. It’s clearly the work of several different people, who weren’t allowed to see each other’s work. That way, no one has the lock to this strongbox. It’s a great way to avoid someone hacking from inside. But it also leaves tiny cracks and holes for someone like me to use.”
“So you hacked it, right?”