A New Abode (closed)

[Nesrin Aziz]

She sat in the toilet cubicle, head in her hands. Her heart shuddered. There was good thrill and bad, and at the moment she was not enjoying this. As she’d made the journey on the rattling metro she’d had plenty of time for thinking, and she stewed endlessly over the question of how Lucien had contacted her on the wrong wallet. The most obvious answer was the one she wanted to entertain least: that tonight, the Archivist would be revealed as representing the Emissary, and the reason he had found her was because they had.

Her gifts hadn’t worked on the m'Antinomian's leader at the party – he’d walked away, despite how successfully she’d snared Wicked moments later. The problem wasn’t her, it was him – it was whatever the fuck he was under that mask. That was where the fear came from, because this time she didn’t have an Eddie to call on if things went to shit and she couldn’t protect herself from it. And all her instincts were twitching; they were telling her to flee.

So what were her other options? To listen to her gut, and cut and run? Foist the Key on Zar, make it an Asquith problem and beholden herself to the cult of his family all the deeper? Toss it in the trash and forget the whole thing ever happened?

She straightened, turned the simple tube over in her palm, twisting it around in her fingers. It was too hot to shift for profit now, she knew that even if it snarled up her insides with the missed opportunity. But the Emissary wasn’t getting his fucking hands on it, no matter how unintentionally she had ended up with it in the first place – that was for certain. Because where there was fear there was also anger, the same burning resentment she’d felt when she’d looked at the Jackal’s man, at the stone of his expression, and she’d immediately felt like a child again.

A bad idea occurred to her then; she knew what those felt like, when she was right at the edge of desperation and rashness competed with sense. It was a bad one because her heart raced in warning. One use, Lucien had said. Potentially anyway. And that was the final option wasn’t it?

To open it.

What did she have to lose at this point?

So she placed her fingers where the Archivist had shown them at the Reading. There was a moment of pressure, and then her hand jerked from the bolt of electricity that jumped into her skin. She dropped it in surprise, scrambled to catch it with her other hand before it hit the tiles. Fuck. She blinked rapidly, the pain enough to sting her eyes with sharp tears. The current had been so strong there were angry pink smudges on the ends of her fingers when she looked.

That answered that then.

In the bathroom she straightened herself in the mirror. Adjusted her collar, smoothed a hand over her hair. She breathed in her composure. Became the person she needed to be to survive.

The Archivist represented clients usually, and none had been mentioned in the message. Potentially this was a trap, and she prepared herself for the possibility. If it happened, she still had no idea what she’d do, and she hated not having a contingency. 

But this might also be her only chance to get rid of the Key and get something in return for it.

---

  
Nesrin & Lucien

“Ms Bode, I presume.”

The Archivist stood from his table to meet her, a small but politely warm smile on his lips. He wore another rich and impeccable suit, his hair neatly combed away from his face, the glasses perched on his nose. It shot her through with caution to have the pretence of her being Bode’s representative removed as a shield, but she supposed he had to call her something. Instead of answering she let her gaze roam their surroundings. It was a tiny bistro, fashionable and expensive she’d imagine – had it been open. The whole place had been closed off, even the staff dismissed. Just the discrete circle of the Archivist’s security, and none of them waited inside.

She wondered for the first who he really was, to be so assured in his wealth and power. Did he know the auction had been pulled? She didn’t know when it had happened – before or after the Archivist’s attempt to contact her with his offer. Was this initiative in the face of obstruction? Or did he simply not fear undercutting the Auctioneer?

“We are quite private here, I assure you,” he said, noting her unease. “I take such things very seriously.”

“How did you find me?”

He tilted his head, hands clasped at his front, and smiled a little. “I shall explain, of course. It’s probably not what you think. But first let me offer you an apology – my client sends no formal representative tonight, but be assured I am authorised to speak for them directly. This is unorthodox, and I hope it has not caused you undue concern. But it would be improper for them to be seen as, ah, indulging in such ventures as your auction. For you see tonight I am representing the Brotherhood.”

He shifted, outstretched one gloved hand to indicate a chair, which he presently moved to pull out from beneath the table for her. Nesrin lingered, in part because she was suddenly sure that if she didn’t he would be forced to remain standing himself. It seemed like old-world manners rather than dominance. And it didn’t seem he spoke a lie – there didn’t appear to be anyone else here, least of all the Emissary. Though she fancied she could see the neon X’s of the mask in the restaurant’s shadows. She knew that was just fear though.

After a moment she cloaked herself in the same confidence she’d wielded during the appointment at Manifesto, and took the seat. Her mind tangled around the prospect of the Brotherhood’s interest, admittedly more curious than she let on from her still expression. Now her immediate worries cleared away the calculation was bright in her chest. Lucien took the chair opposite, crossing his legs and lacing his hands on the table.

“What is the offer?” she asked.

“Knowledge, Ms Bode. The offer is knowledge in exchange for knowledge.”

She considered that with apparent detachment, but inside her heart was racing – not because of a bad decision this time, but in an invigorating anticipation. Even if the upcoming test proved her parentage it would not be enough on its own. A kernel of truth to boost the rumour of some mythical daughter’s existence in Moscow’s underworld, sure – that was exactly what she intended, and she’d use it ruthlessly, but not to reveal to anyone who she was. It wasn’t enough for her, to fill that foolish hole inside. She’d already begun scoping out the Sanctuary, knowing that even if blood proved Nikolai to be her father there were no secrets the Ascendancy kept about himself that would be given willingly, even to his own child. The worship was a farce, but the Brotherhood knew things. Or they claimed to.

“You want to know who you are, don’t you?”

She blinked in surprise, just when she thought she had control of the situation. The accusation unsettled her – too close to the line of her thoughts. “What do you mean by that, I want to know who I am?”

“You should know the Brotherhood would welcome you, Ms Bode. Many Seekers find their way to truth there, and they come from all manner of walks of life. If knowledge is truly what drives you, I think you would find much there to interest you. Consider it. There would be a certain amount of protection spared for one of their own, of course. I would be remiss in my brief to not at least attempt to entice you.” He made a slightly self-effacing gesture with his hands before they reclasped. There was no hard sell, but she felt the curling hook nonetheless. An invitation was just as good as infiltration – better sometimes. She watched him with consideration, and he did not pause for long waiting for the answer that did not come. It felt distinctly like he knew something he shouldn’t – the instinct itched at her and caution silenced her tongue as a result, but something in her manner intentionally softened.

“The formal offer made in exchange for your Key is the result of a Reading,” he continued. And then, while she was already dismissively wondering what on earth use that was to her, he gestured one elegant hand in her direction.

“Of me, you mean.” Nesrin caught the meaning quickly, warring with thrill at the prospect and actual terror for such exposure. She hadn’t assumed that was possible. Her overriding instinct was to refuse, and she shifted back in her chair, eyes large and wary. But she realised almost immediately the trap here: “You touched my hand already. At Manifesto, when you gave the Key back to me.”

He wasn’t offering to Read her now, he was offering to reveal what he already knew. And fuck but that was an entirely different thing. Her breath actually caught with how earnestly she felt it.

“I am not in the business of secrets," he assured her calmly. "I do not sell information, only share its wisdom with the original owner. You have no reason to fear me. In fact I do not like to read people, Ms Bode, and it is not widely known that my gift encompasses the flesh – a secret I entrust to you, as a gesture of good faith. This is not an ordinary offer, nor one you should take lightly.”

“And you somehow used that to find me?” she pressed – needing to know. Under the table her hands were both gripping around the Key now. She already knew her answer. She had to get rid of it anyway, but more than that, she wanted to know what he would tell her. The touch had been brief, and she knew from his previous explanation of his talent that it would limit what he could glean. But she wanted it anyway.

“I once Read an object that, when I touched you, revealed itself to be tied to your past, yes.”

She put the Key on the table between them, returned her hands to her lap, and Lucien smiled.