6. Gwen

CHAPTER SIX

GWEN

" N ext in line, s'il vous pla?t."

A small stream of people in black-tie getups mingled and flowed toward the elevators. I smoothed down my dress and approached the concierge. "Gwen Fletcher."

"I want it known how foolish I believe this plan to be," Garrex's gravelly voice muttered in my ear.

I fought the urge to fidget with my earpiece and forced a smile at the concierge. She bent her head and punched in my name. A quick email explaining the pop-up nature of the event had been enough for Miriam to send in Whispering Relics' information with me acting as her auction surrogate, which sent Garrex into a spiral of objections and preparations that still raged two days and a walk into the swanky, high-rise lobby later.

"Ah, there you are, Ms. Fletcher." The concierge reached for a stamp and held out her hand expectantly. I offered my own, and she left a faint, white symbol stamped on my skin. "Please, enjoy your evening."

I breathed out slowly, careful not to let my relief show. I scanned the lobby as I sauntered through. A handful of people, strategically positioned seating and potted plants, clear views of the busy downtown street through streakless windows.

Nothing suspicious or dangerous.

I stopped in front of the elevators, shifting from foot to foot as I waited. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and muttered under my breath to Garrex, "You can always go find another witch to bond if you hate the plan so much. Otherwise, start with the serving."

"Stop fiddling with that thing," Garrex warned through the earpiece. "You'll draw attention."

I stiffened and glanced toward the windows. Where the hell was he?

"When you said you knew a way for us to stay in contact, I pictured something a little more... magical," I whispered, trying to keep my lips from moving. "Not some spy movie shenanigans."

Oh, that was too many syllables. Keep it simple, stupid. K-I-S-S.

Unbidden, the rock-solid arms of a particular gargoyle sprang to mind.

A low chuckle. "At a certain point, magic and technology become indistinguishable."

The elevator dinged, and I stepped inside. Two last minute hails to hold the door kept my smartass retort locked away. As the doors slid shut, I glimpsed our reflections in the polished brass. My fellow guests shared tight smiles as we hurtled through the building, but something about their images seemed... off.

Their skin had an odd, waxy sheen to it, almost translucent under the harsh elevator lights. And their eyes... I could've sworn I saw a flash of silver, there and gone in an instant. They weren't vampires—I knew that much now—but they definitely weren't fully human, either.

A chill ran down my spine as I realized just how out of my depth I truly was. What other creatures lurked in this world I was only beginning to understand?

The doors slid open to a massive penthouse entryway leading into a glittering ballroom. Crystal chandeliers threw fractals of light across the crowd, their diamonds winking like stars. The scent of champagne and money hung thick in the air.

"Oh my," I breathed, genuinely awed. "I think these chandeliers are modeled after ones made for the Titanic and Olympic."

Garrex's voice was tense. "Focus, Gwen. Remember why we're here."

Right. The well. The security guard outside the elevator shined a light on my hand. Properly stamped below, they waved me through.

I'd barely crossed the threshold past security when a server glided by, offering flutes of bubbly champagne. I snagged one, moving toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. "It's like being on top of the world," I said to no one in particular.

"The auction items are displayed in the east wing,"

A woman's voice, smooth as silk, cut through my reverie. I turned to find Ivy sashaying towards me, her emerald dress shimmering under the chandeliers.

"Ivy's approaching," Garrex's voice crackled in my ear, a beat too late.

I forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt. Why hadn't that protection spell worked? Garrex said they were bog standard and most everything with a bit of magic used them. "Still getting my bearings! Anything catch your fancy?"

"Oh, darling," Ivy purred, air-kissing both my cheeks. "There are all sorts of delectable things on display."

She snaked her arm around mine and steered me away from the window. Compared to her sparkling dress, my simple black number felt like a sparrow next to a peacock. Garrex wouldn't like the number of eyes that turned our way.

"Now, let's see..." Ivy scanned the crowd. "I believe they have a lovely French coronation crown alleged to have gone missing during the Reign of Terror. I'd stay away from that one, if I were you. Jewelry, of course. One can never have enough jewels. A Fabergé egg, though in great confidence, I confess that might be a fake."

I nodded, taking a sip of champagne to wash down the information.

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But I must warn you, keep your wits about you. Some wolves wear designer suits and... well, let's just say they have quite the appetite for fresh meat."

Before I could respond, a distinguished gentleman caught Ivy's attention. "Ah, there's Senator Sinclaire. Do excuse me, Gwen. Duty calls."

With a wink and a swish of her hips, she melted into the crowd.

"She's right," Garrex rumbled in my ear, sounding sour about the admission. He'd taken the lackluster protection spell even worse, pacing and wondering if magic had eroded even more since Cecily's time. "Stay alert. There's a man near a fountain who kept his focus on you when she took her leave."

My pulse pounded in my ears, but I resisted the urge to look for him. I made my way toward the east wing, pausing to study a particularly sloppy Rodin replica. "And where exactly are you that you can see all this?"

There was a pause, then, "Look out the north-facing window. Third gargoyle from the left."

My breath caught as I casually turned, pretending to admire the view. There, perched on a ledge high above the city, was a familiar stone figure. Even from this distance, I could make out the fierce set of his jaw, the powerful curve of his wings.

"Aren't you worried about cameras?" I asked.

Too loud, dammit. A woman in a vibrant jumpsuit and cape ensemble raised her eyebrows and quickly hurried away from me.

"Not the way you should be." There was a rustle of shadows as he spread his wings. "Creatures of magic naturally corrupt attempts to capture their images. I'd appear as a smudge or error in the footage."

"Show-off," I muttered, but couldn't keep the smile from my voice.

"Focus, witch," Garrex growled, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "We're here for a reason. A mob can all too easily be formed with human hysteria at its heart, so best to stay vigilant."

I snagged another flute of champagne from a passing server. I navigated the crowd, watching as men in tuxes and women in dazzling gowns checked out each item with varying levels of scrutiny. Here, a frown over some trinket. There, an approving nod at a delicate statuette.

I moved along, ignoring the artwork for now. According to the program, the first bidding block came after the appetizers were cleared, and featured mostly jewelry. Those were where I hoped to find one of Ivy's rumored wells.

"Garrex," I murmured, "why aren't you bonded with Ivy? She seems... knowledgeable."

Not an infant. Not prone to mistakes or fangs to the neck. He wouldn't have needed to cram a crash course on survival-comma-physical and survival-comma-magical into a twenty-minute lesson and then hoped his order to ‘stay put' stuck.

The silence stretched so long I thought the connection had cut out. Finally, Garrex spoke, his voice tight. "Sulien is the Lockwood witch's gargoyle. Has been for six generations."

"Sulien?" I frowned, scanning the ledges as if I might spot another stone guardian lurking in the shadows. "Wait, so there are other gargoyles?"

"Did you think I was the only one?" Amusement colored his tone. "Yes, there are others. Though not all of them are... pleased with me."

I wanted to press further, but the weight in his words held me back. That wasn't the conversation to have over earpiece while trying to blend in. He'd brood and deflect, I'd stick my foot in my mouth, and we'd be no closer to our goal once that hysterical mob got stirred up.

However fruitless that goal seemed.

Instead, I sipped my drink and asked, "So, how many of these fancy shindigs have you crashed over the centuries?"

His chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. "More than I care to count. Though I must say, the view's never been quite this... captivating."

Heat rose to my cheeks. Was he talking about the cityscape or...?

"You should circulate," he continued, his tone shifting back to business. "See what you can learn about the auction items."

Bolstered by his unexpected compliment, I made my way through the crowd. My eyes skimmed over antique vases and gilt-framed paintings, searching for anything that might be more than it appeared.

"See anything interesting yet?" Garrex's gravelly voice rumbled in my ear.

I suppressed a smile. "Just a lot of rich people pretending they know more about art than they do."

His low chuckle sent a shiver down my spine. "You'd be surprised how little that's changed over the centuries."

As I wandered through the throng, I caught snippets of conversation about stock portfolios and vacation homes in the Hamptons. I glanced at displays and spotted fakes from a mile away. The high-pitched laughter and clinking glasses blended into a background hum, and something prickled at the back of my neck.

My gaze landed on a large, tarnished silver locket resting on a bed of deep crimson velvet. Four other lockets surrounded it in similar presentation, their intricate designs almost begging for attention. None of them pulled at me like the tarnished one did. It seemed to echo to me, a tinny copy of a siren's call that promised secrets and stories locked away in its weathered metal.

Just not this metal.

I leaned in, pretending to study the intricate filigree work. "Garrex," I whispered, "I think I've found something."

"What do you sense?" He sounded alert.

I frowned, trying to put the feeling into words. "It's like... looking at a reflection in a funhouse mirror. Distorted. Wrong."

"A decoy?" Garrex growled. "But why?"

I stepped back from the case, scanning the room. The penthouse stretched out before me, a labyrinth of glittering guests and priceless artifacts. Somewhere in this maze of wealth and secrets, the true charm was waiting to be found.

"Ah, so you found my prize," Ivy said from my side.

The shudder of champagne was my only sign of surprise, but the other witch— other , look at me fully accepting my birthright—smirked at the rippling liquid, anyway.

"Absolutely not," I laughed and circled a finger around the obscenely large starting bid listed on the label. "That is roughly a year's salary. It's all yours."

Ivy cocked her head to the side, studying me with a cat-like intensity.

Before she could press further, a server appeared at my elbow with a tray of delicate hors d'oeuvres. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. I seized the opportunity, gesturing at the tray.

"Oh, these look divine," I said, plucking one from the tray. "I'm going to grab a bite and make another round of the displays before the bidding starts. Don't want to be distracted by hunger pangs during the auction, right?"

Ivy's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Of course, darling. Do enjoy yourself. We'll catch up later."

With a polite nod, I slipped away from Ivy. She strutted over to the table with the fakes, and I pretended to scan the crowd as I finished my champagne and the tiny savory.

I swept a look over the penthouse ballroom, noting the guards, exits, and displays. At least a dozen men with bulges that were just a bit too pronounced under their tuxedos patrolled the perimeter.

But the interior? Bathrooms were guarded by attendants and the appetites of guests proudly banished to the netherworld by freakishly productive waitstaff.

Wouldn't want to offend. Should anything go wrong, they had a bottleneck at the exits. Who could make an escape out of a high-rise window?

I weaved through the crowd, from tray to tray, using the hors d'oeuvres as cover for my true intentions. Each step away from Ivy felt like shedding a layer of tension, but I couldn't shake the feeling of her gaze boring into my back.

I dragged down a breath and let it out slowly. I needed to think. Ivy's information had been correct, but the locket wasn't what it seemed. A decoy could mean the real one was nearby, but the nature of old items could have the original sitting in a sock drawer on another continent.

A deep, insatiable need in my gut said to keep looking for the locket.

As soon as I made the decision to find it, something shifted inside me. It was like someone had flipped a switch, flooding my awareness and tugging me forward. I babbled small talk and excuses, snagged snacks, blended in as I hunted.

I let the feeling guide me. The pulse grew stronger as I approached a set of ornate double doors at the far end of the ballroom.

"Gwen," Garrex's voice crackled in my ear, tight with concern. "Where are you going?"

"I need to look around," I murmured, already moving away from the auction area.

"Gwen, no. That's a private living area." Garrex's voice was sharp. "It's too dangerous."

"Says the guy perched on a ledge hundreds of feet in the air."

"That's different. I can fly." He growled in my ear. "We should wait?—"

"For what?" I slipped past a velvet rope, my heart pounding as I entered the off-limits area. No alarms. No pounding feet. Just the thrum in the base of my skull calling me forward. "By then, it could be gone. Trust me, I can do this."

Garrex grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "stubborn witch," but he didn't argue further.

The opulence of the main room gave way to muted elegance. Thick carpet muffled my steps as I crept down the hall, my senses on high alert. The pull of magic thrummed through my veins, guiding me like an invisible thread.

My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of excitement and fear coursing through me. I wasn't too prideful to deny I loved Indiana Jones as a kid and longed for boulder-defying adventures of my own. Magical artifacts and art heists might have been my missed calling.

Never too late to live your dreams.

Portraits of stern-faced men and women lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow me as I moved. I passed several closed doors before I reached one that practically hummed with energy.

My hand hovered over the doorknob. This was it. I could feel it.

"Dammit, Gwen," Garrex's frustration was palpable. "At least open a window so I can get in there."

I complied, my fingers fumbling with the latch of a floor-to-ceiling window. The cool night air rushed in, and with it, the massive form of Garrex. His wings folded against his back as he landed silently beside me.

"You're impossibly reckless," he growled, but his eyes scanned the room for danger.

"It's here," I insisted, moving back to the door. "I can feel it."

The room was dark, lit only by the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. As my eyes adjusted, I realized I was in some kind of study. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a massive desk dominated the center of the room.

But more importantly, the tug kept calling me forward. A faint hum, like static electricity in the air. My skin prickled, and I knew without a doubt that the locket was here.

Together, we searched the room, our fingers tracing the edges of picture frames and feeling for hidden compartments. As I ran my hand along a sparse bookshelf, I felt a slight give. A soft click echoed through the room, and a section of the wall swung inward, revealing a hidden door.

"Holy shit," I breathed, stepping forward.

Garrex's hand on my arm stopped me. "Wait, look," he warned. "Wards."

I followed his gaze. If I looked right at it, the frame looked exactly as it should. But as soon as I turned to ask him what the hell he was on about, I caught a shimmer. Just in the corner of my eye, in a vague shape that swooped and marched up and down the wood.

"How do we get past that?" I asked, my earlier confidence wavering.

Garrex hovered his hand over on one side. "I can't break these, but you might. Put your hand here, with mine."

I did as he asked, our fingers almost touching. The magic crackled between us, and for a moment, I thought I could feel Garrex's heartbeat through the stone of his skin.

His voice lowered into a soothing tone. "Channel your energy. Place your hand over the shimmer and feel for the rhythm. It's like a heartbeat; once you find it, match its pace and then slowly siphon away its strength."

I closed my eyes, concentrating. It was like trying to move a mountain with my thoughts, but slowly, I felt the magic give way.

As the wards crumbled, the hidden door swung open with a soft click.

The room was small, but every inch radiated magic. Shelves lined the walls, laden with an eclectic array of artifacts. Daggers with jeweled hilts caught the dim light, their blades whispering of untold battles. Delicate vials filled with shimmering liquids promised miracles or mayhem. And the jewels... They glittered like captured stars, each one pulsing with its own unique energy.

I felt like a kid in a candy store, my fingers itching to touch everything. But the locket's call drowned out all other temptations. Its pull was stronger now, almost chiding me with its impatience.

"There," I breathed, spotting it nestled among a collection of seemingly ordinary trinkets.

The locket was beautiful in its simplicity. A plain silver oval, tarnished with age, hanging from a delicate chain. But as my fingers closed around it, I gasped. Power surged through me, the magic vibrating in my bones and making my eyeballs swim in their sockets.

This wasn't like the wells Ivy had on display. It wasn't like the bangle back at the Undercroft. It felt closer to the star charm. But distant. Like trying to yell across a raging waterfall.

Garrex froze, his head cocked to one side. "Someone's coming."

Panic flared in my chest. I clutched the locket to my chest, unwilling to leave it behind. "What do we do?"

In answer, he scooped me into his arms and strode toward the open window. The sound of footsteps in the hallway grew louder, accompanied by the jangle of keys.

"Hold on," Garrex growled.

I barely had time to wrap my arms around his neck before he launched us into the night air. The wind whipped past us, and for a heart-stopping moment, we were in freefall.

Then his wings snapped open, and with great, creaking booms, we soared into the night.