Chapter 39

39

A fter a brief stop for Chloe to give them all fabricated passports and an even briefer stop at the border, they make their way through the labyrinthine skyscrapers of Toronto, to an unassuming condo in the near suburbs.

There's nothing to mark it as unusual, and it's so unprotected that Maison's extra uneasy.

"And, here we are," Gurlien says, after the third check over by both Maison and Chloe, searching for traps or guards or something, anything, and finding nothing. "She probably kept it unmarked so it wouldn't trigger any random scans."

It's…fine, in terms of condos in big cities. There's a bright blue tile backsplash behind the stove, and the ceilings arch up higher than practical. There's the same anti-dust rune, there's a collection of completely normal paperbacks from the last ten years in a bookcase and on the nightstand of one of the bedrooms, and a smattering of jackets in the hall closet.

There's less creeping exhaustion after this drive, more of a slight electricity among the four of them, as they convene back in the modest kitchen. The cat sniffs along the baseboards, tail held high, before meowing pitifully until Maison picks him up.

"Oh neat, there's actually pantry stuff," Chloe says, pulling out a jar of spaghetti sauce and some curly looking pasta, the sort found at too-fancy of restaurants. "I think she actually stayed here some."

"The safe is in the linen closet this time," Maison mentions, and Chloe immediately perks up. "No magical signature, nothing. Just a normal safe."

"On it," Chloe says, leaving the food out on the counter and the pantry wide open, dusting her hands on her overalls. "What type of safe?"

Maison shrugs at her as she passes by, already down the hall.

"She actually put paperwork in a file cabinet," Gurlien says idly, digging around under the counter and pulling out a copper pan. "Stuff she normally keeps in her safe, so maybe she thought this place was more secure than it is."

"See, that just makes me feel worse," Maison says, before leaning on the counter still holding the cat, casual in a way that makes Delina immediately doubt it. "There has to be some trap, something."

There's a muffled thump from the linen cabinet, before Chloe swears joyfully.

Gurlien rolls his eyes, testing the sink. It chugs for a few seconds, before it blasts out clear water, the faucet obviously unused for quite a bit. "Surprised the pipes didn't freeze," he says, filling up the pot. "We had to do some maintenance on the cabin before the water worked, and even then it would've been impossible without Chloe."

"This condo block probably goes for a million five each, they're not gonna let pipes freeze," Maison points out, as Delina pokes at the bookcase.

All the books are…completely normal. Bestsellers, mostly thrillers, some with pages folded over where her mother never finished it.

"How often did my mother visit Toronto?" Delina asks, letting her fingertips trail over the spines of the books.

"At least three times a year, sometimes more," Gurlien answers immediately. "Before Terese, even if she wasn't…accepted…she was still an expert."

"So some of the traps in the base might've been set by her?" Delina asks, squinting hard at the wood grains of the bookcase, like she can learn truths if she just stares long enough. "Or wards?"

Maison's jaw twitches. "Probably." Chance meows in his face, at the expression, and Maison lets the cat jump out of his arms and onto the sofa.

"They'd replace them after she died, almost certainly," Gurlien says, which eliminates that idea from Delina's mind. "Small chance there might be a few, only if they couldn't figure out how to write over them."

He sets the copper pot on the stove, and then his phone rings.

Delina and Maison stare blankly at him, as his brain obviously skips a beat at the sound.

"You kept your phone?" Maison asks, dipping his voice dangerously low.

"It's been off this entire time," he says, his brows furrowing together, digging it out of his pocket. "Only people around that would be if someone already held it and put a back door and…" He trails off, staring at it, then sighs. "It's Axel. Of course Alette probably put a back door."

Delina perks up, and Gurlien gingerly sets the phone on the counter, as it continues to ring.

"It's almost five AM," Delina points out. "Who would call you at five AM?"

"Would they rat us out?" Maison asks, still deadly low, and Gurlien's face twists, before shaking his head.

"They hate them more than we do."

Propping it up, Gurlien answers, flipping it to speakerphone.

"Axel?" he asks, crossing his arms, still standing at the stove. "Did you finally listen to my messages?"

There's a pop on the other end, and Maison flinches.

"No, but we got an alarm of someone at one of Dr. Frisse's old cabins yesterday," a voice filters through the phone, falsely jovial. "And apparently you were there as well."

Gurlien looks up, locks eyes with Maison. "So Terese is with you?"

"And you have a Half Demon and another Necromancer, you're keeping more secrets," the other voice says, clearly exasperated. "And the College tried to ask us about you, what are you doing?"

"What did you tell them?" Maison interrupts, and the other side goes silent for a long second at his voice.

"Obviously nothing," Axel responds. "What's going on?"

"I don't trust it," Maison says, loud enough that the other side of the phone has to have overheard. "How do you know…"

"Wait, if you've had Terese for however long and they're still calling her missing and dangerous?" Gurlien interrupts, like that's the important part here. "How…"

"Oh my god shut up," this time, a female voice, lightly accented, interrupts. "Gurlien, can you answer for once?"

Gurlien rubs his forehead. "Hi, Alette, we've been trying to call you for weeks." His eyes flicker over to Delina who's frozen at the bookcases. "Dr. Frisse's daughter is a Necromancer, she knows everything now, her boyfriend is a Half Demon and we're on a real misguided attempt to go free his mother from Toronto, any help?"

Silence on the other end, and Maison sighs.

"I've literally been trying to call for weeks to get some sort of necromancer advice," Gurlien says, and Chloe drifts back into the kitchen, her lock picks held loosely in her hands. "And apparently you two have been working with Terese? Or something? How?"

"She's not going to attack you," Axel replies, obviously grumpy, "drop it."

"Wait, Aunt Frisse's daughter?" the female voice asks, and it's so chaotic that Delina's head spins. "She was sealed away…"

"And now I'm not," Delina interrupts, and everyone falls silent. "Hi, cousin."

It turns out that Axel is absolutely not willing to risk actually going out and helping them, but Gurlien and Alette spend too long on the phone discussing distractions, techniques, switching between English and French with a fluidity that makes Delina's head spin.

Her cousin, an actual family member who knew her mother and was actually raised by her mother, and Delina can't actually think of the things to say to her, so she leaves Gurlien and Maison to it, flopping over on the bed in the other room.

Her own mother probably slept in the same bed she's now laying on.

Her own mother might've set some of the same traps they're going to break.

Chance follows her into the room, jumping on the bed and curling up next to her, already purring.

Delina lets herself have a brief existential crisis, laying there on a far too comfortable bed, before a polite knock on the door drags her out of it.

"Yeah?"

Chloe steps into the room, briefly letting in the sound of arguing in French, before shutting the door back behind her.

"Don't mind that, they don't like Gurlien, which makes him even more defensive and dickish than he already is," Chloe says cheerfully, then raises her hands to show a plain wooden box. "Want some defensive charms?"

Delina lets herself push up as Chloe sits cross legged next to her on the bed. "Is it going to attack me?"

"No, just a bunch of jewelry in the safe," Chloe replies, popping the plain, raw pine box open. "All normal looking, all charmed for simple protections. Nothing fancy, nothing intense, just give you a bit of an edge."

Delina glances inside—all the necklaces are neatly coiled, the rings polished, and even a diamond tennis bracelet perfectly in place.

"I thought I should give you first dibs as, you know, it's your mom's jewelry," Chloe says, voice hushing a bit. "It won't do too much, but something."

Delina tentatively touches the coils of the necklaces, letting her fingertips play over the rings.

"That one I know she wore a bunch," Chloe says. "It's in a lot of her press materials."

"Why?" Delina asks, plucking a ring from its spot. It's the most worn out of all of them, a few dings in the gold of the underside. There are a few stones, a bit small and too cloudy to be proper diamonds, but it fits neatly on Delina's hand. "Why would she need protection during press conferences?"

"I'm gonna go with paranoia as an option," Chloe remarks dryly. "And, you know, assassins."

Delina glances at it, holding it up to the light of the lamp by the side of the bed. It's a romantic idea that her mother may have left these to her that they fit so perfectly.

"Maison's probably gonna like a few additional charms," Delina remarks, and they're not her normal style, but she picks up the tennis bracelet as well, clipping it on her wrist. Those diamonds are of much better quality, glittering even in the lamp light, and Delina likes it less than the ring.

"The way I see it, any little bit is good," Chloe replies, her voice uncharacteristically grim. "It's your inheritance, but I think each of us should have at least one of these on us."

Delina nods, tossing her hair behind herself. "Obviously, I'm not gonna be stingy."

Chloe glances, then pokes around in the box, uncovering a pair of simple gold studs. "Here, these ones are good, they'll help bend any bullet slightly away."

Delina raises an eyebrow.

"Not all the way away, just, you know, less likely to hit an important organ, that sort of thing." Chloe nudges in the box, her eyes distant, like she can tell all the charms simply by the feel. "If I think I'm going to be trapped in there, I'm gonna run."

Delina doesn't need to be an expert to know what she's talking about.

"Gurlien and I have been going over it, I think we'll be okay, I know the way out, I should be okay, but…" she shrugs, one shoulder, poking at a simple necklace with a heart charm. "I'm not gonna be trapped."

"I get it," Delina says, and Chloe glances up at her, quick, then looks away. "Do what you need to do."

"Well," Chloe starts, then scowls, "there's something I want there, it's not just me helping you, and going in with a group gives me a better chance."

"Got it," Delina replies, and despite the serious conversation, a smile tugs at her lips.

"It should be on the way, it should be in the evidence lockers, they haven't moved it from there. I have trackers on it," Chloe continues. "It'll fit in my bag, it's not going to weigh us down or slow us too much."

Chloe pauses, like she's expecting a blow back or something from Delina, who's absolutely not going to give that to her.

"It's my old research," Chloe says, finally, after a too long of break. "I had some…string of spells, some information I was working on decoding, for something that…means a lot to me."

Considering how Chloe's not one for ascribing emotions too much besides cheerfulness, the statement is weighty.

"How can we help?" Delina asks, though curiosity burns her to ask more. "Anything in particular?"

"Oh thank god, Gurlien says I should give up on it, he's gonna be so grumpy you agreed," Chloe says, leaning back, relief slumping her shoulders. "Maison thinks it'll be no big deal, but Gurlien's convinced that it's gonna be a disaster if we take the time."

Delina plucks out the necklace, clips it on. "Honestly, you break into tombs, any research they have locked away from you is probably terrifying and really, really cool."

It surprises a smile out of Chloe, before she pokes around more in the box. "Mind if I give the guys some of your mom's old jewelry? Gurlien's gonna hate it."

Delina can recognize a conversation change when one's given to her. "Go ahead, it'll be funny."