Watch, listen and learn, I reminded myself. Don’t engage.
That dictate had served the Council well for thousands of years. Why did it now feel so wrong?
Nigel coughed discreetly. “Herr Fuggeren, I should tell you that our host has been valiantly trying to capture your attention for the past ten seconds—”
We both shifted our focus to Odermatt, whose smile broadened as he caught our eye. The man did appear a little desperate, though that could have been due to the harpy next to him, who gripped a tumbler of what I assumed was vodka while she stared at us with accusing eyes.
“Madame LeGrieux,” Jarvis murmured, sounding only slightly put out. “You’ll excuse me. She can be so persistent. But I do look forward to speaking with you again.”
Nigel and I watched him slither away, and I gripped my clutch purse with perhaps a little more force than necessary. “Let’s get this over with.”
With my stalwart Brit standing at an angle to block me from prying eyes, I unsnapped the beaded bag and dipped my hand inside, riffling the deck of Tarot cards. I’d drawn the cards on hundreds of former occasions while competing against Nigel, of course, which made drawing three out now almost nostalgic. I frowned as I glanced at the first card. Maybe a little too nostalgic.
“Kids?” I asked. The Six of Cups was one of the few cards that featured children, and was all about focusing on memories of the past, fondness optional. “Are there children’s rooms in this mausoleum?”
Nigel frowned. “Not that I know of. What else could it mean?”
I ran through the gamut. “Events of your past, memories, nostalgia, childhood, children or teenagers, early schooling—like kindergarten and primary grades…” I blew out a breath. “Another option is any room given over to history, but that’s a little too on the nose. That’ll only be the starting point.”
His lips thinned. “Agreed. And the others?”
“Five of Swords and Lovers,” I said, scanning the cards before slipping them back into my clutch. “So you win, but you’re not happy about it, and…”
“Stop.” The word was clipped and frosty, and I glanced over at Nigel again. To my surprise, he looked a little ill.
“Lovers?” he prompted. “That’s not actually what it means, though, correct? It’s all about choices and trials and decisions?”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Usually. But sometimes it can point to a hookup too. Why? Who’d you bang?”
“Contain yourself. That was a long time ago.”
“Right.” Hello, Six of Cups. Before I could needle Nigel about his past indiscretions, he downed a good two-thirds of his scotch in one gulp, which, of course, required me to drain my own glass as quickly. I didn’t want him to feel left out.
Augustine Odermatt took to the microphone, welcoming his guests officially and getting right down to the apparent business of the night. “I know you all share in my excitement for the future and the opportunities which have long been awaited and are now finally coming to fruition.”
Nearly everyone around us was nodding and smiling, which made me feel like I had missed an email. Opportunities?
“But tonight is for celebration as well. It’s with utter delight I can share that my wife Marguerite has joined us after all, back a day early from her travels. We’re both thoroughly delighted to welcome you.”
Nigel may have hissed beside me, but it was buried in a spatter of polite applause. Augustine continued. “We look forward to greeting and speaking with each and every one of you as the evening progresses. Enjoy. My house is your house.”
Once again, I was particularly glad to hear this last part, and I strained up on my toes to see the wife the main guy was trotting out. As fair as Odermatt, she’d been expensively well preserved, pretty in the expected champagne-and-pearls kind of way, but not particularly interesting.
I glanced over at Nigel to get the story, only to realize he was no longer at my side. My eyes narrowed as I picked up his movement through the crowd, most of whom were now disbanding after Odermatt’s speech to return to drinking and name-dropping.
Nigel slipped among them gracefully, and I narrowed my eyes. I kind of doubted that he needed to use the restroom this quickly, so when he turned the corner and glanced my way, I headed out as well. He’d received a tip somehow. From Simon back at the Arcana Council? I didn’t think he was wired, but something had certainly set him off.
Moving as quickly as I could in my stifling dress, I entered the same hallway less than a minute later. Nigel was nowhere to be found, but there were several people milling through the wide corridor, admiring the artwork hung in heavy frames.
Fair enough. I was a fan of art as well. I meandered down the lushly carpeted hallway, peeking into rooms as I went. Each chamber was as opulently boring as the last—lots of silk wall hangings, plush coverlets, satin-lined overstuffed chairs on carved wooden legs. But no Nigel. What had lit a fire under his sensible British loafers?
I finally found him in a large brightly lit room that was clearly a showpiece of the mansion. Small groups were clustered around various cases or admiring tapestries, which shouted Old World Europe with their rich embroidery and florid scenes. Most of it seemed harmless enough, but where Nigel was standing off by himself, the tone of the room took a decidedly grim turn.
I approached, scanning the cases he was scowling at, then the reason for his chagrin clicked.
“Nazi gold,” I said. “A lot of it. Not advertised as such, but—Nazi gold all the same.”
Nigel nodded, tapping the glass. “Take a moment, then observe the picture next to the case, to the left.”
I did as he asked, only to tighten my jaw. It was a gorgeous oil painting full of explosions and fiery absolution, a turbulent ocean and clear blue sky marred with plumes of smoke and maritime destruction.
“That’s Pearl Harbor. Right? Has to be.”
Nigel lifted his head, surveying the painting with a dispassion I couldn’t quite manage. “The battle that brought the United States officially into World War II, yes,” he observed. “A battle that arguably was a success and a failure at the same time.”
I blinked, but he was right. “Five of Swords,” I said. “The second card. How did you make the connection? Have you been here before?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Once, some time ago. Briefly. I didn’t think it was pertinent to mention.”
I cocked a brow. “Maybe you could go ahead and mention it now?”
He waved me off with chilly British disdain. “It was a long time ago.”
“So you’ve already said. Like the Six of Cups long time ago? Because, lookie here, the Five of Swords.” I jabbed my finger at the painting of Pearl Harbor. “Which leaves the Lovers. I know you’ve got a theory on that too, or you wouldn’t be doing that thing with your face. What is it?”
Nigel thinned his lips, and I knew I was on to something. While he set about unbunching his British sensibilities, I surveyed the room. We were searching for multiple uranium cubes, each the size of a fist. Nonradioactive, they’d be worth no more than your average paperweight except for their history as propaganda. All we had to do was get the cubes off property without anyone knowing we were the ones who’d lifted the things. From there, the Council could arrange transport.