“And they expect to go through you?”
“I’m easier to talk to, and it’s no secret in our corner of the world that Athene and I have been hanging out in New England this past week.” She flutters her hand. “Immortal business. Point is, we were together, so they’re trying to get to her through me.”
She waggles the phone. “Mind if I reply?”
“Go ahead.”
Mercy: Okay, you’ve got Hermes/Mercury/Mercy. What’s up?
Msg: That is a poor try, Kennedy. Very poor indeed.
Mercy hits a few keys, switching to a Greek keyboard and types in a new message.
Msg: I know you also speak ancient Greek, Kennedy.
Mercy: And it seems you do not. Interesting. Allow me to translate.
Mercy: What power is attributed to me that is not mine, and who’s is it?
“Oh!” I say. “I know that one. Dream guide. Which is Vanessa’s.”
She smiles my way. “Nice.” Then she taps out a message.
Mercy: Nothing? Seems you’re not quite as tuned into the immortal world as you pretend to be. Interesting. Here’s let’s try another one. What is the significance of the year 1495?
I glance at Connolly, who only shrugs.
Mercy: Nothing? It’s the year those paintings were created.
I whisper. “They were painted in the seventies.”
She shakes her head and motions that she’ll explain later.
Mercy: The ones you have are fakes.
Msg: Are they? Ask Kennedy about that.
Mercy: Oh, she got the real curse. But not the actual curse. It’s a duplicate.
Msg: If you want to test the other paintings, deny my request for a meeting.
Mercy: ???
Msg: Oh, I think you know what I mean. I want a curse.
Mercy: Then find a curse weaver.
Msg: This one requires your very special talent.
Mercy: I have many talents. You’ll need to be more specific.
Msg: I want to salt the earth.
Mercy stiffens. I frown and reread the message. So does Connolly, but I can tell he’s not understanding it either.
Mercy: I don’t do that.
Msg: But you can.
Mercy: This conversation is over.
Msg: So you accept whatever happens when I find a new home for the next painting?
Mercy: Leave Kennedy alone, and I’ll pretend I don’t know who this is. I trusted you. You betrayed me, and I’m not sure why, but I’m willing to drop it. Just stop this bullshit and talk to me.
There’s no reply.
Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
“You know who’s behind this?” I say when it’s clear we aren’t getting a return message.
“When I first came in, Aiden was saying there’s a very small circle of people who could have done this. He’s correct. Whoever targeted you knew about my test, and that narrows the list to two people. One person, actually. One mortal anyway. Denny painted the picture.”
“Dionysus.”
“Right. And there is zero chance he’s pulling this crap. Also zero chance he told anyone about it. That leaves the other person, a mortal, someone I . . .” She bites her lip. “Someone I trusted. Well, trusted enough to put the painting up in that abandoned house. It didn’t exactly seem like a high-risk endeavor.”
She straightens. “It seems I was tricked, which is downright humiliating for a trickster.”
“Nah,” I say. “It’s because you are a trickster that you naturally attract others.”
“And in this case, I did know what I was getting. She’s a thief.”
“You’re the patron god of thieves. Which is how you got in my back door now and my front one earlier.”
“You really need decent locks. I’ll put in good ones later. Least I can do for everything you’ve gone through here.” She looks at Connolly. “Consider the situation resolved. I know who’s behind it, and as you could see, as soon as she got me on the line, she stopped targeting Kennedy.”
Mercy heads for the door.
“Hold on,” I say. “What’s this about the paintings being created five hundred years ago?”
“Long story. I’ll explain later. Oh, and if Athene shows up, tell her I have everything under control.” She glances over her shoulder. “Don’t tell her this isn’t about her. I’ll do that. I want to see her face.”
Another wave, and she’s out the door and gone.
I turn to Connolly. “What just happened?”
Before he can answer, his phone rings. When he sees who it is, he grimaces.
“Parents?” I say.
“Lawyer. Which is slightly better, but only slightly. I should take this.”
I’m about to head into the backroom when the bell jangles, and we motion to switch places. He goes into the back while I handle the customers, a small group of seniors making their way down the street, popping into every shop.
Three of the quartet are baffled by my shop. One doesn’t even know what a curse is beyond a “bad word.” Two kindly suggest that perhaps I don’t want to advertise the formerly cursed part. Then there’s the fourth, who thinks it’s fascinating and peppers me with questions and leaves the proud owner of a teapot that once bore an ex-hex guaranteeing cold and bitter tea. Her companions are confused—terribly confused—but they assure her it’s still a lovely china pot and still worth what she paid, and if this curse thing isn’t actually gone, they’re sure she could get a refund. I let them know that yes, all my sales come with a curse-free guarantee.
When I head into the backroom, Connolly is staring at the wall. Just staring and frowning, as if a spot suddenly appeared and he’s not sure what to do about it.
“Aiden?” I say.
He startles and tucks his phone into his pocket.
“I hope the lawyer news wasn’t bad,” I say.
“Not bad. Just . . . concerning. Or less concerning? I’m not sure. The good news is that we don’t need to worry about being arrested for theft. The state police have no record of the incident.”
“What?” I come into the back and shut the door. “You mean Platts and Grove didn’t file a report?”
“No, I mean the Massachusetts state police have no record of anything related to last night’s incident. No report was filed. No painting was recovered. No painting was ever reported stolen. While they have officers named Platts and Grove, they don’t match the descriptions I provided.”
“We were set up?” I sink back against the counter. “Okay, now I feel like a complete idiot for not even considering the possibility.”
“As do I. However, as my lawyer points out, they were driving a vehicle with state decals and lights. They were in uniform. They acted like police officers. We’d just bought a painting online, and therefore it made sense that it could be stolen goods. The fact that they caught up with us so quickly seemed odd, but we presumed it was a tip-off.”
His head snaps up. “You have a camera system for the shop, yes?”
“Uh . . .”
He frowns. “I’ve seen the cameras. It’s the model I suggested, yes? Motion-sensor feed in case of another break in.”
My cheeks heat. “Okay, so, um, I know my insurance policy requires a video camera, and I do plan to get it wired up, but I, uh, it was . . .”