The Burning Page

He had a point. Irene locked down the rising panic that was her constant companion, the sense that every second she wasted was a second the Library couldn’t afford to lose. ‘Very well,’ she agreed, and tried not to sound too grudging about it.

A few minutes later, greased by the application of a lot of money, they had an address.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The delivery address was a warehouse in the East End of London. The cab had dropped them off a few streets away.

‘Zayanna is going to have a back exit,’ Irene said, repeating a point she’d already made several times in conversation in the cab. ‘And we know she has henchmen. Maybe even better-quality ones than Davey. We can’t risk letting her escape out the back while we come in the front. Or vice versa.’

‘What’s the roof like?’ Kai asked.

‘I wouldn’t trust any roofs in this area,’ Vale said. Now that they were about to swing into action, he seemed entirely his normal self, and Irene could almost persuade herself that the febrile edge in his eyes was her imagination. ‘Not without a chance to check them first. I don’t like Winters’ idea of us splitting up any better than you do, Strongrock, but it seems our best option.’

‘Then I’ll distract Zayanna,’ Kai suggested. He drew himself up, every inch the young prince and commander. ‘Irene would be much more effective getting in round the back and using the Language to open the locks.’

Irene had been wanting him to demonstrate his independence and decision-making ability. Just not right now. She didn’t need an argument at this moment. She had too many other balls in the air. ‘Kai, in case you didn’t notice, Zayanna doesn’t like you.’

‘So? She’s Fae. She’ll welcome a confrontation—’

‘I’m not talking about pandering to her love of drama,’ Irene said, thinking of the Fae fondness for declaring eternal enmity against a rival, then spending their lives plotting obsessively against such a target. ‘I’m trying to establish that she actually, genuinely doesn’t like you. I think she might even seriously try to kill you, if she sees you in the firing line. With me, she’ll want to talk first.’

‘And you want to talk to her, of course,’ Kai said coldly.

‘If you know any other method to get information out of her, then kindly tell me now and don’t waste my time being facetious,’ Irene snapped. ‘And a lock-pick will work just as well as the Language. You don’t need me to open locks.’ She considered saying, It’s three to one, since Vale and Singh had already agreed, but she didn’t want Kai being half-hearted about his side of the job. Also, it wasn’t a democracy. ‘Please be careful, gentlemen. If Zayanna’s expecting us, she may think we’ll use the back way as a matter of course and may have set up all her traps there accordingly.’

Vale nodded. Singh looked as if he was questioning exactly why he was there – and about to run into danger on her account – but he nodded, too. Kai finally made a reluctant noise of agreement.

‘Right.’ Irene checked her watch. ‘Ten minutes for you to get into position, then I go and knock on the door.’

A distant church clock was chiming five when she finally rapped on the warehouse side door. The skies above had begun to pale a little, but the fog still clung at street level.

There was no answer from inside the warehouse.

Irene stepped to one side and inspected the area in the way that Vale would have done. An arc of dirt on the pavement showed that the door had been opened recently, and the mark of twin wheel-tracks demonstrated that something heavy had been pushed or dragged in or out. It also suggested that Zayanna did indeed have minions in there, if this was her base. Zayanna was not the sort of person to push heavy trolleys herself.

She tested the handle, still standing to one side of the door. Locked. All right. This was manageable. ‘Warehouse door lock, open.’

It was quiet enough on the street at this hour of night that she could hear the tumblers in the lock click into place. She gave it a moment to see if anyone inside reacted, but there was no answering noise. Mentally crossing her fingers, she tugged the door open and peered into the room.

To her relief, there weren’t any shotguns or harpoons or axes, or whatever, wired up to the door. The room inside was an ordinary small office, an ether-lamp still burning on the wall in spite of the late hour, complete with chairs and desk. Another door in the far wall led further into the warehouse.

The thought of incriminating documents and invoices led Irene across to the desk, but she hesitated as she reached for the top drawer. For one thing, it was far too convenient a location for traps. And another thought had struck her. Why should the ether-lamp be on at this time of night? Either because someone had just been in here, or because someone – like Irene – was expected . . .

‘All right,’ she said, looking around. Her voice seemed too loud in the silent room. ‘Zayanna? I came to see you.’

For a long moment there was no answer, and Irene was able to consider all the ways in which she’d bollixed up the plan. Then Zayanna’s voice called from beyond the inner door, ‘In here, darling!’

Irene advanced cautiously, looking through into the room beyond. It was the heat that hit her first. The large space beyond the door, nearly one-third of the warehouse interior, was as warm as a greenhouse. Thick black cloth had been nailed up against the walls and across the ceiling, covering the windows and blocking draughts. Cages and terrariums stood at careful intervals, interspersed with large electrical-coil radiators and blazing ether-lamps. It all looked vastly unsafe. At the centre of the room were a couple of divans, with a small table between them.