Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Dieciocho

CAPíTULO DIECIOCHO

Mr. Sterling straightened and took a step inside the room, his presence seeming to take over the space, darkening the corners, dropping the temperature to a frightening chill. He wore his usual three-piece suit, dark trousers, matching jacket, and a vest that buttoned over the curve of his belly. I didn’t have to look at his shoes to know that they were polished to a shiny gleam. His outrageous mustache quivered in amusement as he took in our astonished expressions.

“I would not reach for your knife, Mr. Hayes,” said Mr. Sterling in his nasally voice, adjusting his spectacles. “In fact, why don’t you raise up your hands high for me?”

A muscle jumped in Whit’s jaw. His eyes flicked to the barrel of the pistol and then up to meet mine. He let me see his fury, twin blue flames. I knew what he was capable of, knew the kind of damage his hands could wreak.

But he would not risk me.

And slowly, deliberately, he raised his arms, palms in a tight fist.

“Young lady,” Mr. Sterling said, turning his attention to my sister, “if you’d please mimic our young hero, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Mr. Sterling had followed us here, presumably looking for clues to Mamá’s whereabouts. He’d take everything he could carry. Instinctively, I reached for the first shrunken object in my pocket and slipped it into my mouth. It seemed to be one of the tiny ink bottles I’d snatched from the bookshelf. Next, I reached into my other pocket and stuffed tiny pages underneath the collar of my dress.

“ Now , young lady,” Mr. Sterling repeated, thick brows pulled into a tight frown.

Isadora’s lips pinched. Mr. Sterling studied her, his brow drawn into a straight, perplexed line. He seemed to find her familiar but couldn’t quite place how he would know her.

“Have we met?” he asked finally.

Isadora shook her head, anger bleeding out of her like an open wound.

“You look like a lady, but as you’re in the company of a disgraced soldier and the daughter of my enemy, it’s highly likely that you’d have no qualms about shooting me in the face.”

My sister’s voice rang out, cool and confident. I was never more proud of her. “You would be correct.”

“ Hands ,” Mr. Sterling repeated.

Isadora raised them higher.

“Marvelous,” he said. “Now, Inez, I can see that you have many questions, but they’ll have to wait. What I’d like to do is collect what you’ve discovered… Ah, here they are,” he said, stepping aside to let several men inside. “I’d like everything boxed up.” Mr. Sterling’s thorough gaze missed nothing, roaming over the shelves, assessing the stacks of books and journals; all the while, his gun remained steady and aimed at the level of my heart. He would shoot me without hesitation. I was, as he said, the daughter of his enemy. An agent of his who had gone rogue. What better way to hurt my mother than to murder me? My throat went dry, and I suddenly wished I had never come to Egypt. Elvira would still be alive. I would have never fallen in love with a thief. Abdullah and Tío Ricardo wouldn’t be detained in prison. But if I hadn’t come… I would have never known that I had a sister.

My attention swerved to Isadora.

No matter the cost, my sister would leave this house alive. I would do anything to keep her safe.

“I suppose I owe you my gratitude,” Mr. Sterling said, as his men packed up the room. “I would have found Lourdes’s hiding place eventually, but it would have taken me longer without your assistance.”

“My assistance,” I repeated, speaking carefully around the bottle of ink under my tongue. “I haven’t helped you; I never would or will.”

Mr. Sterling stared at me, faintly smiling as a parent would to a willful child with foolish ideas. “I believe it was Henry James who said, ‘Never say you know the last word about any human heart.’ Inez, you are far too young to speak in absolutes.”

His admonishment chafed against my skin.

“I did not help you,” I said through gritted teeth.

Mr. Sterling smiled wider. “You led me straight here.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion, glancing quickly at Whit. His fury radiated off him in strong waves. “You’ve been following me?” I asked.

The repercussions slammed into me. Did he know where we stayed? Had he been at the bank?

That meant Mamá had eluded not only me and Whit, but Basil Sterling.

“Every step of the journey,” he said in his oily voice. “Now, I’d like everyone searched,” Mr. Sterling ordered. “No doubt you’ll find several things in miniature tucked in pockets and in their bags.”

I gaped at him. How would he have known about Mamá’s scarf? The answer came a second later. They worked together, and knowing my mother, she must have used the magic at some point when collecting artifacts.

The men advanced, three on Whit, and two on Isadora, and the last on me. He was tall, and his breath stank of tobacco. He forced me to empty my pockets, and he grabbed all of the little ink bottles and charcoal pencils and the single earring. Anger detonated inside me, potent enough to make me want to scream until I had nothing left.

“Why don’t you and I have a private chat?” Mr. Sterling said. With his free hand, he crooked his finger at me, and the other still maintained a firm grip on his weapon. “Hurry along, my dear.”

“I’m not your dear,” I said. “I’m not your anything.”

“Well,” Mr. Sterling said in a hard voice, “you’ve certainly been useful.”

I glanced at Whit, unsure of what to do. He was already watching me, his face hard, rage burning in his blue eyes, that wave of fury enveloping me tightly. Each of the men surrounding him had a gun pointed at him. My mouth went dry at the sight.

“That’s right,” Mr. Sterling said from the doorway. “If you don’t cooperate, your husband”—Whit let out a snarl—“won’t come out of this situation alive.”

I clenched my jaw and mouthed goodbye to my sister and then to Whit. No part of me had forgiven him for what he had done, but this wasn’t the farewell I thought we’d have. He regarded me silently, frustration etched in every taut line of his body. Then I turned and followed Mr. Sterling to the front of the house. As quietly as I could, I snuck the ink bottle from under my tongue and tucked it under the high collar of my dress. It was as big as a nib, and I barely felt it touching my skin.

That was at least one thing he couldn’t take from me.

Mr. Sterling led us to the little sitting room we had initially passed through when we entered the house. Somehow, he seemed to lord over whatever situation he was in. The memory of when he and I shared a cabin during the rattling train ride from Alexandria to Cairo still haunted me. He had condescendingly dismissed my every word, as if I were an ignorant nobody—or worse, an ignorant woman. To him, I was a grievous offense.

“Have you given any thought to our last conversation?”

His question robbed me of speech for several seconds. That he would honestly believe I’d consider his suggestion that we work together to find my mother was outrageous. There were one hundred other things I’d rather do, like, say, swallow one of Mr. Edison’s lightbulbs.

“I have not,” I said. “I’d rather never think of you at all.”

Mr. Sterling studied me in an assessing way. His eyes never drifted lower than my face, but I felt as if his perusal had left me dirty. Like he was looking into my soul to find anything that resembled his own black heart.

“My answer is no .” I folded my arms, my gaze flicking toward the pistol in his steady hand. “An emphatic no. I suppose now you’re going to threaten my companions again if I don’t cooperate,” I added bitterly. “It’s a weak and unimaginative human being who resorts to violence to get what they want.”

“And what would you suggest?” he asked softly.

“You only have to look backward to see that most people who governed by fear and malice didn’t last long in their position of influence,” I said. “They faced revolutions, rebellions, skirmishes, wars, and assassination attempts. But leaders who inspired their subjects were beloved and championed and protected.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Trust me that you will meet a disastrous end. I don’t agree with my mother on many things—maybe all things, actually—save for one. I understand why she double-crossed you.”

I thought my outburst would send him into a deranged fury, but he regarded me in cold, contemplative silence. “Something tells me,” he said finally, “that you will change your mind.”

“I’ll die first,” I seethed.

He eyed me in amusement. “You’re quite dramatic, aren’t you?”

Sometimes I could be, but right then, I had meant every word.

Mr. Sterling’s features twisted, and he hastily yanked a handkerchief from within his pocket and coughed loudly into it. The hand holding his pistol wavered, and I took a step toward the door, but then his coughing subsided, and he steadied the gun.

I froze, my gaze locked on the barrel of his weapon. My knees trembled, and I fought to keep myself upright. I had always thought of myself as brave, but after losing Elvira and seeing firsthand what this weapon could do, my terror gripped me by the throat.

I would never not be afraid of guns.

“Is that your final answer?” he asked.

Would he shoot me if I said yes? Time ticked by in tense seconds. I licked my dry lips and whispered, “I will not change my mind.”

Mr. Sterling stared at me for one long, measured beat. Question after question slammed into me. How long would it take me to reach the hallway? Would he aim for my heart?

Was this my last breath?

Mr. Sterling smiled faintly and then pointed to the room’s exit and said, “Let’s join the others. We have a lot of packing to do.”

I blinked at him in confusion, not understanding his words. And then realization dawned, and I let out a slow exhale. He wasn’t going to shoot me in this room. My brow furrowed. Then why bring me in here? Why pull me from the others?

“If you had agreed, I couldn’t have the others knowing,” Mr. Sterling said, reading my thoughts. He motioned for me to walk ahead of him, and I did, my shoulders tense, convinced that he was going to shoot me in the back. My movements were stiff, and I constantly looked over my shoulder to find the barrel of his gun pointed between my shoulder blades.

“I’m not going to pull the trigger,” he said from behind me, amusement lacing every syllable. “Think of the mess, and besides, you are an essential piece of my elaborate plan. You help me more than you could possibly fathom.”

A sharp chill pricked my spine. “What do you mean? How am I helping you?”

“Think it through,” he said, almost encouragingly.

Mr. Sterling had far-reaching hands and unlimited resources. He knew where we were staying, maybe even our room number. He could have learned about my aunt and cousin’s arrival. Perhaps he had a hand in Abdullah’s and Ricardo’s arrests.

The amount of catastrophe this man was capable of staggered me.

“Is there no one here you haven’t corrupted in some way?”

Mr. Sterling remained silent, but I sensed he enjoyed watching me squirm. I was nothing but a cog in the elaborate machine he was building to punish Mamá for what she had done to him.

Every awful thing always led back to my mother.

I wanted to be rid of her, to cut ties with her and forget how much she’d meant to me. Forget how many years I spent trying to be like her, trying to please her. It had all been a lie. She wanted me to be someone perfect, a girl with flawless manners who knew exactly how to behave and what to say.

The girl my mother never was.

It killed me to see Mr. Sterling’s men boxing up all of her possessions. Every single item was a potential clue, a way to find her. And he was taking that away from me. Whit and Isadora watched in helpless silence, forced to stand in the corner of the room, their hands up high over their heads. My sister’s arms were shaking from the effort.

It was enough to make me want to scream.

Whit met my gaze, his eyes drifting over me slowly, assuring himself I was all right. He raised an eyebrow, and I nodded imperceptibly. I put aside my frustration with him and concentrated on how we could all get out of this situation alive.

I didn’t want to lose either of them.

“The ring looks better on you than it ever did on me,” Mr. Sterling remarked casually.

I curled my hands into tight fists, my heart slamming against my ribs. This ring reminded me of Papá, and I didn’t want Mr. Sterling to touch it. I hated that he was studying it now.

“I promise you’ll always think of me when you look at it,” Mr. Sterling said shrewdly, once again reading my thoughts easily.

It unnerved me that I was unable to hide my feelings from him.

When they were done, the men carried everything out of the house in multiple trips. Then it was just the three of us in the bare room—even the furniture and rugs had been taken. Mr. Sterling and his companions aimed their pistols at us.

Whit took a half step in front of me, covering as much of me as he could. But it didn’t matter—the bullets would find the three of us no matter where we stood. There was nowhere to hide. Mr. Sterling had said he wouldn’t harm me, but I didn’t trust a word of what he said. If he had been telling the truth, I wouldn’t let him shoot Whit or Isadora—I’d scream and carry on as if it were the end of the world.

To me, it might as well have been.

Mr. Sterling pulled out a slim silver case from within his jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal one calling card, printed on thick speckled paper. “Please take one.”

He held out the case to me.

I eyed it warily. “The last time I took something from you, things didn’t end well for me.”

Mr. Sterling smiled, his lips twitching beneath his mustache. “When you change your mind, you only need to rub your thumb across my name. I have a matching calling card, made from the same magic-touched paper, and my name will glow from your call. I will come to the hotel as soon as possible.”

“I won’t use it,” I said.

He took the card and slipped it into the pocket of my skirt. “Possibly, but I will make you a promise, Se?orita Olivera. If I find your mother, I will use the card to let you know. I don’t think you’ll be able to resist coming to me then.”

With a dip of his chin, he and his companions walked out, as if leaving an elegant soiree. I turned to Whit and Isadora, reeling from the day’s events, but Whit abruptly went to the window. He unlocked it, yanked it open, and swung one leg over, then the other.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Meet me back at the hotel,” he said hurriedly. Then he walked out of sight without a look in my direction.

“How rude,” Isadora said disgustedly. “Would it kill him to have said please?”

I walked to the window and leaned out as far as I could. He was long gone, and I frowned into the darkness. He wouldn’t have left us here if he didn’t have good reason. Shrugging, I faced my sister.

Her expression was grim. “That was the man Mother betrayed, wasn’t it? Mr. Sterling?”

I nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“Pity I couldn’t shoot him,” she said with real regret.

I stared at her, her bloodthirsty comment at odds with her delicate features, softly rounded cheeks, wide blue eyes. “How many people have you killed, Isadora?”

“A few, along with that crocodile,” she said.

The memory of those obsidian eyes stalking me made me shiver, goose bumps flaring up and down my arms. Suddenly, I wanted to run from this dark, bare room. I wanted warmth and sunlight and to never look down the barrel of a pistol again. We had done a thorough search before Mr. Sterling’s arrival and with him taking everything of note, it was unlikely we’d find anything else.

“Shall we head back?” I patted the collar of my dress. “I have some things we need to go over.”

Isadora smiled, raising the hem of her skirt. She bent and retrieved folded-up pieces of paper tucked inside her shoe. “Excellent. So do I.”

We linked arms and together went out into the night. Isadora vented her frustration at losing so much material to parse through, and she comforted herself by coming up with a variety of insults aimed at Mr. Sterling. He was a vile toad in one breath, and an infected wart in another. But the whole way back, I barely listened, my mind dwelling on one disturbing question.

How did Mr. Sterling follow me all the way from Cairo without any of us noticing?

WHIT

I peered around the corner of the house, squinting in the dim light provided by the two gas lanterns illumining the street. The bastard traveled in style. He had come in a black-paneled, enclosed carriage outfitted with brass door handles, two lamps, and folded seating available in the back for extra passengers. His transportation could hold up to ten people easily. The horses fidgeted, restless. Even they looked expensive. The driver matched the transport—elegant dark clothing, polished shoes, long leather whip. Sterling climbed inside, saying something to his companions, but I was too far to hear whatever it was. They loaded all of the boxes they’d taken from Lourdes’s house, oblivious that they were being watched.

How do you like being followed, asshole?

It grated that I’d somehow missed his goons dogging our steps since Cairo. Except—there hadn’t been anyone suspicious on the train, nor at the train station when we’d first arrived in Alexandria.

I knew because I’d made sure to look.

So then how had he done it?

The answer would have to wait. I crept closer, running quietly, my knees bent, keeping as low to the ground as possible. My steps on the dirt path hardly made a sound as I drew near to the back of the carriage. The driver clicked his teeth, and as Sterling’s men climbed aboard the front to join the driver, the brougham lurched forward, and I lightly stepped onto the back bar, folded down the seat, and made myself comfortable.

We ambled through the city, navigating the streets with ease, crossing paths with travelers on foot, on donkeys, on horses. At last, we came to a nondescript section in Turkish Town, overlooking the eastern harbor. I took advantage of the road’s bumpy surface to hop off the seat. They continued on without me, but I followed at a distance, until they eventually stopped at a building that had a shop at the bottom floor and an apartment on the upper one. They all exited the transport quietly, Sterling’s guards looking up and down the street, before carting Lourdes’s belongings inside. I made sure none of them saw me as I drew closer, hiding in the alley directly opposite from Sterling’s headquarters. They were talking, and my ears strained to hear their conversation.

“Mr. Graves, I expected better from young Collins… Has he not…” Sterling said, the sea air snatching some of the words before I could hear them.

The man named Graves peered down the street, squinting. “Here he comes now.”

I crouched low to the ground, completely hidden in the shadows. A man drew near, shoulders hunched, cap sitting low on his head. He seemed to be dragging his feet, as if he already knew the outcome of the conversation he was about to have with his employer.

He didn’t see Graves pull out his revolver until the last second.

Shit .

“You led us to the wrong location,” Graves said in a mild tone. “If it weren’t for… we wouldn’t have found…”

The man held up his hands. They shook so violently, as if he stood on quicksand and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before the sand overtook him. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, eighteen at the most. “Honest mistake.”

Graves looked to Sterling, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

Sterling disappeared inside as the shot rent the air, cutting through the quiet night like the slash of a knife. Graves barked, “Throw him in the sea!” as the sound of surprised exclamations came from various directions. Windows were opened from neighboring buildings, and some people looked below at the scene. Many turned away, snapping the shutters closed. Given their reactions, Sterling having men murdered must have been a common occurrence.

The neighbors knew to stay out of his way.

My palm stung, and surprised, I glanced down to find that I had taken hold of a rock. Slowly, I set it onto the ground and wiped my sore hand on my trousers. I watched Graves orchestrate everyone’s departure. Some left on foot, others on horses. Only he and the carriage, the team of horses, and the driver remained.

Graves eyed the street, his gaze flickering from building to building. His attention fell on the alley where I crouched in the darkness.

I stayed absolutely still, my breaths steady and deep and silent. He couldn’t see me, but somehow it felt as if he were staring right at me. Then he turned, climbed inside the carriage, and gave the order to depart.

Still, I did not move, even as they turned off the street.

Finally, I slowly stood, my mind back on Sterling.

He was inside that building, probably not alone. I’d have to take care not to make a sound seeking entry. The exterior was exactly like the others, the upper level overhanging the narrow street, windows adorned with ornate casings and shutters. The stone blocks composing the walls would be easy to climb, with many footholds to gain purchase. Sterling had lit the lamp in one of the rooms, most likely his bedroom as he readied for sleep.

Briny sea air filled my lungs as I waited.

A half hour later, the windows went dark.

I found his office easily on the second floor, situated at the back of the house. Sterling’s snores drifting from the level below were loud enough to disguise any noise I made. I found a tray piled high with candlesticks and matches, and I lit one, my eyes adjusting to the light after a moment.

The room was a mess.

Stacks of books, bottles of liquor, maps. On his shelves were jars of various medicines and tinctures, shoe polish, what appeared to be different mustaches—long, short, in varying hair colors—several pairs of spectacles, bottles of tooth powder, boxes of matches, hats, empty vases, and jackets. Clearly, like Lourdes, he collected random objects that were magic touched. I peered around the room, gathering more information. Sterling wore cologne and liked his tea. Empty cups sat on nearly every available surface. He didn’t employ a maid. Curious.

He seemed to spend a lot of time in this room, reading, finishing getting ready for the day.

His men had dropped off the boxes filled with Lourdes’s things, and they were stacked high. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, exhaustion hitting me like a cannonball. I shoved it aside and got to work, hoping to find anything that was damning, anything I could leverage, anything that I could use to help Inez.

An hour passed, then two, the candle burning low, as I looked through every drawer, most of the boxes, and every sheet. I found nothing proving his criminal activities. He was a corrupt antiquities agent who had founded the most lucrative underground black market in Egypt. There had to be something here. A drawing of the gate. Past invitations with the date and time stamped on the bottom. Receipts of payments he’d received with every one of his sales.

Everything seemed to be in here, except for what I wanted to find the most.

There were no stolen artifacts. No talismans, not one amulet. Not even the fake kinds one can buy at markets geared toward the tourists.

My frustration mounting, I packed up one of the boxes to go through with Inez, opened the window, and then dropped it outside. I threw a leg over the railing and climbed down, my breathing slow and even. I reached the ground with no issue and bent to retrieve the box. While carrying some of Lourdes’s things to the hotel, something niggled at the back of my mind. I could picture that room exactly as I found it, every item laid out before me.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

But my gut told me I had seen something and missed its significance entirely.