Chapter 3 The Bodyguard in Chains

Detective Arthur Reyes had seen enough dead bodies to know when a crime scene was wrong.

The pawnshop was wrong in at least six different ways.

The front door had been forced shut from the inside. The display cases were shattered, yet the expensive merchandise remained untouched. A steel filing cabinet lay overturned in the back office, its surface marked by deep gouges that resembled claw wounds.

And the shop's owner was dead.

Reyes crouched beside Elias Vance's body, his expression unreadable.

"Who found him?"

"Me," Vane replied.

The detective looked up.

Vane sat on a chair near the counter, his hands folded together. His coat was stained with blood that wasn't his, and a shallow cut marked his palm.

"You live here?"

"No."

"You work here?"

"No."

"Then why were you here at this hour?"

"He's my father."

Reyes paused.

"I'm sorry."

Vane nodded once.

He had already answered the same questions three times. He had provided his identification, explained his relationship to the deceased, and described discovering the body.

He had omitted the ledger.

He had also omitted the creature that had dissolved into ash beneath a filing cabinet.

Some things were difficult to explain in a police statement.

Reyes stood.

"Your father was killed by something powerful enough to damage reinforced wood and steel. Yet nothing valuable was taken."

"That suggests the motive wasn't robbery."

"You sound remarkably calm."

"I'm trying to be useful."

"People usually don't describe their father's murder as a problem-solving exercise."

Vane looked at him.

"Would you prefer that I scream?"

Reyes studied him for another moment before turning away.

The detective wasn't stupid. Vane could see that in the way he examined the room, following the physical evidence rather than accepting the first convenient explanation.

That made him dangerous.

Reyes approached the rear office.

"These marks don't make sense," he muttered.

Vane said nothing.

The detective crouched beside the damaged cabinet and ran a gloved finger near one of the gouges.

"Something pulled against this steel from underneath."

"Perhaps the cabinet was damaged before the murder."

"Perhaps." Reyes straightened. "I'll need you to come down to the station tomorrow for a formal interview."

"Of course."

"And don't leave town."

Vane almost laughed.

He had no intention of leaving town.

Not until he found out who had murdered his father.

Reyes left after another hour of questions. When the police finally removed Elias's body, the shop seemed to shrink around Vane.

He stood alone behind the counter.

The ledger remained hidden beneath his coat.

He opened it.

A golden line appeared across the page, forming an arrow that pointed toward the rear wall.

Vane followed it to the old storage shelves.

The arrow shifted.

INHERITED ASSET DETECTED.

LOCATION: STORAGE UNIT 19-B.

STATUS: RESTRICTED.

Vane stared at the words.

His father had never mentioned a storage unit.

He checked the address printed beneath the message. It belonged to a commercial storage facility several streets from the river.

The ledger provided no further explanation.

Vane slipped it into his bag and locked the pawnshop.

By midnight, he was standing beneath the fluorescent lights of the storage facility, facing Unit 19-B.

The facility manager had been unusually accommodating after Vane showed him a key attached to the ledger's leather binding. The key had not been there when Vane first opened the book.

Now it sat in his palm, cold and heavy.

He inserted it into the lock.

The door rolled upward.

Inside was a narrow concrete chamber filled with rusted chains, strange metal instruments, and symbols painted across the walls. The air smelled of ozone and old blood.

Something hung from the ceiling.

A woman.

She was suspended several feet above the floor by chains wrapped around her wrists, ankles, and throat. Her dark clothing was torn in several places, revealing pale skin marked with silver scars.

Her head was bowed.

Vane stepped inside.

"Hello?"

No response.

He moved closer, careful to avoid the symbols painted beneath her feet.

The ledger began to vibrate.

INHERITED ASSET IDENTIFIED.

DESIGNATION: NYX.

CLASSIFICATION: FALLEN VALKYRIE.

CONTRACT STATUS: ACTIVE.

DEBT STATUS: UNPAID.

Vane looked from the page to the woman.

"Of course," he whispered. "Why would my father own a normal storage unit?"

The woman's head lifted.

Her eyes opened.

They were silver, bright and cold as moonlight on a blade.

"Who are you?"

"Vane Vance."

The chains rattled.

Her gaze moved to his face, then to the ledger in his hand.

"Elias's son."

"You knew my father."

"I knew enough to hate him."

Vane stopped several feet away.

"That's encouraging."

Nyx's lips curled.

"Release me."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

The chains tightened around her throat.

Her expression twisted with pain, but she didn't cry out.

"Release me," she repeated, "or I will tear out your heart when I get free."

Vane glanced at the ledger.

"You're listed as an inherited asset."

"I'm not an asset."

"Apparently, the book disagrees."

"The book is a prison wearing the appearance of an accounting tool."

That was the first genuinely useful thing she'd said.

Vane looked at the chains. Each link was engraved with tiny symbols that matched the writing in the ledger.

"What happens if I unlock them?"

Nyx smiled without warmth.

"You die."

"Direct. I appreciate that."

"You should be afraid."

"I've had a difficult evening."

For a moment, something almost like amusement flickered across her face.

Then it disappeared.

"Your father kept me here for centuries. He made promises he never intended to keep. If you possess even a fraction of his cruelty, you'll leave me where I am."

Vane looked at the chains again.

Centuries.

He wanted to dismiss the statement as delusion, but the ledger had already shown him a creature made of living shadow. His standards for the impossible had changed considerably.

He stepped toward the nearest chain.

Nyx pulled against her restraints.

"Don't touch it."

"Why?"

"Because the moment you break the wrong seal, the contract will transfer its punishment to you."

Vane froze.

The ledger's pages fluttered.

A final message appeared.

WARNING: CONTRACT BREACH MAY RESULT IN SUCCESSOR TERMINATION.

He slowly withdrew his hand.

Nyx watched him with a hatred so old it seemed to have become part of her.

"Now," she said, "will you let me go?"

Vane closed the ledger.

"No."

Her expression hardened.

He turned toward the entrance.

"If my father kept you here for centuries, you probably know something about his death. I'm going to find out what you know before I make any decisions."

"You arrogant little-"

Vane rolled the door halfway down.

Behind him, Nyx's chains began to shake.

"You'll regret this, Vane Vance!"

He paused.

Then the woman spoke again, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"They're coming for you."

Vane turned.

"Who?"

Nyx's silver eyes fixed on the entrance.

The distant sound of engines rolled across the facility.

"Everyone your father ever owed."