Titanium (Amber trilogy Book 2) Page 17

  “Franco,” she whispered. Faey’s promesi was looking good for a dead guy. Only Faey had never claimed he was dead. She had just assumed it.

  Matteo gave her a sharp look. “You know him?”

  “I’ve seen him in a vision with Faey,” she admitted. It was only now that she realized Logan hadn’t reminded Faey of one of the Romanovs. Nope. With his tall build, blond strands of hair, and baby blues, Logan was a better-looking version of Franco.

  “Ignore him,” Matteo said, his tone harsh. “He is not worth the air he breathes, let alone your attentions.” At that, he grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and after one last withering look towards Franco, he split.

  “What’s up with him?” she asked surprised. He didn’t even comment on the unusual way she was dressed.

  Benedict threw back his drink. “Oh, well; boys will be boys.” He locked an arm through hers and walked into the main hall, every now and then jerking his chin at people.

  Amber smiled when she saw Namaka standing next to a group of women. He wore a green kimono with a red belt. His headphones were missing for a change. He was showing the women his sword, obviously beaming with pride.

  “That little lady next to Namaka, with all those pearls around her neck, is the right hand of the Oriental queen,” Benedict told her. “Every king or queen has one. Crassus’ is Matteo’s father.”

  She was surprised to see all the women wore the same color dresses and the men the same color ties. “They all wear something green,” she remarked. “Is this what you meant when you said people show their real colors during the auction?”

  “Very good,” Benedict said, leading her through the room. “Green is the color of their queen. Red is the color of Crassus. Marine represents the Sovereign, the phoenix leader the goblins follow, and who is locked up in the Catacombs. Purple stands for the African phoenixes, and yellow for that of our South American kin. You may spot some silver and gold here and there. Those are the smaller clans.”

  The color thing immediately made her question her own dress. “My dress is white instead of red,” she noted. Did this mean Crassus didn’t acknowledge her? And why did that notion even hurt?

  “In the phoenix culture, white is the symbol of being neutral,” Benedict explained. “Humans later on adopted the color as the color of peace and surrender. Crassus asked me to dress you in white to show that you are neutral in the upcoming Demillennium.”

  Aha. So she was like Switzerland. A part of her appreciated the thoughtfulness of it. Another part of her hadn’t forgotten that Crassus had tortured Drake. “Where is Crassus anyway?” Benedict had been right; she’d been nervous as hell at the thought of meeting him.

  “Probably having a meeting somewhere, plotting and planning, and counting how many of the present phoenixes he can count as his ally. The annual auction is more than an actual auction. It’s a lobby moment.”

  Benedict left the room, taking her into a large hallway. Both ends of the hallway had stone tables placed in them, making it look like a stage. There were artifacts placed on every table, ranging from paintings to statues, and everything in between. Some were placed behind glass. They passed by pots, urns, and jewelry. The jewels were placed on red satin cushions below the glass. Every fifty feet there were guards in black uniforms.

  When they neared a table with a wooden chest on it, Benedict stopped. He let her go and jumped on to the table, giving her his hand and pulling her with him.

  “Where’s the cushion for my crown?” she asked, when she was standing steady on her feet.

  “You are the cushion, pet.”

  She was speechless for a moment. “Are you seriously expecting me to stand here all night, modeling a crown?”

  “It was either this or standing at a podium in the main hall, being introduced as a new phoenix. I assumed you wouldn’t want to parade on a stage. I figured you would refuse, making Crassus lose face–something he has no experience with and something he would make you pay for. I’d hate to see you rot away in his dungeons for the foreseeable future.”

  “Why don’t you guys just use a folder?” she muttered.

  He gave her a look as if she’d just announced the Earth was flat. “A folder, she says. What would possibly be placed in said folder? As far as humans know, half of the auctioned artifacts here are in a museum somewhere. See that painting at the wall across us? That’s The Storm on the Sea of Galilee by the Dutch painter Rembrandt. It was stolen from a museum in Boston. To protect the painting, a phoenix bought it from the thieves. A folder with these artifacts in it would be like a black-market ad for stolen art.” He shook his head. “Sometimes you say the craziest things.”

  Well, then; that answered her question. It also meant she would keep standing on a table all evening. She plastered a smile on her face and kept smiling when a string of guests passed them. Most of them were phoenixes looking at her crown, but she saw some dryads and dragons as well. Benedict didn’t leave her side and she was actually having fun, striking poses with him, to show off the crown.

  After about an hour, a gong sounded. The row of people passing shrank down, until there were only phoenixes walking by. This time none of them showed any interest in the crown.

  A muscularly built phoenix with dreadlocks came over and put a scallop decorated with sapphires in her hand. Before she could ask him what it was for, he’d left. “Um, what am I supposed to do with this?”

  Benedict pointed at the wooden box on the corner on their table. “Just put it in there.”

  She’d just carefully placed the scallop in the box when another phoenix approached her, this time an Asian lady in a green dress. She carefully handed to Amber a sheer bag with what appeared to be marbles in it.

  “Pearls from China,” Benedict explained.

  “Thank you,” she muttered to the woman and then placed the bag into the box.

  More phoenixes followed after that. She received a silver knife, gold coins, and a really old-looking book. One by one she put them in the box. Every now and then Benedict nodded at someone.

  “Is this a down payment for the crown?” she asked.

  Benedict shook his head. “These are for you, pet. It’s tradition to give a new phoenix gifts. Also, you are the first half-blood phoenix in years, so somewhat of a curiosity. And on top of that you are Crassus’ daughter. The value of your welcome gift is a reflection on Crassus.”

  That piece of unwelcome information made her frown. “The more expensive the gift, the more people are sucking up to Crassus,” she guessed.

  “Pretty and smart.”

  A man with a potbelly walked by in a turban. He dropped a coin in the box and retreated hastily.

  “One gold coin?” Benedict sounded offended. “When Attila the Hun inflamed for the first time, the turban gave him sixty sheep and fifty horses. Bloody tightwad.”

  The unofficial gift ceremony continued another hour. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until a woman wearing a similar white dress–though hers was a simple cotton–appeared before them. Amber immediately recognized her as a dryad.

  “Shannon O’Hara,” Benedict greeted the woman. “How’s the whiskey-brewing going, love?”

  “Benny, you old fox. You should come over to Skye one day and taste it yourself.” Her eyes went over to Amber. “You should bring your friend with you, as I’ve told you before.”

  “Shannon…” Benedict’s voice held a warning, and Amber was starting to feel uncomfortable when the woman’s scrutinizing gaze roamed over her once more.

  “No, Benny. Someone has to tell her that her existence is against nature’s laws. Water and fire don’t mix. Not without destroying one another. Sooner or later she will destroy something or someone as well. You must keep her separated from the world until she has learned to control herself and–”

  “I already do,” Amber cut her off.

  “–she will be safe, which will be when she’s at least a century old,” Shannon continued, completely ignoring he
r. “Send her to Skye. We’ll keep an eye on her. It’s what her mother would have wanted.”

  “You knew my mum?”

  Shannon’s eyes narrowed. “It’s what any mother would want,” she claimed, which wasn’t really an answer. But she left before Amber could question her.

  Benedict patted her arm. “Ignore her. She’s always been a bit bonkers, if you know what I mean. Living up there in Skye, all secluded, has messed with her marbles.”

  All she could do was smile, because, really, how was she supposed to react to Benedict calling someone bonkers? Still, she was pondering Shannon’s words when another man stopped before them. A man she had seen before and she was really curious about.

  He gave her a diamond-studded necklace which looked really posh, as in red-carpet posh. “A beautiful jewel for a beautiful lady,” he said. “Franco David Grimaldi, Byzantium, during Justinian the Great,” he introduced himself. “Welcome into our clan, Amber Anne O’Neill Lancaster Crassus.”

  “You’re Faey’s promesi,” she blurted, still amazed that he was actually alive. Franco stiffened and she immediately regretted her words.

  His smile disappeared and he looked away. When he saw Matteo in the back, his brow furrowed, and he took off. Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.

  After a few more minutes, the endless row of people finally stopped. The gong sounded once more and everyone started leaving, walking towards the main hall where the auction would actually begin.

  “Franco didn’t seem happy when I mentioned Faey,” she told Benedict. “Are they having a fight? I feel like I’m missing something here.”

  “We are all missing something, pet.”

  “Such as?” she absently asked, her mind at Franco’s strange reaction. Matteo kept on telling her how important the connection between promesis was, but he’d never mentioned Franco. It was as if he were a ghost. Which, up until now, she hadn’t found weird at all, since she had believed that he was an actual ghost.

  Benedict scratched his chin. “I don’t know what I’m missing, which is actually the problem. It feels like a thousand ants are crawling on my brain when I try to remember. Some day it will drive me mad, I’m telling you.”

  Oh, no. She grabbed Benedict’s arm when his eyes started to turn red again. “You have to help me with these presents, Benedict. I have no idea what to do with them.” She blinked her eyes, looking as helpless as possible, trying to have him focus on her. Also, she really didn’t know what to do with the box filled with luxury items. It wasn’t like she had a lot of occasions to use any of them.

  Benedict shook his head and pulled out of the graveyard his mind must be. “You’re right. We should secure your box at a safe place before the auction starts.” He motioned to one of the guards standing by, giving him instructions.

  Before she could stop him, the guard had already traced away with her box. Of course, she couldn’t keep it. Accepting gifts from Crassus–even if it was in an indirect manner–was the same as accepting anything from the man himself. She wasn’t ready for that yet, if ever. Still, until that time there was no harm in keeping the gifts until she could return them to Crassus. It wasn’t as if she’d ever… Her breath hitched when an idea formed in her head.

  ***

  Drake turned down the glass of champagne the waiter offered him, though he could use a stiff drink after sharing a car with Elizabeth and Malcolm for an hour. Gregor had insisted that Drake would show his face during the annual phoenix auction. He had his own reasons to come… actually, one reason, to be exact.

  They stood in the hallway and he could finally get away from his toxic aunt.

  “I have my eyes on this marvelous painting of a hound. It’s from an exquisite Belgian painter,” Malcolm said. “Truly exquisite.”

  All Drake heard was ‘bladieblabla’. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could suffer Malcolm’s pompous ass. “Which way?” he asked Gregor. They were over an hour late, after having to wait on his aunt to get ready. You’d expect her to look better after an extra hour of prep time, but no. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked sleepy.

  “The stage where the auction will be held is in the hall on the left,” Malcolm answered. “Though I’m sure there is no use for you to be going there.” He chuckled. “You can’t make a bid without any money, now, can you? You can, however, go to the expo hall on the right, where the artifacts are shown. There’s nothing keeping you from window-shopping.” Another chuckle.

  Drake prayed for patience, telling himself it was probably frowned upon to slam his fist in Malcolm’s face. “I’m not here to make a bid.”

  “I should hope not. You don’t have any credit to partake in an auction,” Malcolm once again rubbed in. “All you have is your last name. If you should be so impudent as to make a bid, the bill would be sent to your grandfather. He would of course refuse to pay for it, and that would be embarrassing for all of us, now wouldn’t it?”

  Gregor cleared his throat. “Drake is a Kincaid now. It is widely known he will inherit the Dome soon, which means he does have a credit on his name with the auctioneers. So, should he choose to make a bid, he would not embarrass the family name.”

  Malcolm’s mouth tightened. “Does he now?”

  Drake couldn’t let the opportunity pass by to give Malcolm a pat on the shoulder. “Guess it has its perks to be an heir, dear Malcolm.” He spun around and turned to the right, straight into the hall with artifacts. It was mostly empty, because the auction would start any minute now.

  His eyes went to Amber; the most precious artifact in the room. Benedict was helping her off a table. He smiled when for a second she wobbled on her feet. His girl wasn’t the spiked-heels kind. She loved her sneakers. She wore a long white dress and a gold crown which was probably the object that would be auctioned.

  She looked like a dream. His dream.

  When he’d heard about the auction, he’d figured she would attend, and he could no longer stay away. It had killed him to have to leave her battered and bruised on the steps of the Oasis. But he’d known he had to take a step back, have some distance, before he said something he’d regret and couldn’t take back. He’d made so many mistakes, going with his guts, acting out, punching, kicking… killing. He didn’t–no, he couldn’t–be like that with her. She made him want to be a better version of himself, and he loved her for it. The past week without her had sucked.

  “I didn’t bring you here to moon over the O’Neill girl,” a voice next to his shoulder sounded. “You are here to represent the Kincaids.”

  He turned around to Gregor, almost having forgotten his presence. “Then maybe my grandfather should’ve come himself instead of sending me. I know nothing about phoenix politics, nor do I give a damn about it. Also, my aunt and Malcolm are here for that purpose, to mingle, discuss politics, and all that shit.”

  Gregor arched a brow. “You know just as well as I do that your grandfather and Crassus avoid each other as much as possible. Regarding your aunt, she isn’t Kincaid’s male heir, and just because Malcolm Fitch follows his wife around like a lapdog doesn’t make him a Kincaid.”

  Drake smiled at the image of Malcolm in fur. “Now you’re just insulting lapdogs.” His gaze returned to Amber. She still hadn’t noticed him, because she was busy carefully taking off her crown. Benedict took it from her and placed it on a cushion held up by a guard. “Why don’t you go ahead to the auction? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Gregor grumbled. “You are supposed to mingle, talk with our allies, anticipate who you can pull to our side. In just a few months the Demillennium will start in full force. The sovereign will be released and unleash hell on…”

  Drake walked away while Gregor was still yapping. There was only one phoenix he was interested in. The rest of them could rot away in the Catacombs for all he cared.

  “My toes are dying, Benedict,” he heard Amber complain. She sat on a bench, her legs crossed, rubbing a foot.

  “You k
now what they say about if you want to be pretty,” Benedict said.

  “She doesn’t need high heels to be pretty,” Drake said.

  Her head shot up. “Drake.” She looked somewhat taken aback, unsure of what to do, and started to rise.

  He gestured for her to remain seated and pointedly looked at Benedict. The phoenix gave a mock salute and left.

  “You look good in a suit,” she said softly. Her hand went to the tip of his red tie, and descended lower.

  He put his hand on hers. “If you don’t stop doing that, I’m gonna be touching you too. And once I start, I won’t be able to stop and do what I came here for.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered, pulling her hand away. Then, as if she were making a confession, she added, “I missed you.”

  Three simple words; a balm on his soul. “I know, love. Believe me, I know.” He took out the knife from his inside pocket and carefully put it in her hand. “When you told me you’ve had a vision about being buried alive, I wanted to take you away from here. I wanted to take you away and lock you up so no one could ever hurt you. My instincts were those of a dragon wanting to protect his treasure by hiding it, burying it, the irony of which isn’t lost on me. My instincts were wrong. The best way I can protect you is by encouraging you to protect yourself. This knife is made out of titanium. It’s the only weapon that can stop a phoenix. It kills them when you plunge it in their hearts. Not permanently, but long enough to make a break for it. I trust you, love. I trust you to lean on me when you need it and I trust you to take care of yourself.”

  He put his hand on her cheek and heard her breath catch. Her eyes held a hope and were asking him for forgiveness. What she had yet to learn was that there was nothing to forgive. His love for her was absolute. It didn’t leave any space for anger or resentment.

  He dropped his hand and walked away. The next step was hers to take.