Page 24 of The Robin on the Oak Throne

They scaled the next gable, and then Graves opened a latched window, which led to another stairwell. He led them down a set of stairs and out onto the street, where the limo waited. She ducked inside with Graves close behind her, and George pulled away a moment later. She stared out the window as the rain picked up, relentlessly beating on the roof.

Kierse gave him the rundown of what had happenedwith Estelle on the drive. He was quiet throughout her story, but when she got to the riddle, he snarled out the word, “Sacrifice,” almost before she’d finished.

“Sacrificial lamb,” Kierse said.

“That’s not what you are.”

She waved him off. It wasn’t even worth debating.

He appeared irritated by her dismissal. What Estelle had said made perfect sense. She’d thought they were in this one together, but just like last time, he’d been after something else and had used her to get it. Classic Graves.

Not ten minutes later, the limo came to a stop again on a darkened street.

“Where are we?” Kierse asked.

“My place.”

Kierse stared up at the dark facade. “I thought it was being renovated.”

“We’ll have to make do.”

Kierse wanted to argue, but she was starting to feel the strain from the magic loss. Yeah, she’d stolen a few items while in that room—still had the ruby hair pin, in fact—but it hadn’t been enough to counteract all of Estelle’s magic. She needed to sleep for a good twelve hours, and if she was going to pass out, she needed to do it somewhere safe. She was mad about being Graves’s sacrificial lamb, but she didn’t think he’d let his prized thief come to further harm.

She followed him through the rain into another entryway and took the elevator to the top floor. When he’d said that his place was being renovated, she’d thought he’d been making it up, but the place was in disarray. White sheets on all the furniture. Nothing on any of the walls. No curtains framing the French doors. A giant ladder stoodsentinel in the center of the room along with paint supplies and construction equipment.

“Through here,” Graves said.

She tiptoed over the wreckage into a bedroom off of the main living area. Graves tugged a sheet off of a lamp and plugged it in, illuminating the space, which consisted of a king-size bed, set of dressers, and little else. The walls looked freshly painted, as if the bedroom reno had already been completed but they hadn’t bothered putting anything back into its rightful place.

The curtains had been cast open, revealing the most spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in all its glory. Rain splattered against the windowpane as Kierse stepped up to the double French doors.

“What a view.”

“That is why I kept this one,” Graves said.

He removed the cloth covering the four-poster. She glanced at the bed. Was there another? This couldn’t be the only bed in his whole apartment…could it? The place wasn’t large by Graves’s standards, but surely there wasn’tonlyone bed.

“I probably have a change of clothes for you.” Graves disappeared and came back a minute later with a wool sweater. “Everything else is in storage. The bathing chamber is through there.”

“Thanks.”

She took the sweater and followed where he’d pointed, finding a bathroom with a clawfoot tub and giant double vanity. She dropped her ruined dress to the floor and changed into the sweater, which reached to the tops of her thighs. She removed Estelle’s ruby pin before wringing the rainwater out of her hair. She braided it and used the pin tosecure the end.

When she returned, Graves had opened the envelope that Estelle had given her and was reading a small card.

“What is it?”

He glanced up and did a full double take as she stepped into the room. His eyes roamed up her bare legs, stopping at the point where the sweater hit her thighs, then up across the oversize thing to her face. He sucked in a sharp breath before returning to the paper.

He cleared his throat. “There’s to be an auction for the cauldron.”

“Where?” she asked, fighting a satisfied smile at his reaction to her.

He held it out for her. “New York.”

“Of course,” she whispered as she read through the letter she’d rightfully won. “‘Join me at the New Amsterdam Theatre Aerial Gardens for a production ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream. Dress to theme.’”

Graves waved his hand dismissively. “That’s all fine, but I’ve never even heard of the company who is hosting.”

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