Page 22 of Alien's Luck
Poor, sweet gargoyle baby. He was so bad at this game.
“What’s the item?” she asked, turning to see where his gaze went.
“That is not important.”
“That is a bullshit answer, and you know it. Whatever it is, it’s hot enough that you don’t want to be caught holding it.” She drifted to a case that held a particularly blinged -out dagger. “This? Some ceremonial object that a cult is desperate to have returned? Oh, is it a murder cult?”
Her fingers brushed against the top of the case. His face remained as still as stone. Not the dagger, then. Shame, a murder cult sounded exciting.
“This?” Her fingers tapped the glass above a golden icon of a saintly spider painted on wood. The colors were lovely, like pulverized gems, but it was a spider. With a halo. With four hands pressed together in prayer, four eyes closed in holy meditation, and the other four open and judging. So very judgy.
No reaction from Ari.
Her eyes rose to the grotesque mask on the wall. It was right out of a horror movie, like someone peeled the face off a gargoyle and let it dry in the sun. The eyes were hollow, black, and sightless. No judgment there, only a haunting emptiness that was way worse.
Curious if the mask was leathery or clay, she reached for it.
“Do not. It is fragile,” Ari said.
Bingo.
“I can see why you want to get rid of this. It’s horrible.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, watching the mask. “The eyes are following me. Super creepy.”
“Do not taunt it,” Ari said, gently moving her away.
“Why? Is it cursed? It looks cursed.”
Ari now stood between her and the mask. It didn’t matter. Those hollow eyes were still watching her.
“It is the death mask of a notable ruler from my homeworld. The Duras government wants it returned.”
She could guess the rest of the story. Culturally significant, if creepy, relic. Government agents with a limitless budget want it back. “And you want this to be Tavat’s problem?”
“Precisely.”
Good. One question was answered. Now for the big one.
“How’d you get the treasure trove?” she asked.
“That is what you want to know?”
“I need to trust you, but right now, I’m assuming you’re in the habit of seducing wealthy widows and bumping them off, so yeah. Explain the obscene riches.”
“A friend found it.”
“Fuck off with that nonsense. How’d you really get the loot?”
“A friend found it,” he repeated. “It was the collection of a notorious prisoner warden. Miriam gave me her share if I would find Darla.”
“The mysterious Miriam and Darla,” she muttered. They were back to good deeds again. Maybe he really did have a hero complex—rescuing lost humans, returning artifacts, and all that jazz. “It seems like you got the better half of that bargain.”
“It was a trick. This,” he spread his arms wide to gesture to the room at large, “is a stone dragging me down. I cannot sell it easily or spend it. It is priceless and without useful value.”
Carla had a hard time believing that a room stuffed with treasure was a burden, but sure. Double-edged swords and all that. She didn’t like him, and she barely trusted him, but he was her best option.
For now.
She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”
