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April walked up to the bar just as the young man behind it was carefully placing a skewer threaded with a piece of dried orange on top of the cocktail he was crafting. “Be with you in a minute,” he mumbled without looking at her. She nodded acknowledgement and waited patiently while he picked up the drink and held it out toward a man in a light gray suit standing near the window with his back to the bar. April glimpsed the flagstone patio on the other side of the glass, as well thick branches of trees with brightly colored leaves and a sliver of a neatly manicured lawn. “Here you go, sir,” the bartender called out. The man didn’t respond, too absorbed with the conversation he was having on his phone. His voice was pitched low, but from the tone it appeared to be a pretty intense discussion. A museum staffer clutching a gray canvas basket to her chest stood against the wall a discrete distance away, her face a polite mask though her irritation showed in the impatient glances she flicked at the man on the phone. “Sir?” The bartender tried again. “Sir!” When the man still didn’t respond, he set the drink down with a frustrated grumble and turned to April. “What can I get you, Miss?”
“Glass of Chardonnay?” she said.
“You got it!” he said, pulling a glass down from the rack overhead and reaching underneath the bar for the wine bottle. His face fell when he saw the foil wrapped around the bottle’s neck. “Oh shoot. This isn’t open. And I don’t. . .” he muttered to himself as he swept his gaze over the workspace. “Corkscrew. Uhm.” Looking back up at April, expression pained, he said tentatively, “Do you mind waiting a minute?” She waved a hand to show it wasn’t a problem. He flashed her a grateful smile and hurried through a swinging door into the back room. April rested her elbow on the bar top and twisted around to face into the function hall. She’d use the time waiting for her drink to people watch.
The City Heritage Museum was preparing to open a new exhibit on the history and art of the small country of Andrismalate. Tonight was a special preview event for the museum’s major donors. April picked out several city officials and business leaders among the prominent public figures present for this cocktail reception preceding the tour of the exhibit halls. The event was technically closed to the media, but Channel 6 has been extended an invitation in recognition of its long-standing relationship with the museum. Burne Thompson had informed April the day before that he’d chosen her to go and represent the station. The centerpiece of the exhibit was an ancient artifact called the Sundered Cloud Sword. According to local legends, it had been a gift from the heavens to a young hero who’d used it drive an army of demons from the land. It was said the blade would never tarnish and could cut through anything without ever losing its edge.
“That’s so ridiculously absurd,” Donatello had scoffed when April told the turtles the story. “Gift from the heavens – what likely happened was some blacksmith ages ago forged the sword from a deposit of meteorite they’d found, then made all that other stuff up to make it seem more impressive.”
April was mostly inclined to agree with him but looking at the promotional materials for the exhibit, which all prominently featured a close-up photo of the design etched into the gilded metal on the sword’s guard — a long-tailed bird with its wings spread above a valley tucked between a pair of snowcapped mountains — she felt taken in by the romance of the tale.
Light laughter and snatches of conversation drew her attention toward the door to the function hall where a man in a finely tailored black suit stood talking with two women who looked so much alike April figured they must be sisters. Both had long glossy black hair that fell in loose waves to the middle of their backs, and both wore similar ruffled dresses she was sure cost more than her monthly rent – one a deep emerald green, the other a vibrant amethyst.
The woman in green leaned in close to the man and laid a slim hand on his arm. “So, what’re we drinking tonight?” she said with a dazzling smile.
“I uh, . . .” he said uncertainly. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Aw come on,” the woman in purple pouted. “You’re not serious.”
“Really, no. I don’t . . . “
“I know!” The other woman said. “What about if we can guess?”
“Uhmm. . .”
April laughed to herself. The poor guy seemed so thoroughly overwhelmed by the attention of two strikingly beautiful women. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but there was something so oddly endearing about the scene she just couldn’t help herself.
“Here you go, Miss,” the bartender said, placing a glass of wine on the bar beside her.
“Thanks,” April said distractedly. She fished a couple of bills out of her clutch and dropped them into the tip jar without looking away from the man and his two admirers. The sisters were now listing off names of cocktails. His eyes darted about as he continued to deflect, clearly growing even more flustered by their attention. April took a sip of her wine and studied him intently. There was something about him that that was nagging at her. Something about his posture, the timbre of his voice that seemed . . . familiar. She flicked a glance over at the man in the gray suit. He was still talking on the phone, still oblivious to the drink waiting for him on the bar top. Twisting to peer behind her, she saw the bartender had disappeared again. She didn’t know where he’d gone but had no doubt he’d be back soon. She’d have to move fast if she didn’t want to get caught. Snatching the cocktail off the bar, she strode purposefully over to the trio and thrust it toward the man. “Here you go, hon.”
She saw the flicker of confusion in his eyes, followed by recognition and understanding. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly, taking the glass from her. “Dear.”
“Sorry that took so long,” April said, subtly addressing the woman in the green dress who still had her hand on the man’s arm. “Bartender had to go find a corkscrew for my wine.” That part wasn’t a complete lie at least, since he had needed to go find something to open the bottle with.
“Ah that’s uhm. Quite all right,” he stammered.
The woman in green scowled at April and dropped her arm to her side. “Sorry,” she said coldly. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”
April smiled brightly. “No harm done.” The other woman sniffed and brushed past her. Her sister fell in beside her and the two stalked off toward the bar. April waited until she was sure they were out of earshot before looking up at the man. “Hi Shredder,” she said bluntly.
“Miss O’Neil,” he greeted her with a curt nod. “My thanks for swooping in to rescue me just now.”
“You looked like you needed it,” she admitted. He snorted a laugh but didn’t disagree. “Nice suit. Think this is the first time I’ve seen you in something a bit less. . . spiky.”
“Thank you,” he said, a genuine smile lighting his face. April had a passing thought it was a shame the mask he normally wore hid it from view. Then again, usually when Shredder was smiling it meant he was preparing to unleash some sort of mayhem on the City. He rolled his shoulders back, the confident, self-assured ninja April was familiar with settling back into place. “It’s stolen. But it fits well enough.”
“Hm.” April swept him with an appreciative gaze. Stolen or not, the suit fit him very well, accentuating his athletic physique quite nicely. Between that and the fact he appeared to be one of the very few people here without their significant other, it was no surprise those two women had attached themselves to him.
“You’re looking rather lovely yourself, this evening. First time I can recall seeing you in anything other than a yellow jumpsuit.”
April glanced down at the cocktail dress she’d dug out of the back of her closet. It was a simple design, the skirt falling to just below her knees with a little flair to hem. Nothing nearly as bold or glamorous as what other women here were wearing, but she wasn’t here to stand out. Just observe. “Thanks. Not stolen. I just don’t get to wear it all that often.”
“Hm. Pity,” he said quietly. “Navy is a good color on you.” April felt her cheeks warm. It was only fair, she told herself. She’d just been ogling him, so why shouldn’t he admire her right back? Besides, she knew she looked good. And she’d have been lying if she said the chance to wear this dress again wasn’t one of the reasons she’d been looking forward to this event. “You’ll be telling the turtles about my presence here, no doubt.”
“My Turtlecom is in Coat Check. In my jacket pocket,” she said begrudgingly. “Wasn’t expecting to need it. And we had to surrender our phones when we came in. Curators don’t want pictures of the artifacts in the collection to leak before the exhibit opens to the public.” April had handed over her phone reluctantly. This evening might have been a private affair, but she knew Burne would be expecting her to produce some sort of story about it. That was going to be difficult without something to take notes with. Her gaze slid unconsciously to the staffer with the basket on the other side of the room. She stood in the same spot against the wall, shooting more openly annoyed looks at the man in the gray suit who was still on the phone. If the broad gestures he was making with his other arm were any indication, the conversation he was having with the person on the other end had grown even more heated. “But,” she continued, flashing Shredder a cheery smile. “Since I just made myself your date, gives me an excuse to stick close and keep tabs on you.”
Shredder inclined his head in approval. “Well, well,” he said. “Here I thought I was supposed to be the villainous mastermind.”
“I’ve spent enough time with you over the years to pick up a thing or two.” Shredder grunted in agreement. “So, since we’re on the subject. What’re you doing here?”
“Don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I was merely here to show my appreciation for the arts?” April raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Didn’t think so,” he said with a grimace. “Very well. I’m here to steal something.”
“The Sundered Cloud Sword,” she said with a knowing smirk.
Shredder twisted to look through the doorway into the museum foyer where a huge banner with the name of the exhibit printed above a picture of the Sword hung on the side wall. “Hm, tempting. It is a gorgeous weapon.” He turned back to April. “But no. That’s not it.”
“Really?” April blinked. “A sword that can cut through anything? And you don’t want it?”
“I have enough swords.” He waved a dismissive hand. “And all that about being unbreakable and whatnot is just a myth. Only thing remarkable about that blade is the metalsmith used meteorite to forge it.”
“Donatello said something similar.”
Shredder’s lips twisted in distaste. “Yes. Well.” He didn’t continue, apparently deciding to keep the rest of whatever disparaging remark he wanted to say to himself.
“Well, if you’re not here for the Sword,” April fumbled, trying to remember any of the other pieces that had been mentioned in the press materials. “Then . . . what are you here for?”
“Now, now,” he chided. “I’m not going to just tell you my secret. You’re an investigative reporter, are you not? Why don’t you figure it out yourself?”
April grit her teeth. “Fine. I’m stuck with you for the rest of this event, so why not.”
“Oh? Thought I was the one stuck with you for the duration.”
“Two things can be true at once.”
“That they can,” he agreed somberly. April had the odd sense he wasn’t talking about their pretend date. He lifted his glass and peered at the cloudy amber liquid inside. “So what is this drink that you’ve obtained for me?”
“No idea.” April shrugged. “Just grabbed it off the bar.”
“Hm, guess I’m not the only thief here tonight,” he said, eyes glittering with amusement.
“You’re a bad influence on me,” she said sweetly.
Shredder laughed softly, clinked his glass against hers, and took a sip. “Mmm.” He nodded appreciatively. “Bourbon.” April swallowed a mouthful of wine to hide her surprise. She hadn’t really expected him actually drink the cocktail she’d brought him, never imagined him one to drink alcohol at all let alone often enough to identify the type by taste. “Those two could be a problem,” he said, gesturing at something with his glass.
April looked over at where he was pointing. The man in the gray suit had finally given up his phone and stood at the bar chatting with two sisters. Both women had brightly colored drinks in their hands and the bartender was busy mixing up another one, presumably for the gentleman. The woman in purple nudged the other with her elbow and jerked her chin in April’s direction. Her sister raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in challenge while using the thin black straw to slowly stir her drink.
“Eh.” April flicked her wrist. “Not all that worried about them.”
“That’s one thing I love about you, Miss O’Neil,” Shredder chuckled. “Fearless in the face of any threat.”
“Oh please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’d hardly consider a pair of rich, jealous snobs a threat.” Shredder made a sound in the back of his throat she couldn’t decipher and took another sip of his drink.
Static crackled from the speakers in the ceiling, then a woman’s voice cut through the hum of conversation in the hall. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I think we’re about ready to get started, so if you could all make your way over to me?”
April grinned up at Shredder. “C’mon, sweetie,” she said, twining her arm around his. “Event’s starting. Don’t want to miss any of it.”
“Lead the way, darling,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirked up in what she could almost believe was an affectionate smile. April pushed the thought aside, telling herself he was just leaning into the role they were playing, and drew him over to where the other guests were forming a semi-circle around a woman wearing a plain black dress and her dark hair pulled back into a sensible bun. She chose a spot near the middle of the crowd, making sure they were a distance from the sisters and the man in the gray suit.
The docent cast a warm, professional smile over the group. If she noticed there was one more person mixed in than the organizers planned for, she gave no sign. “Welcome, again,” she said. “And thank you all for coming this evening. This event could not have been possible without your generous contributions to the City Heritage Museum. My name is Hannah, and I’ll be your guide for tonight.” Hannah continued her opening remarks, explaining that this exhibit was the largest in the museum’s history with more than a thousand artifacts on display. “Most of the pieces are on loan from the Andrismalate National Museum,” she said. “Though there is a small handful that came from the Royal Family’s private collection.”
April leaned in close to Shredder and whispered, “Can you give me a hint?”
He studied her thoughtfully for a long moment, seemingly weighing how to answer. “A work of art.”
She snorted. “Gee. That was helpful.”
“Nobody ever said I had to make it easy for you.”
April rolled her eyes.
“And with that,” Hannah said cheerily. “I think we can begin our tour! As a reminder, there’s no food or drink in the exhibit halls, so please leave your glassware in here before meeting me out in the lobby.”
She took a step forward and the crowd parted to let her pass, then shuffled along slowly behind her toward the door, buying themselves time to finish their drinks. Shredder plucked April’s empty wine glass out of her hand and placed it along with his on the wide circular tray the staffers had set out while Hannah was talking. When the last few members of the tour group finally exited the function hall, Hannah set off at a brisk pace down the central corridor, leading them all deeper into the building. To accommodate the large number of items in the collection, she explained as they walked, the Museum had dedicated the entire first floor of the North Wing to housing the exhibit.
They turned a corner and passed through a set of double doors into a large room with portraits of important-looking people with somber expressions in simple frames on the walls. Hannah stopped in the middle of the polished wood floor and spun around to face the group. “This is the Hall of Portraits,” she said. “The first stop on our tour. You can probably guess how it got its name.” Polite laughter rippled through the room. Hannah raised her hands and dipped her head, acknowledging the lame joke, then shifted smoothly into an introduction to the artwork featured in the gallery, including a brief history of how art styles and techniques evolved over the centuries. At the end of her talk, she welcomed them all to spend a few minutes exploring the other rooms before they moved on.
April stuck close to Shredder as they wandered through the gallery, splitting her attention between admiring the paintings and covertly watching him for any subtle shift in his demeanor that could hint he was planning to steal one of them. He’d said he was after A work of art, and a painting was always the first thing that came to mind with that phrase. Maybe there was a map to some hidden treasure written on the back of one of the canvases. Or the formula for some super powerful rocket fuel. But as they passed all the many pictures of people, landscapes, animals, and flowers, he regarded each one with the same bland manner verging on boredom. April felt a little stab of frustration. Either he was exceptionally good at hiding his tells — entirely possible since as a ninja master he was skilled in the art of secrecy — or it wasn’t a painting he was interested in.
Hannah introduced the next gallery as the Hall of Clay and noted it was the largest collection in the exhibit. Just like in the Hall of Portraits, she shared some facts about the items in the adjoining rooms. April listened attentively, committing as much to memory as possible for potential use in her piece about the event. This would have been a lot easier if she had her phone, she thought again grimly. Hannah wrapped up her presentation and encouraged the group to explore the rest of the gallery. April looked for Shredder, intending to shadow him again, but when the group began breaking apart, he was nowhere in sight. He must have used Hannah’s talk as a distraction to slip away and steal the artefact he’d come for.
Cursing herself for losing track of him, April moved through the gallery as briskly as she could without drawing too much attention to herself. The chances of catching Shredder in the act were slim, she knew — he had too much of a head start – but maybe she could at least pin down what he had taken. What she would do with that information was another question, especially with her Turtlecom out of reach in Coat Check, but she’d worry about that later. She swept from room to room, gaze skimming over display cases containing jars of varying shapes and sizes, glazed bowls, figurines, and fragments of decorative tiles. Nothing appeared to be tampered with; nothing appeared to be missing. Her search grew more frantic as it went on, thoughts about what to do if she didn’t find anything racing through her mind.
Something in an alcove in the gallery’s final room caught her eye and brought her up short. Shredder stood in front of a case mounted on the wall, hands clasped behind his back, quietly contemplating the assortment of vases on the shelves inside. April grit her teeth and stormed over, readying herself to take him to task for disappearing on her. Shredder didn’t give any indication he was aware of her presence, even when she came to a stop beside him. She held back what she’d been preparing to say and studied him a moment. There was a softness around his eyes she’d never seen before, a whisper of a contented smile playing about his lips. It was the first time she could remember ever seeing him so at ease. Almost felt a shame to interrupt.
“Is it a vase?” she said lightly.
“Hm?” Shredder blinked his eyes back into focus and turned to her. “What?” April tipped her head toward the display case. He frowned in confusion for a beat before catching her meaning. “Oh. No,” he said, giving his head a tiny shake. “Although that one with the crane would look charming beside my Matsuda, I suppose. Balance out that row on the shelf, too.” April had to guess he was referring to another vase, and that Matsuda was the name of the artist. From the sounds of it, he had more than one vase – his own personal collection. It was just so . . . normal. In all the time they’d known each other, she’d never once considered the cruel, heartless villain she’d always imagined could also be a man capable of finding enjoyment in life’s simple pleasures. There were many things about Shredder, she was coming to understand, that she’d had no idea about. “No,” he went on. “What I’m here for is . . . functional. Rather than purely decorative.”
“Functional?” she repeated. “So, what? You’ve devised some new evil scheme, and this piece serves some pivotal part in it succeeding?”
“Yup.” He grinned. “Exactly.”
April frowned. “And yet it’s not the Sword.”
“My goodness, Miss O’Neil,” Shredder admonished. “The way you keep bringing up that sword, I’m starting to think you might be planning to steal it.” She glowered at him but he ignored her, attention fixed on something over her head. “Looks like we’re moving on.” April looked over her shoulder in time to see Hannah leading a large segment of their tour group into the next gallery. The corner of Shredder’s mouth was quirked up in a smirk when she turned back around. He swept his hand out, indicating for her to precede him. She narrowed her eyes in another scowl, then spun on her heel and stomped over to the door.
The Hall of Music was a smaller set of rooms with, as its name suggested, display cases containing a variety of musical instruments. April felt some of the tension in her shoulders release while she listened to Hannah describe Andrismalate musical styles and traditions. Whatever it was Shredder was looking for, she felt reasonably sure it wasn’t in this gallery. True, the instruments were all functional, but April doubted any of them would be useful in furthering his ambitions toward world domination. Though she did amuse herself by picturing Shredder, in his armor and cape, plucking out a tune on one of the stringed instruments balanced across his lap.
That feeling of ease stayed with her as the tour moved on to the Hall of Adornment to view the exhibition’s collection of jewelry and costume pieces. April listened politely to Hannah’s introduction, only dimly aware of someone coming up beside her until she felt an arm slip around her waist. She stiffened in surprise and snapped her head up. Shredder looked straight ahead, feigning interest in the docent’s talk.
“Your fan club is back,” he murmured, lips barely moving.
April made a soft sound of acknowledgement in the back of her throat and cast a discrete glance over her shoulder. The sisters from the cocktail reception were standing beside a display stand containing a wide necklace encrusted with polished gemstones. Neither of them was paying attention to Hannah; both were directing venomous glares at her. The reason for their hostility came clear a moment later – the man in the gray suit was nowhere in sight. April caught the devilish glint in Shredder’s eye when she returned her gaze to his. Her stomach twisted slightly reading his silent question. As much fun as it had been toying with the women earlier, she was here in an official capacity, representing Channel 6. April took her job very seriously, priding herself on always maintaining a professional demeanor even when dealing with the most challenging subjects. What he was proposing was so . . . unprofessional. She also didn’t want to even consider what the turtles would think if they found out. Then again, she’d seen many of the other guests holding their partner’s hand or displaying other outward signs of affection throughout the evening. And it was a closed event. She was the only member of the media present, and nobody else even knew who she was. There was no way it could get back to Burne, nor would she ever tell the turtles. So, what was the harm? Letting out a slow breath, she pushed the last of her reservations aside and leaned into Shredder’s embrace.
He kept his arm wrapped around her as they strolled through the rest of the gallery. April pressed herself into his side whenever they paused to admire the ornaments and robes in the display cases, even resting her head on his shoulder a few times. To the sisters and anyone else who cared to notice, they were the very picture of a romantic couple.
They stopped in front of a set of dress uniforms and April read the placard on the wall which said they’d been worn by high-ranking military officers when appearing before the royal court. “A new set of armor?” she said when an idea popped into her head.
“Do you think I need one?” Shredder asked, picking up on her meaning right away this time. She looked up at him thoughtfully and pretended to think it over. “No,” he said at last. “Not armor.”
“Hm.” April shrugged a shoulder and looked away. She hadn’t really thought that was what he was after, but she had hoped her prodding would prompt him to drop another hint. Though she supposed Not armor was a hint of sorts, just not what she’d been hoping for.
Hannah met the group at the door leading into the next gallery and explained they were about to enter the final stop on their tour. “The Hall of Combat,” she said. “Where we’ll see the exhibit’s collection of weapons and armor. Including the Sundered Cloud Sword.”
April heard a few mutterings of Finally and About time mixed in with the excited murmur rolling through the crowd. She set her jaw. Whatever artefact Shredder planned on stealing would to be in this gallery as well. All the pieces fit. She’d often admired the sleek elegance of the weapons Splinter had on display in the turtles’ training room in the lair; it was reasonable to believe Shredder would consider any one of them a Work of art. And after years spent learning to use those weapons, he would know that, beautiful as they were, they had been created to serve a specific purpose. He’d insisted he wasn’t interested in the Sundered Cloud Sword, but perhaps there was some other blade in the collection with its own notable history that had simply been lost to the passage of time. Shredder let her go as soon as they entered the gallery and pulled away from her side, leading April to believe her suspicions were correct.
She drifted along a few paces behind him as he meandered through the rooms. Occasionally he would stop and examine the decorative sword handles, or shields and spears, or huge axes that looked to April like they would require hands just to lift with interest before moving on. By the sly looks he kept shooting her, she knew he was enjoying their little game of cat and mouse.
He paused again in front of a cabinet displaying a set of knives made of a matte black metal and April slipped past him to pretend to be fascinated by a helmet with a large purple plume. The man in the gray suit, who had been admiring the polished breastplate on the pedestal behind them, turned around and stepped up beside Shredder.
“Boy, how’d you like to be stabbed by one of those?” the man said loudly. “Imagine? Someone coming up behind you and just.” He mimed a thrusting motion while making a whistling sound through his teeth.
Shredder looked him askance. “You wouldn’t be,” he said shortly. “These are meant to be thrown.”
The man regarded Shredder curiously. “You think so?”
“I do,” Shredder replied, then gave a matter-of-fact explanation about the shape of the blades and the way they fit into the handle. The man’s eyes were wide with wonder when he finished.
“Wow! You can tell all that just by looking?” He gave a low whistle. “You must really know your stuff.”
“Well, you might say I am a bit of a weaponry connoisseur,” Shredder said smugly. April swallowed a laugh at the understatement. “Traditional Japanese,” he added. “Mostly.”
“Ah.” The man nodded knowingly then said something in what April guessed might have been Japanese. Shredder’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he said something in reply she also couldn’t follow. “Yup.” The man nodded again a little too vigorously, making it obvious he hadn’t understood a single word either. “Yup, yup, exactly that. Uhm, if you’ll excuse me? I think that we’re . . . ” He turned abruptly, not bothering to finish his excuse, and nearly collided with April in his haste to get away. “Oof! Um, uh . . .” Muttering a few clumsy apologies, he hurried down the aisle and disappeared around the corner.
April watched him go and looked back at Shredder. He stood stiffly, jaw tightly clenched, staring at the spot the man vanished. “Aww, are you making new friends, Shredder?” she teased.
His eyes flashed with irritation. “That idiot,” he ground out. “Told me to Sing every day and chase the mean blues away.”
“Sounds like something you’d find in a fortune cookie.”
“Perhaps that’s where he ‘learned’ Japanese from,” Shredder grumbled.
“So what’d you say back to him?”
“An old proverb. Believe in English it translates roughly to You can’t fix stupid.”
“MmmHmm,” April said, struggling to keep a straight face. He would know the truth of that statement better than anyone given the notoriously dimwitted henchmutants in his service who routinely bungled his plans. Shredder must have caught on to what she was thinking because he made a face and lifted a hand in a helpless gesture.
“Okay, everyone,” Hannah’s voice came from somewhere near the back of the room. “If we could all come meet me over here?”
Shredder and April shared a look, then joined the flow of people heading to where Hannah stood waiting in front of an arched doorway. A red velvet rope was stretched across the opening, and she’d placed herself deliberately to block the view of anything in the room beyond. April spotted the man in the gray suit among the crowd. He’d evidently reconciled with the two sisters because he had one arm draped casually around the shoulders of the one in purple, the other curled around the waist of the one in green.
“All right,” Hannah said once everyone had assembled, an excited grin spread across her face. “I know this is what you’ve all been waiting for, so.” She pivoted to unhook one end of the velvet rope and stepped to the side. “If we want to head on in?”
The group filed past her into the small circular room and arranged themselves around the single display case covered by a shimmering purple cloth at its center. The mural painted on the chamber walls depicted the legend of the Sword. In the first panel, it floated before the humble hero in a shaft of sunlight that had broken through a bank of dark gray storm clouds; the center panels showed him charging alone at the horde of shadowy fanged monsters armed with pikes and clubs; in the final one, he held the Sword down by his side while surveying a valley filled with sunshine.
Hannah used a switch by the door to dim all the overhead lights except the one directly above the case, then squeezed her way through to grasp the cloth in both hands. “Are we ready?” she said, casting one last playful look at the expectant faces before pulling the covering away to reveal the Sundered Cloud Sword resting on the black velvet cushion.
Muted gasps of awe rolled through the room. All April could think, standing there transfixed by the gleaming gems and brightly polished metal of the guard and the flawless silver blade that seemed to glow faintly with its own inner light, was the photos on the posters and brochures didn’t do it justice.
“You’re right, Miss O’Neil,” she heard Shredder say very quietly. “That sword is exquisite. I may just have to come back for it after all.”
***
Hannah hadn’t been entirely truthful when she’d said the Hall of Combat was the last stop on their tour. After leaving the gallery, instead of leading the group back through the corridors to the museum’s front entrance, she took them out to the sculpture garden to view a statue of the hero on a rearing horse, Sword raised in challenge to invisible foes. Evening was setting in; the last of the day’s light was just a smudge on the horizon that was soon gone. Dark shadows blanketed the far edges of the property, and the air had taken on a crispness that had April wishing for her jacket as soon as she stepped outside.
“You’re awfully quiet, Miss O’Neil,” Shredder said as they walked along the stone path that looped around to the front of the front of the museum a short time later.
“Hm?” April had been so distracted planning out her story about the preview event she hadn’t noticed him keeping pace with her, or that they’d fallen to the back of the group. “Just . . . thinking through what to include in my piece about tonight. There’s just so much. It’s a . . . little overwhelming.”
“Really? I thought this evening was a private affair, no media coverage. Wasn’t that the reason you said they took your phone earlier?”
“Well, Burne didn’t actually assign it to me,” she admitted. “But I’ve worked for him long enough to anticipate what he’s going to ask.” Shredder grunted but made no other reply.
The pathway they were on ended at the patio outside the function hall. April could see several of the guests that had arrived before them through the window. She could tell by the glasses they held in their hands that the bar was still open. The event organizers must have guessed —or, more likely, knew from experience — that people would want another round of drinks to end the evening. A few of the couples were coming back out to the patio to enjoy their wine outside in the brisk Fall night. Shredder grasped April’s elbow gently and guided her over to the back corner, to a darkened patch beneath overhanging tree branches.
“Have to admit, I’m a little disappointed,” he said, perching on the edge of the low stone wall, evidently unconcerned about any dirt that might get onto his pants. Then again, the suit wasn’t his so why would he care? “You never figured out what I came here to steal.”
“Does it really matter?” April said. “You still lost.”
Shredder raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh? How do you figure that?”
“You’re still here,” she said with a wry smile. “Would have expected you to disappear as soon as you got your hands on . . . whatever it was . . . while everyone else was distracted by the tour. Since you didn’t, have to believe you never found it on display."
“Not true,” he said evenly. “I found what I wanted right at the very start of the evening.”
April’s smile faltered. “You did?” She dropped her gaze to the ground with a frown and thought back to the beginning of the tour. Had she been right after all? Was it a painting he was after? She tried to recall everything Shredder had looked at in the Hall of Portraits. The only thing she could remember him showing any real interest in early on was the vase with the crane, but that had been in the next galley over and he’d denied that was what he was after when she’d asked him. There was always the chance he’d been lying, of course, but she somehow didn’t think so. “But . . .” She said slowly, looking up at him again. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you just take it then? What were you waiting for?”
“The right moment.” All at once, his expression shifted. The teasing glint in his eyes turned sinister, the playful twist of his lips deepened into a wicked smile. April’s breath caught as the meaning of his deliberate phrasing suddenly became clear. The evening hadn’t started with the tour — it had started with the cocktail reception before it. Cold dread trickled down her spine. She knew what he was after, why he was here. Fighting back the surge of panic, she took a step backward. Shredder straightened and snaked an arm around her waist before she could retreat any further. April squirmed, heart hammering, gaze locked onto his. If she’d had any remaining doubts about his purpose tonight, they were shattered by his next words. “You are what I came here tonight to steal, Miss O’Neil.”