“He needs Post-its?” Agnes spoke up. She sounded perkier than she had when I arrived. “What color and size?”
Bizbee poked his head out of the pouch, fuzzy antennae bobbing and his beady black eyes bright with excitement. “What have ye got, kind woman?”
I followed Agnes to another desk set in the corner that I assumed was hers, standing close enough so Bizbee could hop out of the pouch. He dragged the file out with him, hefting it impatiently in my direction before bouncing across the desk. As I accepted the file, I noticed a Post-it on the desk in the top left-hand corner. The Post-it had two names: Agnes Finch and Jim Givens. At the top it read “People I Respect.”
“Your list of people you respect is a Post-it?” I asked.
Agnes gave me a stern look over the top of her glasses as she opened a drawer filled from top to bottom with a large variety of colored paper squares. “When I need something bigger, I’ll get something bigger.”
“Anyway,” I said, turning back to Jim. I opened the folder and pulled out the picture of the cup. “This is the chalice in question.” I took out my cell phone and called up the picture I’d taken earlier. “This is what it would have looked like after the glamour was removed.”
Jim was still staring at Peasblossom. I winced and reached out to pluck her off his necklace, ignoring her yelp of protest. The wizard gave me a look I couldn’t quite read, then looked at the picture. He frowned, then took the picture closer to the fire, tilting it to get more light. It wasn’t until the glow hit his face that I noticed the scar that went from his right temple down to his jawline. “Oh, I remember this. Unseelie, ritual chalice, part of a set.”
“Did you sense any magic from the chalice?” I asked.
Jim shook his head. “That’s not how it works.” He tapped the paper. “This chalice doesn’t have any inherent magic. It would have been used with the rest of the set to conduct magic.”
“So it would have been used to pass power from one person to another?” Andy asked.
“Sort of. Basically, this set was designed to make someone part of a family’s bloodline in terms of hereditary power,” Jim clarified.
“Morgan said it was probably used as part of an adoption ceremony,” I said.
“It would have been used in the case of adoption, yes. The adopting family would serve the new member a meal using the items. The runes etched into the artifacts would tap into the server’s bloodline, and the magic of that bloodline would infuse the items with all the magic available in the server’s gene pool. After eating and drinking the meal, the one being served would ‘inherit’ some part of the server’s magic, as if they were a blood descendant.”
“So it doesn’t take magic away from the server?” I asked.
“No. The server would have as much magic as they did before. And there’s also no means of telling what power from the bloodline the person being served might inherit, though some with a fine understanding of magic and genetics might be able to make an educated guess.”
I bit my lip. “Another part of the set, a bowl, was stolen. Do you think if Marilyn let you examine the chalice again, you might be able to use it to locate the bowl?”
“Do you know where the other piece of the set is?” he asked. “Two items would be better than one.”
I started to answer yes, then stopped. I didn’t know how Flint had found out the locations of the various objects, or if it was common knowledge or not. If the wizard was right, and the artifacts only worked if the set was reunited, it was probably better if no one knew where all of them were.
“It would have to be done with one,” I said apologetically.
Jim studied me, his expression unreadable. “What do you want with the bowl?”
“I’ve been hired to return it to its rightful owner,” I said, relieved I didn’t have to lie.
“You don’t plan to use it?” Jim pressed. “You have no desire to make use of the bowl, or any other part of the set individually or as a whole? Will you swear it? Swear that you’re not seeking them to use them yourself?”
My chest tightened. “I swear.”
Jim nodded slowly. “Good. Because that set? It’s cursed.”
Chapter 5
“Cursed?” Andy asked sharply.
My legs shivered as if some of my muscles had been replaced with gelatin. Without a word, Jim grabbed the chair from in front of his desk and tilted it toward me, holding out a hand for support. I didn’t take his hand, but I did wobble forward to sink into the chair.
“Yes,” he said, angling his body to keep both me and Andy in his line of sight. “I’ve only examined two pieces, but the chalice is cursed, and so is the bowl. There was evidence of another curse that would only be completed if the set were united, but I have no reason to believe the third item wouldn’t also have a curse of its own.”
“Three curses?” I mumbled. “And a fourth uniting them all?”
“Exactly,” Jim said grimly.
“I don’t want you to stop the thefts. Let the thief take them. Let the thief use them. After the ritual is complete, steal the items back.”
Flint’s voice echoed in my head, and if he’d been standing in the room with me, I’d have punched him in the face and damn the consequences. He must have known about the curses.
I clasped my shaking hands and raised them to my mouth, pressing my lips against them. “What do the curses do?”
I didn’t look at Andy. The last thing I needed right now was to see him glaring at me, silently demanding to know if I would allow this to happen. Let someone be cursed because Flint had told me to.
Ordered me to.
“The chalice carries the curse of impotence, as far as I can tell,” Jim answered. “The bowl brings nightmares. And if they’re all united, whoever tried to benefit from the exchange of power would be forced to tell the truth.”
“Telling the truth is a curse?” Andy asked.
“It is for a sidhe,” I said numbly.
Jim nodded. “Yes, it is. And the curse doesn’t just demand the truth. They’ll feel compelled to elaborate on the truth until their audience stops them, or until they’ve exhausted the information at their disposal.”
“That’s a death sentence for anyone who spends time at court,” Peasblossom said uneasily.
“Is there a way to lift the curse?” Andy asked.
Jim shrugged. “There’s always a way to lift a curse, but it’s never easy. No matter how skilled the magic user, there’s always a chance of being affected oneself.”
“So if someone wanted these curses removed, they’d have to find someone who’s not only capable of removing them, but also willing to risk suffering the curses themselves?” Andy asked.
“Exactly.” Jim considered it for a moment, then added, “It’s possible that one could find a cleric or a paladin willing to risk the truth curse. Perhaps even the impotence. But I can’t say for certain what curses the third item in the set carries. It could be far worse.”
“Could you locate the bowl using the cup?” I rose from the chair, more steady on my legs now that the worst of my anger had passed.
“I can try.”
“Do you think you could do it today?” Andy asked. “We need the information as soon as possible.”
“He’s not just going to drop everything to work on your problem,” Agnes interrupted slamming her pen down on her desk. “He—”
“Call Marilyn and have her send it over now,” Jim said calmly. “I’ll get to it as soon as I can.” He glanced at Agnes. “There’s a curse involved, Agnes. If someone stole the bowl, then one of them is active already.”
“What?” Andy asked sharply.
“The individual curses are activated if the item is stolen,” Jim explained. “Whoever stole the bowl should be having nightmares.”
“If you’re fool enough to steal a magic artifact, then you deserve the consequences.” Agnes crossed her arms. “This thief isn’t innocent.”
“I’m not sure Marilyn
will be in a terrible hurry to acquiesce to my request,” I said carefully. “We had a little…misunderstanding, earlier this year.”
Jim sighed. “I’ll call her.”
Agnes snatched the Post-it off her desk. Looking Jim in the eye, she ripped the bottom half of the Post-it off—the half with his name on it. She stuck the top half back to the desk, then crumpled up his name and threw it in the trashcan beside her desk.
I looked at Jim with my eyebrows raised.
“She does that a lot,” he mumbled. “Sometimes I think she only keeps that Post-it around so she can rip my name off when I annoy her.”
“I don’t arrange my life around you,” Agnes said primly. She pointed at her desk calendar. “I’m your secretary. I arrange your life. And you don’t have time to do other people’s work, saving thieves from the natural consequences of their life of crime.”
A new voice came from right behind me. “Why don’t you let me help?”
It was a voice that inspired images of teeth and unpleasant smiles, and when I turned to face the speaker, I wasn’t disappointed.
The man standing in the entryway to the study wasn’t as tall as the dragonkin at the museum, but he was a good six-feet and change. His broad shoulders were bared by a black tank top that made it hard to ignore the deathly grey pallor of his skin. Dark eyes glittered in the firelight, and I wasn’t looking forward to the kind of teeth that would be revealed if he opened his mouth.
“You need me to find the rest of this set, you just say the word,” he told Jim.
“You still haven’t removed him from the wards,” Agnes accused Jim. “I told you to remove him. He shouldn’t have free rein to come and go as he pleases.”
Jim didn’t respond to the offer, or Agnes’ protest. Instead, he gave me a strained, polite smile. “Mother Renard, if there’s nothing else?”
“No, that’s it. Thank you for your help.”
Agnes crossed her arms. “I don’t suppose any of this work is paid?”
I flushed. “Of course I’d be willing to pay you for your time.”
Jim looked embarrassed by Agnes’ interruption, but he didn’t turn down the money. “I’ll call you when I know something.”
No one had introduced the grinning grey-faced giant, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask for his name. I glanced from Jim to the hulking pile of muscle, trying to ask without words if it was all right to leave him alone.
“I’ll call you later then?” I asked.
Jim turned back to his desk, putting his back to the rest of the room. “Leave your card. I’ll call you.”
I cleared my throat and gathered Bizbee from Agnes’ desk. The happy grig had an armful of Post-its and seemed blissfully unaware of the conflict going on around him. He didn’t even seem to notice the new arrival as he leapt back into the pouch. He must have been particularly satisfied with the goblin’s Post-it selection, because he retrieved a business card for me before I even asked.
I left it on Jim’s desk, trying one more time to make eye contact. He took the card, but still didn’t look at me.
Andy waited to speak until we’d left the house and were once again safely ensconced in the privacy of his SUV. “Are you going to go through with it?”
I looked at him, trying to get him to meet my eyes. “You know the answer to that. And you also know I’ll draw the line before anyone is really hurt.”
“Can you do that?” Andy asked, turning the key in the ignition. He still didn’t look at me as he put the SUV into reverse and backed out of the wizard’s driveway.
“My contract specifies that he can’t make me kill anyone,” I reminded him stiffly.
“But this isn’t killing someone. This is not interfering until after something horrible happens to them. Even if the curse would end in their death, you’re not killing them, you’re just not interceding.”
Nausea rolled through my stomach. He wasn’t wrong.
“Well, at least the curse should make finding the thief easier,” Andy said finally. “Find the person who’s cursed, and we’ll have the thief.”
“Not unless she wants to end up cursed herself,” Peasblossom said firmly. “Curses are nasty pieces of work.”
Andy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She means that to see if someone is cursed, I’d have to open my third eye,” I explained. I rolled my shoulders as a shiver ran down my spine at the thought. “Curses aren’t the same as magic, I can’t use a detection spell. And looking at a curse while straddling planes with my third eye open—and no circle to protect me—would be asking for trouble. Peasblossom is right, I could end up cursed myself. Or worse.”
The light in front of us glowed red, and Andy eased on the brake, his brow furrowed in thought. “You think Flint knew about—”
“Yes,” I said flatly. “I think he knew.”
The light turned green, and we eased forward. “So he wants the thief cursed.”
“Sounds like it.”
“So…not an accomplice he wants to succeed at using the artifacts.”
I let my head fall back against the seat, staring out the windshield at the surprisingly fast-moving traffic. “I don’t know what he wants. But I’m going to find out.”
Andy didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive. By the time we arrived at the townhouse belonging to Catherine Emlyn and her aunt Alicia Levand, it was almost noon. The sunlight poured over the expensive townhouse, drowning the tan brick facade in golden light before flowing through the large glass windows. The townhouse sat at the edge of Lake Erie, a coveted location that, while not as expensive and decadent as Marilyn’s property, was still a sure sign that the residents would have the social pull to make my life miserable if I annoyed them.
A man dressed in a servant’s uniform answered the door, his cloudy blue gaze immediately falling to my black and blue leggings and the long-sleeved black shirt that reached to mid-thigh. One bushy white eyebrow twitched, but to his credit, he kept his expression serene.
“How can I help you?” he asked politely.
“I’m Mother Renard, and this is my partner, Agent Andrew Bradford of the FBI. We would like to speak with Catherine Emlyn. Is she available?” I asked.
The man gave me a small, tight smile that deepened the lines around his mouth, then stepped back to let us inside. “If you would allow me to escort you to the sitting room?”
The scent of furniture polish surrounded me as I followed him inside. I wrinkled my nose, trying to hold off a sneeze. If I’d been graceful enough for heels, I’d have been able to enjoy the click of them on the plank hardwood floor of the foyer as we passed through into a small but formal sitting room. As it was, the rubber bottoms of my cheap black slouch boots made almost no sound at all. The butler gestured for us to have a seat, and I hesitated for just a second. The furniture was a beige so pale that I had very real concerns my leggings would leave black and blue stains.
“Hello.”
I stopped six inches before my bottom would have hit the overstuffed couch, straightening to find a woman standing in the doorway. It wasn’t Catherine, I knew that from the pictures in the file. Judging by the rose-colored gown with the high lace collar circa the early 1800s, I guessed I was looking at dear Aunt Alicia. She was over two hundred years old, but she didn’t look it. She didn’t have the flawless youth of a sidhe, but the few wrinkles she had were easily muted with makeup, and there wasn’t a single strand of grey to be found on her head. The sunlight beaming in through the windows caught the red highlights in her copper hair, making them glitter as she moved. It reminded me of embers drifting off a bonfire, and I had the ridiculous urge to pat her head to put them out.
“This is Mother Renard and Agent Bradford of the FBI,” the servant said, stressing my title. “They wish to speak to Miss Catherine.”
“I’m Catherine’s aunt, Alicia Levand. Catherine isn’t available at the moment. May I ask what this is about?”
“It would be better if we spok
e with Catherine directly,” Andy said politely.
“Well, then, I’ll say goodbye.” Alicia made no attempt to hide the annoyance in her voice, and she turned with a sharp jerk. “Byron, see them out.”
The front door chose that moment to open. Byron paused, glancing back at the mistress of the house for instruction. Alicia’s mouth tightened, and she clasped her hands in front of her over her waist. I couldn’t see the new arrivals yet, hidden as they were by the shelf that blocked off the foyer from the sitting room.
“Catherine, I expected you back an hour ago. I hope you had a good time.” Her tone contradicted her words.
A young woman came around the corner, smiling and holding a shopping bag in each hand. She wore a light, flowing white pantsuit and a beautiful white silk robe painted with large red roses over top of it. A string of real pearls hung around her neck, and a white hat was pinned on top of her head. It was interesting to note that although her style was significantly more modern than her great-aunt’s, its popularity had still peaked somewhere in the 1920’s.
“I had a wonderful time, Aunt Alicia. And I’ve brought—” she paused, finally realizing they weren’t alone. “Oh! We have company.” She dropped her bags and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, nestling the curl of auburn amongst the other ringlets falling down her back. “Hello, I’m Catherine. And you are…?”
“Miss Catherine, this is Mother Renard and Agent Bradford,” Byron said, stepping forward. “They’ve come to speak with you.”
“With me?” Catherine asked, obviously surprised. “About what?”
“They refused to say,” Alicia said coldly.
“Shocking that your pleasant disposition didn’t coax them to open their hearts to you,” a new voice said.
Alicia’s cheek twitched as a man strode around the corner, passing through the foyer and stopping beside Catherine just outside the sitting room. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, with black hair beginning to grey at the temples. His olive-toned skin wrinkled at the corners as he smiled at Andy and me in turn. “Good afternoon. I’m Devanos Emlyn, Catherine’s father.” He held out his hand to Andy.
Betrayal Page 7
