Chapter 6

Comforting words aside, an open homicide didn’t mean we got to push every other case off on another team. I finished my sandwich reading the message about the theft, and then closed the call in a couple of hours. It was a memory theft, something that did happen, there were plenty of things out there that would steal your memories, but in this case, it turned out to be a drug slipped into a beer.

Not supernatural, not an SIU case, and (most importantly) not my problem. I left the ER with a copy of the toxicology report proving the drug was still in the victim’s system and headed back to the office. I was examining the second message, trying to decide who to grab to come with me when my phone rang.

“Mal! Save me!” There was only one witch I knew who would start a phone call like that.

“Pheebs!” I shrilled into the phone, my voice echoing off the squad room windows. Beside me Lucas, with his sensitive werewolf hearing, practically covered his ears. “Tell me what you need, Chica!”

“I need to go dancing tonight,” she said, as if dancing were water and she’d spent the week in a desert.

“We can do that.”

“Seriously? Rhythm’s busy so I was worried…” Rhythm wasn’t just any Greek Muse, but the one who inspired people to dance. With Rhythm around a night of dancing turned into a transcendental experience.

“Seriously,” I said. It would be good to get out with the girls, even if the whole gang couldn’t make it. “So…why are we dancing?”

“I’m trying to decide about something.”

“Something big?” I guessed. “Something maybe involving a guy?”

“Maybe…” She wavered. Phoebe was famous for her very poor choice in men, like the guy who failed to mention his pregnant wife. The healthiest relationship she’d had was the few months she’d spent with Jakob’s best friend, Mark, and since he wasn’t the most well-adjusted person in the world that was saying something.

“Come on Pheebs, ’fess up, is it a guy?” Phoebe hadn’t talked about a guy in a while; something about her night with Amadeus scared her sexless for a few months. I missed the old, crazy, sexy Phoebe a little bit.

“It’s a guy. I don’t know what’s up with us. I mean he’s great and it could be great but I don’t know if there’s an it to even wonder about, you know?”

“Uh, no you have me totally lost.”

“That’s exactly how I feel, totally lost. I’m hoping if I dance hard enough it’ll make sense.”

I told her it sounded good to me and hung up the phone more than satisfied. Phoebe was my best friend in the city. Even when she was bogged down in some crisis she was twice as much fun as the average person. The clock on the wall stared down refusing to speed up for me, so I went back to the last message. I had my finger on the phone, starting to dial the hospital listed on the message slip when Simon stopped me.

“What have you got?”

“Supernatural assault,” I said, holding up the pink message slip. “Why?”

“I’ve got a supernatural homicide, and you’re a death witch…” Simon was a spirit witch, he was intuitive that way. I rolled my eyes a little.

“Danny and I already have a homicide.”

“Danny’s not here. Come out with me for a first look. If it turns out to be something big, Lucas and I will take it.”

“Fair enough.” I pondered the bizarre level of bargaining that happened in the squad room. I should be able to get a favor for this, some favor, but what did I need? “Who takes my assault?”

“I got it.” Lucas jumped in, snatching the slip from my fingers. “You two kids have fun. I’ll be at”—there was a pause while he read the form—“Riverview Hospital.”

We waved goodbye and grabbed our own things: notepads, a stray charm or two for Simon, my Dr. Pepper, and then headed out. Leaving the squad room without Danny felt odd, and I realized this was the first time I’d gone out on a case without him. I mean sure, I’d stepped in, but this was the first full-on case. I tried to channel my partner, to remember what he would do.

“So tell me the details.”

Simon waited until we got into the relative privacy of our unmarked car. “There’s an antique shop downtown, the owner is…” He let his voice trail off.

“What? Fairy? Vampire? Gremlin?”

“An asshole.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I mean I know I should respect my elders but he’s an ass, no two ways about it. Lucas and I are out there like twice a month. He deals in supernatural jewelry, charms, gris-gris bags, whatever he can get cheap and mark up. Except he doesn’t always guess right, so whenever someone sells him the sword of Merlin and it turns out to be junk he wants us to arrest them. Or when he sells something for a dollar and finds out later it was worth a few thousand we should go get it back for him. He’s kind of a nightmare.”

“An actual nightmare?” I asked, referencing the supernatural beings that brought frightening dreams to people. I’d wanted to meet one.

“No, he’s not a horse or a psychic, just a bitter old man who only cares about money.”

I did my best to hide my disappointment. “So how does this turn into a homicide?”

“Two kids came in after school. They were looking around, well according to Taylor, they were ‘screwing around with his merchandise.’ Anyway, the second time he looked up the boy was screaming and the girl was on the floor. She’s dead and we have no idea what in the shop did it.”

“How big is the store?”

“Big enough,” Simon replied, his voice sour. We pulled up to a weathered brick building and I could see his sarcasm was in the right place. The shop was one of four in the building, tall with high ceilings. The windows were dirty, covered with a thick coating of dust on the inside and half a winter’s worth of crud on the outside. I could see a thousand things jumbled into the space even before we opened the door.

Going inside didn’t make things better. The body lay where it had fallen, inside the front door, her shirt ripped open where they’d tried CPR. I looked up from the bright pink lacy bra only a teenager would wear to the deluge of items around me. Every flat surface was piled with…with…well, with things.

Spoons, forks, and other tarnished silverware spread on dusty velvet, a hat rack so covered in hats and shawls I thought it would tip over, beside the body a table with shelves underneath it barely held the weight of at least fifteen wooden baskets, each overflowing with beads, plastic jewelry, pins, trinkets and just, in general, junk.

The space was nothing more than a long rectangle, exposed brick on three sides and glass on the front. The two side walls held matching wood shelves, so stuffed with old clothes they looked like cubby holes in a kindergarten. The clutter barely stopped in the center of the room where a round glass display case held the only objects treated with reverence.

In the center of that display case, perched on an old wooden stool, sat the most gnomish looking human I had ever seen. He wore a sour expression and clothes faded to the same uniform dull tan-gray color. He stood up when he noticed my gaze, and I could see he wore his pants low on his hips, his wide stomach pouring over his belt.

Two pens and some other tools occupied his breast pocket, breaking the seemingly unending amount of fabric. He was short and squat, with a tuff of white hair on either side of his head and coming out of each ear.

“Who’s this? Who is she, Edwards? I don’t want some new recruit touching my things. If she’s new, if she doesn’t know what she’s doing I want her out! There are too many people in here already!” He was shouting but not moving, not leaving the protective circle of the display case. I glanced at Simon hoping to let him take the lead.

“Don’t you recognize her from TV?” Simon asked. I could have killed him. The few times the local news caught me working they always played up my abilities. They even had a little sickle graphic to put next to my name. I didn’t relish the attention.

“What? Oh! Well of course I do, she’s the—”

“Detective Mors,” I interrupted, stepping around the body and walking toward him. I was going to offer him my hand but the closer I got the farther back he stepped. I hated bigots. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Those two kids, they came in here, touching everything! Probably trying to shop lift. One of them was back here with the expensive stuff trying to distract me while the other one went through the dollar bins.”

His gestured to the front of the store, and I picked out an old handwritten sign “Maybe Magical? $1” propped on top of the table filled with baskets.

“The girl who died was going through those baskets?” I asked, going back to that side of the room. I had to step wide to avoid the guys taking samples and photos.

“Yeah, but none of it is real.” He snorted. “It’s there to draw people in; the good stuff is behind the counter.”

“How do you know?” Something tingled at me. It was probably the dead body, the girl wanting to tell me something or her death teasing at my magic, but it could be some trinket too.

“Know what?”

“That they aren’t real?”

“I have a witch check them out, that’s how. Got screwed a few times selling something for cheap when it was worth more, so I hired him. He hasn’t been wrong yet, and he better not be for what I pay him.”

I stayed silent, not sure how to reply. Later I would ask Simon if this guy cared about money as much inside his head as he did out loud. The medical team and the forensics team were done with the body. I decided to read it first, so they could take her away. Somewhere a mother was going to be shattered. I wondered if she shared her daughter’s dark skin and hair.

I took a deep breath and knelt beside the body. I focused my concentration and put my hand on her shoulder. My first impression was a tingle, a taste of something but the instant I caught it, it was gone.

Christine Sweeny died bent over a strange angle, something poking into her back, staring up at a sea of light green. The girl beneath my hands, what had she felt? I didn’t know her name, but I searched for her story. I flexed my power and expected to hear an echo of death, to feel what she’d felt.

There was nothing. No fear, no pain, only darkness. She died so quickly there was nothing for me to read. That first trace of magic had been so short I couldn’t be sure I actually felt it. There was nothing else.

Every dead body whispered at me. I’d found dozens, all different, corpses so old they were a handful of bones, and still they talked. No matter what they all had something to say. The girl beneath me was silent.

I nodded weakly to the medical team, my eyes locked on her softly closed ones. What kind of death came so fast it left nothing for me to find? I leaned back on the table, shaken. The table swayed beneath me, junk falling out of one basket and into another, the whole rickety mess threatening to go down. Somehow the gnomish little man was next to me, screaming about his things. He shouts were muted though, quiet, proving I hadn’t made it back to the world around me yet.

Simon sounded normal, but then his mouth wasn’t moving so that made a little sense. He had his hand on my arm; without words he asked me what I saw, so I let him see it. Let him take the foreign images from my head, hoping he could make sense out of them.

“Never happened before?” He asked out loud.

“Never.” I wanted some place to lean, to sit and make sense of it before the magic left me but the whole space was so cluttered I didn’t have any options. Simon let me be, going back to picking up fallen trinkets with the shop owner. The space was clearing out; two guys in lab coats went out the door carrying their official looking tackle boxes. Then it was the three of us; the two of them cleaning up, me staring, trying to understand.

“She died instantly, quickly, without any pain. What do you have that does that?” I asked. Speaking was a mistake. It brought the whole world back to me. No more magic, just this room, filled with things but empty of happiness. I shivered a little.

“Sorry, my fault,” Simon said and I realized I was feeling what he was feeling. I shivered again. I didn’t want to be a spirit witch like Simon, didn’t want to feel how empty and lonely this space was. When he turned back to Taylor the feeling was gone. “We’ll need to know what you were touching and what the boy was touching as well.”

“Where is he?” I asked, feeling silly.

Taylor puffed himself up, happy to give me the information. “Dragged off in the first ambulance, screaming bloody murder. Probably trying to cover up that he did it. They should see if she was pregnant. He might have been trying to come up with a way to get out of trouble, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t but I nodded. It was a conversation I didn’t want to have.

“When he was here, he was over there by the armor, screwing around with the sword.” Taylor pointed with a finger that ended in a long dirty nail.

“What kind of armor is it?” As I walked over all I could see was thin metal and badly soldered joints. It looked more like a decorator’s piece than armor, real or magical.

“The armor of righteousness,” Taylor declared. Up close I could see each piece was engraved with a bible verse.

“The breastplate of righteousness,” Simon said. It was clearly a correction but I didn’t understand how.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“The belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, and the helmet of salvation,” he recited even though he wasn’t nearly close enough to read it. That earned him a second questioning look. I knew Simon was a Baptist but I didn’t think that explained his familiarity with the weird armor. “It’s from the Bible, Ephesians. Didn’t you have to memorize verses as a kid?”

I shook my head at him; my mother hadn’t bothered to raise me with religion.

“Yeah, well it’s a popular verse. I don’t suppose that’s the sword of the Spirit?” Simon asked.

“Of course it is!” Taylor answered. “I wouldn’t sell it if it wasn’t complete.”

Simon repressed a grin. “It’s a myth, the armor is a parable, it’s not real.”

“You’re looking at it!” Taylor shrieked. “Real and complete, only five grand. That’s assuming the kid didn’t break the sword.”

I looked at the weapon in question, it looked fine. Unlike the rest of the set it only held a citation, Romans 8:26. I was about to ask Simon what it was but Taylor grabbed him, asking about compensation for the shop being closed all afternoon. I noted the verse and stayed out of the conversation.

The sword didn’t feel magical and the way Simon dismissed it was enough for me. I wandered over to the spot where the girl had died, still distracted by the way her death hadn’t left a trace. No blood, no fluid, no magic after that first hint.

Simon pulled Taylor back to the display case, trying to find out what the old man had been touching when it happened. I was mildly curious but more interested in the body not talking to me. I let my hand drift down to the basket of trinkets, feeling the cool of plastic beads against my skin.

I couldn’t decide if I should get more involved, maybe take more notes. Simon brought me along for a first look. I’d given him that, and hey, the body didn’t want to talk to me; maybe I should leave. Danny and I had enough going on with our case.

The short winter day was already coming to an end; the sunlight that had only been a pale shadow of itself was fading. I checked my watch, half past four, but soon at Jakob’s place the shutters would lift, and my boyfriend who had probably been awake for a couple of hours already would be able to walk outside.

Friday night, the end of a messed-up week, with the storm and the homicide, oh and Danny’s angry sister showing up. I had to work tomorrow, I worked every other Saturday, but this felt like the end of a week I could say good riddance to. If Simon’s corpse didn’t want to talk to me I didn’t want it to. I had my own troubles.

I leaned back again, this time careful to keep my weight on my feet, my hand going deeper into the trinkets. Simon was wrapping up with Taylor. At the bottom of the basket something tingled a little and I pulled it out for a closer look. It was a bracelet, tarnished silver maybe, or more likely cheap composite metal, rudely formed into a cuff. Free of markings, free of design, only the dips and bends in the metal made it notable. Well, that and the way it tingled a touch, like magic.

“What’s this one?” I asked Taylor, interrupting his fifth attempt to extract a promise of compensation from Simon.

“Junk. Everything in those baskets is junk. I told you that.” He sniffed, no doubt offended I didn’t remember.

“No way it could be related to her death?”

“I’m not saying no way, I’m saying it’s junk.”

“I want to take it for evidence.” My simple statement led to at least fifteen minutes of whining about losing money. Finally, I got frustrated and interrupted, “Fine. How much?”

“What?” His mouth hung open. “But it’s junk.”

“How much?”

“Ten dollars.”

Guess it wasn’t really junk. I grabbed my wallet from my coat pocket.

“The sign says one dollar,” Simon pointed out.

“I’ll go five,” Taylor offered. We were back to bargaining and I wasn’t in the mood. I tossed my five dollars down and patiently waited while he wrote out a receipt. He made me sign that it was not guaranteed to have magical properties and that there were absolutely no returns.

****

In the car, on the ride back to headquarters, I couldn’t take my eyes off the simple bracelet.

“Hey Simon.”

“You want me to see if I can feel anything?” He looked up from driving into the garage.

“Pretty much. Does it get boring knowing what people are going to say?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I don’t really know what you’re going to say, just what you’re thinking in general. You’re thinking about that bracelet and you’re really curious. From there I took a guess.”

“Huh.” I thrust the bracelet out at him the minute he parked the car. “So?”

“So,” he said, taking the bracelet from me. He looked at for a while, holding it this way and that. “So, nothing. Sorry, it doesn’t feel like magic to me. But it might be pretty when you clean it up.”

I pondered this while we rode the elevator upstairs. I bought it more out of curiosity, out of the feeling it belonged with me. I couldn’t see myself wearing it. I didn’t have much jewelry, a few things of my mother’s and a jet necklace Jakob had gotten me for Christmas. It might go with the necklace. I sat at my desk and held it up again. There really was a faint hint of magic.

Still curious I headed to the squad library. When I’d first joined, I assumed the small room was a closet. When I noticed the flicker of magic on the door, I realized it was a small closet and more.

After drawing the appropriate runes and clicking in the combination, I opened the door on stacks of hexes, potions, and assorted magical items. The industrial shelves held normal office supplies as well. Fifty pounds of rock salt helped a broom stay upright. Cleaning wipes rested on the boxes of silver bullets.

Books that weren’t supposed to exist filled in any space they found at slants and angles, stacked and stuffed with no accounting for their value or age. Heavy locks bound some tomes, while others looked like trade paperbacks, the stuff of mainstream book stores everywhere. I flipped on the fluorescent light and found the blue folder that reminded me of high school.

Scanning the list found two volumes on magical jewelry. One name had a line through it and the brief explanation “burned” after it. The second volume hid from me for a good fifteen minutes, then proved useless when I got it. I should have known better; “Magical Jewelry: An Exploration of Gemstones and Settings” didn’t really seem applicable.

I headed back to my desk, still fingering the bracelet, trying to decide who to reach out to. Between my friends and Jakob’s place in the community, someone would be able to tell me why this bracelet tingled. And maybe that would help with the case. Who was I kidding? I didn’t care about the case anymore; I cared about the bracelet.

I dialed Jakob’s place, using a tissue to rub my new trinket. Simon was right it would be pretty once it was polished up. Jakob greeted me after the second ring and I did my best not to sound distracted.

“I need an expert in magical jewelry. Know anyone?”

“I do, but do I get to ask why?”

“I bought something. I think it’s magic but no one else does. And it might be connected with a murder, but that’s pretty doubtful. Mostly I just want to know.” I flipped it over again; there might be a mark on the back, the letter C maybe? “Who’s this friend? Can I go see him?”

“Actually, she’s overseas now.”

She? A she, hmmm, this was almost more interesting than the bracelet. Out loud I said, “Can I call her?”

“Yes but…” He hesitated and I had to wonder why. “I’d prefer to be there when you do. She has a capricious nature.”

“Capricious?”

“Mercurial?”

“I know what it means, I’m curious.”

“You’ll be more curious after you talk to her,” he pronounced, glumly. “I can be there in forty-five minutes.”

“See you then,” I said, knowing he was hoping I’d let him out of it. We said our I-love-yous and hung up. I warned Simon of my plan. He was willing but not hopeful. I could tell the whole case had him depressed. I put the contested object in a place of honor on top of a stack of forms and did paper work. The next time I looked up Jakob was looking down at me.

He looked amazing. His blue eyes brought a sparkle to the room all the lights hadn’t, and his bright blond hair, even brushed back for work, cried out for me to run my fingers through it.

The hot desperate passionate part of our relationship had faded but still, sometimes when he looked like this, it was hard not to think of sex when I saw him. Dressed for work in dark gray slacks and a white button-down shirt with a silver and blue tie, Jakob definitely looked like the high-powered financier he was. The kind who would have a conference room table, and a moment of passion on top of it…

“No suit?” It was hard not to kiss him. Simon coughed in the background and I tried to steer my thoughts to something discreet.

“It’s casual Friday.”

I smiled, knowing how little he approved of the idea. I’d dragged him into it though, for the good of his staff if nothing else. Sometimes my darling vampire was a little too stiff.

“Who are we calling?” I grabbed my phone.

“Uh, it would be best if we did this in a private space.”

“Because she’s capricious?” I asked, teasing him.

“Because she has no filter between her thoughts and her words.” His expression was solemn; whoever this woman was Jakob wasn’t excited about introducing the two of us.

I grabbed Simon and the three of us headed to an interview room. I let Jakob dial the speaker phone wondering about the person on the other hand.

“You drove fast.” The voice on the other side of the phone didn’t start with hello and when I heard it I knew why. It was a sexy, dangerous voice, not the kind to bother with social conventions. She sounded young, and while I knew voices could be revealing, I didn’t think I trusted this one. “I didn’t even have time to get back to sleep. Who am I talking to?”

“Mallory and her partner, Simon.”

“Her partner?” The question seemed somehow risqué, like a woman who knew she was being naughty.

“Detective Edwards is my partner on this case.” I spoke with as much authority as I could muster.

“Oh, you mean that kind of partner. I’m sorry, I was thinking of something”—she paused—“French.”

“Rowan.” Jakob used her name as a warning.

“What? You made me promise to be good; you didn’t say I had to be boring.” Something in her voice told me she was wearing a sexy pout.

“Be boring.” He used the same tone I used on misbehaving children when I worked as a social worker, the one that said you were in charge and a little pissed off.

And she laughed. Her laugh was light, airy, sexual, and maybe insane. “I’ll try.” There was a pause and I could imagine this faceless woman halfway around the world squaring her shoulders, trying to be boring. “Tell me about the bracelet.”

“It’s hammered metal, maybe silver, a cuff, no markings on the top. There might be something on the bottom but I can’t quite make it out.”

“How much did you pay for it?”

“Five dollars.”

She laughed again, mocking me this time. “You don’t get much magic for five dollars, sweetheart.”

“The shop owner insisted it was junk, but it felt like magic to me and it may have killed a girl.”

“Oh-h-h-h, someone’s dead? Now that’s interesting. Tell me about the person it killed.” She used the same voice Phoebe used for gossip and Anna used for shoes, the voice of someone thoroughly fascinated by a subject. Her subject just happened to be murder. Ick.

“Seventeen-year-old D’Shanna Moore, African American, student at Istrouma, played on the volleyball team.” Simon read from his notes.

“Nothing important there.” She dismissed the dead girl without thinking. “What kind of a witch are you?”

“Spirit but the bracelet doesn’t feel like anything to me,” Simon answered.

“I’m death, and I’m the only one that can feel it.”

“Death? Oh my. Jakob didn’t tell me that.” Her deliberate emphasis on the word “that” made me wonder what he had told her. Across from me at the little interview table Jakob shifted uncomfortably. “Flip the cuff over. Is the symbol a sickle?”

“It looks more like a C to me,” I said, handing it over to Simon. Simon couldn’t see the mark at all, so he passed it to Jakob.

“A sickle, but an old one, almost a complete circle the opening facing right, not left.” Ah vampire vision, must be nice to see those things. He passed the bracelet back to me. It hadn’t picked up any magic from him. It was about as magically active as the phone or the interview table.

“Wow. It’s that bracelet. You got a hell of a deal, Mallory. It’s easily worth twenty grand, maybe thirty if you didn’t ask who was buying it. Of course, they’ll all want to know how you found it; it’s been lost for centuries.”

The more she spoke the more I picked up on a trace of an accent, English or maybe Scottish. I wasn’t going to ask about it. “Tell me more about the bracelet. Could it kill someone?”

“Oh sure, that’s what it was designed to do.” She sounded as airy as if she were talking about the weather. “I guess you want the whole story.”

I waited, but she didn’t go on until after I said, “yes.”

“There was this illiterate barefoot peasant back in the dark ages, no offense Jakob—”

“None taken.” But I knew from the way he stiffened there was.

“Anyway, she was a death witch, and a pretty devout Christian besides. But there was also this famine. A big one, uh, 1367, 68-ish?”

I didn’t know who she was asking until Jakob answered. “Both years, and then again five years later.”

“Right. You would have lost people in that one too.”

“My mother, two sisters, and my first son.” Jakob didn’t say anything else. She gave him time to but he wasn’t going to speak another word about it.

“Right, well the death witch, she lost her children. Not all of them, just one or two I guess, but the others were going. It was hard to watch them starve to death―”

“You have no idea.” Jakob sounded pained. I reached under the table to hold his hand, but after a quick grip he let me go. I went back to playing with the bracelet.

“She made the bracelet. Put it on someone, say the right words, and they die instantly, no suffering, no pain. It has strong magic; people have been searching for it for centuries. It’s called the culling cuff or the culling piece. Like the name says, you use it to cull the sick and the weak, the ones that are already dying. Only with the cuff, they don’t hurt. She died making it, which is pretty much the only way to make something that powerful. But it meant her children wouldn’t slowly starve to death, so I guess it was worth it to her. Anyway, it can be used by anybody, so long as you know the right words.”

“What are the words?” I asked, almost afraid to touch the piece.

“No idea. None,” she practically sang. “People have speculated poetry, something in Latin because of the time frame or maybe old French or old German.”

“What do you think, Rowan?” Jakob asked sounding testy.

“Well…I don’t think it worries about language. It’s magic, right? It wants to work. And I don’t think that death witch, whoever she was, would have had time for poetry. Remember she’s a peasant during a famine in the 1300s. No, I think it would have been something simple, like a prayer.”

“Or a Bible verse.” I very carefully put the bracelet down. “What’s Romans 8:26?”

“The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express,” Simon recited but the bracelet did nothing.

“Does someone have to be touching it for it work?” I asked.

“If someone’s touching it, they’ll be dead.” Her voice sounded flip, like I should have realized that. “Even without a victim if you use it to call the magic you should be able to feel it. I mean, I would hope a death witch could.”

Her voice was intended to make me feel bad, but the expression on Jakob’s face took the power away from her. She was trying to needle me, but he was the one who looked hurt.

“So it’s not Romans 8:26,” Simon said, ignoring all the emotions in the room. “Any other guesses?”

“It would have been something about suffering; all the stories talk about her tragic suffering and her pain,” the woman on the other end of the phone said, and while I wanted to correct her I agreed. That verse didn’t sound right at all.

“What’s near there? Close enough that the kid who read the verse off the sword could get it wrong. Something that talks about comfort and relief from pain?”

Simon looked at me with his head tilted to the side. “You think he recited the wrong verse, not the one on the sword but the one that would make this thing work?”

“You heard her, it wants to work. Helping the kid remember the right wrong verse sounds like magic to me.” I thought about it for a minute, wondering where I could get a Bible at nearly seven on a Friday night. Did we have one in the library? “Come on Simon, if you have one verse memorized you know others, right? Comfort and suffering, maybe somewhere in Romans?”

I was banking on his Baptist upbringing, on the verses he’d memorized as a kid having stuck with him. From his expression, I wasn’t going to get very far.

“Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us,” Jakob said and the bracelet practically turned white with magic.

The woman on the other end of the line laughed. “Still Catholic after all these years. Well, did it do anything?”

“It did.” I swallowed hard. I could have been holding it, any one of us could, and that magic would have killed us.

“Romans 8:18,” Jakob said. Suddenly, I really wanted the day to be over.

****

The mysterious and slightly crazy Rowan wanted to know all about the case, then she wanted to talk about the bracelet. It seemed she had quite a collection of jewelry and it would fit perfectly. I didn’t know how to answer her unspoken pleas for a present. The piece revolted me. It killed someone. But did I want to give it up? Uh, strangely, no. I wanted it. I wanted to keep it safe from anyone who was stupid or crazy enough to use it, and the woman on the phone? Well, she definitely sounded crazy enough.