Uneasy at this proof that something beyond mere magic had been gripping me, I touched my throat.
Willard squinted at the spot. “You’ve got red marks all around your neck. Like someone was trying to strangle you.”
“Yeah. Enemies do that to me a lot.”
“Have you talked to your therapist about it?”
“She would probably recommend more meditation and yoga to calm my inner self when the world is raging against me.”
“That helps with strangulation?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
The whisper of tape ripping free sounded in the quiet room, and Brisco returned to us with the camera.
“Nothing magical about this, I don’t think.” He held it up to me for a second opinion.
“Toshiba,” I read off the side. “As far as I know, they don’t mass produce magical cameras.”
“Funny. I was wondering if something had been added to it.” He wriggled his fingers and wrinkled his nose in an approximation of a television witch casting a spell.
“I don’t sense anything weird about it.”
“It’s wireless?” Willard asked. “See if you can figure out where it’s transmitting to. I can’t imagine its range is that great. There might be a van parked outside.”
He swore and ran for the exit.
I raised my eyebrows. “You think our thief used her portal generator to travel to a van parked around the block?”
“We don’t know she used the portal generator at all. It wouldn’t be that hard for someone with a cloaking charm—” Willard waved to my leather thong, “—to sneak in and out, though I don’t know how she would have gotten past the door lock or the special alarms that are supposed to warn us of intruders using magic.”
“Maybe you need better alarms. And a dragon door knocker to put on the door that flambés intruders who don’t know the secret password.”
“I’m not buying one of Dimitri’s tchotchkes.”
“I’m sure he would give you the friends-and-family rate.”
Willard closed her hand around the bones. “I’ll have my agents analyze these and try to figure out what species they come from.”
“Can I have one? It’s been a couple of weeks since I had any work for Zoltan to charge me an obscene amount of money for. He’s probably feeling impoverished.”
“He doesn’t pay you rent, and he doesn’t pay for what he eats. What does he need money for?”
“Alchemical ingredients are expensive. He also has an extensive bow-tie collection that he needs to add to periodically.” I reached for one of the bones.
“My people will analyze them for free. And we’ve got someone at the university who will let us use the DNA sequencer.”
“I like second opinions.”
“And being overcharged, apparently.” Despite her words, Willard dropped one of the bones in my hand.
It was cool, dry, and slightly porous. I didn’t sense any magic in it, but that might change once I was out of the artifacts room and away from so many other magical artifacts filling the air with their emanations.
As we headed for the door, my phone buzzed with a text from my daughter.
What up, Val? Sword practice this afternoon?
I eyed the phone suspiciously. “What day is it, Willard?”
“Wednesday.”
“Amber wants to practice today after school. We usually only meet on Sundays, and she complains the whole way through our session, assuming she doesn’t try to get out of it altogether.”
Amber hadn’t canceled any practices since our run-in with the fae males in Magnuson Park, but she also hadn’t asked for extra training.
“Maybe she’s realized the value of having a caring mother in her life and wants to spend more time with you.”
“You’ve met Amber. I’m amazed you can say that with a straight face.”
“I’m working on my deadpan delivery to enhance comedic effect.”
If nothing else tries to kill me today, I should be available, I texted back.
Great. Meet you at Crown Hill Park on Holman Rd.
Why that spot? We usually worked out in her backyard.
More space! I’ve got some new moves to show you. See you at 3.
“Is Crown Hill Park as small and devoid of anything interesting as I think it is?” If I remembered the spot correctly, a place I’d only driven past without stopping, it had a baseball field, some playground equipment, and a skate ramp.
“I don’t even know where that is,” Willard said. “You’re the Seattle native.”
I typed it into my map, frowned at the park’s tiny size, and eyed the phone suspiciously again. “Either there’s a cute boy who skates there, or I’m being set up.”
Admiral Ackbar’s famous “It’s a trap” line floated through my mind.
“Set up? By your teenage daughter?”
“Uh huh.” I zoomed in on the map until the establishments around the park popped up, then groaned.
Willard leaned in for a look. “Oh, there’s a bridal shop.”
I groaned again. Amber loved dresses and shopping and trying things on. I did not.
“You’ll need a dress for your wedding. She’s being thoughtful and helping you out.” Willard grinned wickedly and not at all deadpan. “Send some photos of you trying on dresses. That should be entertaining. When was the last time you wore a dress?”
“In the army.”
“Your Class-A uniform doesn’t count as a dress.”
“Thad said the same thing.” I snapped my fingers. “Wait, I forgot. I wore a dress to my last bodyguard gig. Zav liked it.”
“Sexy, huh?”
“It had a leg slit so I could reach my gun.”
“Leg slits aren’t allowed on wedding dresses.”
“I’m positive there’s no rule about that.”
“I’m positive there is. No leg slits and no weapons as you walk down the aisle.”
“What kind of wedding are you planning for me?”
“A right and proper one. Your mom will thank me.”
“Mom thinks we should elope to Vegas and forget the wedding.”
“Then your daughter will thank me.” Willard pointed me toward the stairs. “Go meet her. I’ll call you with any information we can dig up on the thief and the bone.”
I cast a longing look back toward the artifacts room as I walked out. I would rather face wraiths and risk being pulled into a portal to a haunted world than try on dresses.
4
Before heading to the park to meet Amber, I stopped by the house to drop off the finger bone. Since it was daylight—Zoltan’s sleeping-in-a-coffin hours—that had involved taping it to the basement door with a note. I would text him about it after dark.
Amber was already at the park when I arrived, sitting on a picnic table while two guys in baggy jeans with skateboards under their arms talked to her. Maybe I had guessed wrong, and she knew someone who went to school in the area who she’d wanted to see, but she hadn’t mentioned any interest in boys—or posted about them on her social media pages.