Chapter 3

3

EVANGELINE

A rtifacts, artifacts, artifacts…

I stared at the bookshelf in my living room as I twisted my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck. It would have been more practical to keep it short, given how many scrapes I got into, but I allowed myself a little vanity here and there. As a treat to myself, I'd let the chestnut curls grow out to waist length. I shoved another hairpin into the bun and hoped for the best.

I'd managed to get some sleep. Unfortunately, the later I went to bed, the earlier I woke up. It was just past dawn, and I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, so instead of lying in bed thinking about the little mystery that had landed in my lap, I decided I might as well start investigating properly.

I tugged a few books off the shelf and stacked them on my coffee table, but flipping through them didn't yield anything useful. With a wave of my hand, I sent the books back to their spots on the shelf, then stood to brush some grass-green cat hair from my pants. Time to break out the big guns.

I shrugged on my jacket and headed out into the early morning. The streets of Eldoria were already bustling. That was what you got when a third of the city was nocturnal, while another third didn't need to sleep at all. It had its downsides—the city was never really quiet, for instance—but it also made the place an ideal spot for all-hours diners.

One of those diners was just down the street. Big Sal's was the kind of place that seemed as though it had always been there, like when the first creature got the big idea to crawl out of the primordial ooze, Sal had been waiting, with chipped Formica tables, and a plate of hash browns ready to go. The bell jangled when I pushed the door open, and the smell of coffee and cooking meat hit me.

"Angie!" Sal called from behind the counter. She was the only person who called me that, and I was always a little surprised to find I didn't mind. Sal was a tall, sturdy woman, with short black hair, and a battle axe tattooed on one bicep. She and a few of the other werewolves organized community runs through the parks of the Garden District, and they usually wound up back at the diner, refueling with whatever Sal could make in bulk.

"Sal," I said warmly. "Could I get my usual breakfast to go, please?"

" 'Course," Sal said. "Bruce! Bacon, egg, and cheese to go!"

Bruce sprang into action in the kitchen. He was one of the rotating group of down-on-their-luck young werewolves who Sal gave a job, free meals, and sometimes a sofa to crash on if things were really bad. I would've been amazed Sal managed to turn a profit with how much she gave away for free if I hadn't seen the sheer quantity of pancakes she sold in one breakfast rush.

"How's business?" Sal asked, leaning against the counter, sliding me a paper cup of strong black coffee.

"Same as usual," I told her. "I'm headed off to do some research. How's the wife?"

Sal immediately went starry-eyed, and I listened to her ramble about her wife's new backyard chickens while I sipped my coffee.

Once I was given my precious bundle of a breakfast sandwich, I headed out, eating the blissfully greasy concoction as I wove between the other pedestrians clogging up the sidewalk. It wasn't far to the Tomegrove Labyrinth, and I drained the last of my coffee in front of its nondescript door.

The Tomegrove was carefully tucked away in the Arcane Quarter, loaded up with wards that would make your eyes slide right off it if you hadn't been granted access. Marcus and I had worked a job for one of the librarians, earning ourselves a lifetime of free membership.

I muttered the password, and the door swung open.

Inside, the Tomegrove was quiet and cool. The gentle hum of climate-control charms was barely audible, but it made the space feel more alive. The scent of books permeated my nostrils, and I smiled. I loved using my magic, and I loved helping people, but nothing made me quite as happy as research.

My footsteps felt unnaturally loud in the quiet space. This early in the day, the place was practically deserted. I stopped at the front desk and scooped up a small golden ball of light from a bin.

"Artifacts section, please," I whispered to it, and the guidelight floated in the air at shoulder-height, about two feet in front of me, then set off through the twisting passages of the library. I followed after it, and once it had led me to the right section, it settled in a nearby study carrell.

Many of the books in this area were incredibly old and carefully encased in preservation charms by the conservationist witches who worked diligently in the back rooms of the Tomegrove. I eased a few promising titles down from the shelves and settled into the carrell, where the guidelight flared brighter to double as a lamp.

I threw myself into my research. Information about the ascendancy array was scarce. A few books mentioned it in passing, but none of them went into any real detail. Then, finally, a massive, dusty book yielded some results.

"There you are," I murmured, brushing my finger over a complex illustration of twisting filigreed pieces fitted together into an hourglass shape. "The ascendancy array. Used as a reservoir of magical energy by powerful magic users." The text was dry, technical, and had more information about the proper alloy compositions of the device than I needed, but it was the first promising lead I'd found. I pulled a small, well-worn leather notebook from my jacket pocket and began scribbling down notes. I was so absorbed in what I was doing, I didn't even notice when another guidelight bobbed up behind me.

"Excuse me," came a quiet, firm voice from behind me. "I need that book."

"You can have it when I'm done with it," I said distractedly.

"I'm afraid I can't wait," the voice said. "It's a matter of some importance."

"Look, you'll just have to…" I trailed off. The stranger was tall and sharp-featured, with well-groomed, dark curls, and pale purple eyes. His skin was a cool brown, bloodless in a way that could only mean one thing. As if I needed another confirmation, his guidelight shone off sharp canines when he opened his mouth.

"I thought vampires didn't come to the Tomegrove," I said. "Too many common people here."

"Charming," the man said dryly. "Occasionally, there are times when the common people, as you put it, have something useful to us."

"Like blood," I said. A little petty, sure, but the lack of sleep was catching up with me. Most vampires these days drank animal or synthetic blood, but this guy looked rich enough that he might've been getting the real deal. His clothes were high-quality without being flashy. In the vampire world, that meant he was one of the ones who was so rich, they didn't need to brag about it.

The vampire sighed. "Like knowledge, which is why I need that book."

"Look, I don't know what to tell you," I said. "It's a library. You can have your turn when I'm done."

"I don't know what business a witch has with a book like that in the first place," he said. "Surely it can't teach you much about finding lost cats or curing petty ailments."

"Wow. Wow. Amazing. All of a sudden, I'm going to need this book for even longer."

He scoffed, tossing his head back. The guidelight threw the brutal curve of his cheekbones into sharp contrast, the line of his neck very long, and my mouth went dry.

"This is important vampiric business," he said. "So, run along and go back to brewing potions for erectile dysfunction or suspicious rashes."

"Just because that's all you go to witches for doesn't mean that's all we do," I said, venomously sweet. "I've got important business, too. I may be on the trail of something very dangerous here."

"I could just—" the vampire began, but a man came around the corner of the shelves. He had the head and legs of a bull, and was wearing a cardigan, as well as a pair of small reading glasses. There was a laminated badge clipped to his cardigan with "Hi! My name is TREVOR P. SENIOR LIbrARIAN" printed on it. Someone had decorated it with a sticker shaped like a dachshund.

"Shush," he said, pointing meaningfully to a sign that read "QUIET PLEASE" in large, bold letters.

"Sorry," I whispered, sending him an apologetic grimace.

He snorted, shaking his head in disapproval as he ducked back out of sight.

"Listen," I said quietly, getting to my feet so the stranger wasn't looming over me quite as much. "I'm here on important business, all right?" I grabbed a business card from one of my jacket's many pockets and handed it over.

Evangeline Summers, P.I. was printed across the front in a sturdy black font. "Some sort of powerful weapon has resurfaced, and I need to find it before someone else gets their hands on it and does something really, really stupid. This book could be the key to that."

The vampire looked over my card skeptically. "A hypothetical danger. Meanwhile, I'm dealing with one that's much more pressing."

I watched him, letting the silence stretch out. Most people weren't comfortable with the quiet, and if you waited them out long enough, they'd fill it, answering questions you wouldn't even have to ask.

"Vampires have been disappearing," he said. "I have a responsibility to stop it, if I can, and it seems I may need the information in that book."

I sighed. "I don't know how long I'm going to need the book, but I'd be willing to share it if you think it can help. Maybe we can take turns."

The vampire scanned my face, then nodded. "I suppose that's acceptable," he said finally. "Gabriel De Montclair, at your service." Gabriel glanced at my card again. "Does P.I. stand for private investigator or paranormal investigator?"

"Depends on the client." I decided not to mention that an earlier version of my business card had had P.P.I on it, for paranormal private investigator, until I'd tried the acronym out loud and realized that pee-pee-eye probably wasn't a great way to introduce myself.

"I may have work for you," Gabriel said. "If I hit a snag with my missing persons investigation."

I mentally flicked through my calendar. I had a lot on my plate already, but while bickering with hot strangers was all well and good, if there were actual lives on the line, I did feel like I had a responsibility to help. I sighed. "I can't promise you much of my time, but I'll help if I can."

He lifted my business card, held between two fingers. "I'll be in touch."

"Can't wait," I said, and almost managed to make it sound genuine.

When I got back to the office, Marcus was seated in one of the two creaky chairs that faced the front of the desk. His pipe was in his mouth but not turned on, and he was halfway through a cheap paperback. On the cover, a man with horrible facial hair posed dramatically with a gun.

"Those'll rot your brain, you know," I said, shrugging off my jacket and throwing it onto the coatrack in a practiced movement.

Marcus set aside his book. In bold yellow letters, the back cover let the world know that it contained The Final Case of Dick Mullen! "Oh, they're absolute dreck," he said. "But I do enjoy the twists and turns."

I shook my hair out of its bun and flopped into my chair, kicking my feet up on the desk. "Speaking of twists and turns, I think you might want to take a look at this," I said, picking up the letter and tossing it to Marcus.

He caught it without looking, then pulled silver-framed glasses from one of his cargo pants pockets and slid them onto his nose. His eyes flicked back and forth across the page as he read. "Interesting," he said finally, putting the letter back on my desk.

"What do you think?"

"I think you're almost certainly going to throw yourself into this case no matter what I say," Marcus replied, looking at me over the tops of his glasses. "But I would advise caution. Not only could this ascendancy array be incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands, but whoever sent you this letter clearly has machinations of their own. We can't assume this is an innocent tip from a concerned citizen."

"I know," I said. "But this thing… Something about it is calling to me, Marcus. It feels important."

He leaned back in his chair, fiddling with his pipe. "Well, trusting your hunches only rarely leads you to severe bodily harm."

"You should be a motivational speaker. Your pep talks are next level."

I fidgeted with the pendant around my neck. It was a round, polished disc of labradorite, with a smooth dip in the middle, perfect for sliding the pad of my thumb across. There was a pleasant hum of magic coming from it that I could feel if I really focused, and whenever I was super stressed, I would take a few breaths and ground myself with that steady, familiar hum.

The pendant was a gift from Marcus when I'd turned eighteen and officially been offered a spot as his apprentice. It was a portal stone, he had told me, and was mine to keep whether or not I took on the job. I'd worn it every day in the eight years since.

"It's an interesting puzzle," I said. "You know how I feel about those."

"I do," Marcus said. "All too well."

I'd known Marcus since I was twelve, when my magic had started to manifest, and he'd felt the ripples of it. Giving straight answers about why he did the things he did wasn't really Marcus's specialty, but apparently he'd been driving through the countryside to see the sights when he'd picked up on the distant sensation of my magic. He'd arrived in the tiny town where I lived, driving the oldest, dirtiest pickup truck I'd ever seen, which he affectionately called Floyd. I hadn't known it at the time, but Floyd was running on so much magic, it didn't even take gas anymore, and when you cracked open the hood, you wouldn't find an engine. Instead, it held a tangle of shiny wire that looked like a city made entirely of decorative bird cages.

My parents had been confused but supportive. When they'd adopted me, they'd sworn to love me no matter what, and they'd never broken that promise. They loved me very much, but in a way that made it feel like they were hoping affection could make up for their lack of understanding. They knew I was studying magic in the same way some parents knew their kids were studying computer programming.

I grabbed a sticky note from the cluttered surface on my desk and scribbled a reminder to call them later.

"Perhaps you should bring in reinforcements if you're going to go after the ascendancy array," Marcus said, snapping me back to the here and now. "I believe Isabella might be able to help you with this. I cannot shake the feeling that things are going to get complicated, and having a dark witch on your side might be useful."

"A reformed dark witch," I said. "Isabella only uses the techniques for good. Or, uh, for neutral things. Not for evil things, anyway. You're right, though—she could be able to help. I'll drop her a line when she gets back from that conference on hex construction."

Marcus raised his eyebrows. "And I'm sure she will bring back many informative books, and perhaps a few whimsical tote bags. In the meantime," he said, rummaging in a pocket, "it may be useful for you to keep this close at hand."

He passed over a small black plastic box wrapped in a tangle of colorful wires. A few lights blinked in the casing, although if there was a pattern to the blinking, I couldn't work it out. It looked familiar.

"Is this…?"

"The device from the lab during the Le Fanu job a few months ago, yes. The original design was quite promising, but I've made a few tweaks here and there," Marcus said. "It should be able to track dark magic. If the artifact you're looking for was crafted with the stuff, this might be able to help."