I turned it over in my hands. “Wow, this looks old.”
“No, it’s not. It’s made of iron, so it gives that appearance. And it’s not cursed. If Nicky’s created one construct, he could have another on hand. Iron works well against constructs, as Lilac discovered.” He gave Lilac an encouraging smile
“Oh!” She perked up. “I have my gargoyle in my purse downstairs. I’ll make sure to bring him back to the shop.”
“Excellent choice. It certainly can’t hurt to have him on hand. Gargoyles can be fierce protectors and are always good luck for the owner.” Hector turned his attention to me. “Works like any knife, maybe a little sharper, maybe a little more accurate. It’s slick if it gets . . . uh, wet, since it’s constructed entirely of iron.”
I inferred wet to mean bloody, and appreciated both the warning and his discretion. Then I realized that iron shouldn’t be as sharp as any knife, and certainly not more so. And increasing accuracy meant there had to be some magic, unless Hector had put some kind of whammy on me. “Wait, I thought you said the knife wasn’t cursed.”
“Well, there’s cursed and there’s just a pinch of helpful magic.” Hector winked, and then handed me an ankle sheath he pulled from under the knife case. Then he retrieved an old-fashioned key from his pocket. He removed it from his key ring and presented it to Lilac. “This is for you. Just put it in your pocket and don’t lose it.”
He’d just given her something he clearly carried as a personal token, and I hoped she understood its value. She opened her mouth to reply and nothing came out, then she gripped it tightly in her fist for several seconds before stuffing it in her pocket. She patted her pocket and then nodded. Maybe she did understand.
Hector paused to strap on two knives of his own, as well as a wooden stake. He saw me eyeing the sharpened implement. “Useful against more than one type of undead creature, and since we don’t know what we’ll be up against, it’s a good precaution.”
All I heard was “vampires,” even though he never said the word.
My fear must have shown, because he pulled out the stake and handed it to me to inspect. The point was wickedly sharp. “I grew the tree from a tiny seed and whispered words of magic to it until it let loose of this particular limb.” He flashed a devilish grin. “Those words were very sharp and pointy.”
My eyebrows lifted. Not like ordering a pizza indeed. I quickly returned the stake.
He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine, but just in case . . .” He held up a finger. He left to pull a jar off the shelf furthest from the stairs. He returned and placed it on the table we’d gathered around. “A small insurance policy against infection from the dead.”
Lilac thumped the table. “I knew it! Vampirism is contagious.”
“Not like you mean.” Tamara peered intently at Lilac. There was a warning in her eyes. “The bite of most undead will infect but not turn you. Every creature has its own methods for continuing its kind, but an undead bite will get you sick and possibly dead—not undead.”
Looking slightly paler, Lilac turned to Hector. “What do we have to do?”
He unscrewed the lid of the jar and a pungent, not unpleasant aroma escaped. It was earthy, like freshly turned soil. And spicy. No, perhaps floral? Or grass. Maybe—
Tamara leaned close. “You can’t parse the scents, because they’re not intended to be identified.”
Lilac looked at the jar like bugs might crawl out at any moment. “What do we do with it?”
“Inhale,” he replied, so we all did. He passed the jar around, and we all got a solid whiff of the multifaceted, ever-changing, impossible-to-pin-down scent.
As Hector screwed the lid back on the jar, he said to Lilac, “Nothing’s foolproof, so try not to get bitten.”
While Hector replaced the jar and Lilac tried not to hyperventilate, Tamara pulled several charms from her bag. They dangled on the end of thin leather cords.
As she handed them out, she said. “Protection isn’t where my expertise lies, but these may have some small benefit.”
Hector snorted but didn’t comment. So either they were basically useless, or our friendly neighborhood witch was being excessively modest.
Sylvie received a tiny pouch that smelled suspiciously of baked goods. Lilac’s charm was a little cloudy crystal. She laughed when she touched it and said, “It’s a salt crystal!”
And I got a cat. I know we were out to rescue my furry housemate, but still—my protection charm was a cat?
“Thank you,” I said.
But Tamara had pried into my head, or my thoughts were shouting, because she said, “Trust me.”
“So anyone have a good idea of what this Nicky character looks like?” Lilac pulled out her phone and, after a few swipes, presented us with a picture from the file Clarence had put together.
“Neither of us have met him.” Tamara looked to Hector for confirmation. He nodded agreement, and she said, “Only Mrs. G. Nicky doesn’t come and go much. He’s kept to himself since he moved in.”
They both leaned in for a good look, as did I.
Sylvie nodded. “A few times.”
Uh-oh, she looked really mad. And then the volcano erupted.
“How long have they lived here?” Sylvie asked with a disgusted look at Nicky’s picture.
Lilac stuffed the phone back into her pocket, quietly supplying the answer: two and a half months. She must have had more than a passing look at the files.
Sylvie took the information in stride and kept right on going. “Two and a half months they’ve been here. I can’t help wondering what other snooping they’ve gotten up to, non-magical things that wouldn’t have triggered Tamara’s alarms.” She clutched the glasses in her hand, and Hector winced. “It’s just so creepy to think about. They basically stalked me. Stalked me like a, a, a—”
“Deer?” Lilac supplied.
Pointing at Lilac, Sylvie nodded with terrifying enthusiasm, stabbing her finger
