“Fair enough,” he says. “I will look into Melchora. She has not visited our establishment for a while. If what you’re suggesting is true, her membership is the least of her concerns.” He turns to me. “That doesn’t explain why you’re both here today.”
Fiona leans forward. Not sure what to do, I lean in too. “I want the dowsing pendulum,” she says.
I look at Ammon. He leans back, perturbed. He must know what she’s talking about. I certainly don’t.
“So you can find her?”
“So Darcy can.”
“I’ve told you many times, Fiona. It’s not for sale.”
“Would you consider a temporary exchange? A loan, if you will.”
Ammon shakes his head dismissively. “An exchange? What could I possibly wish to exchange for lending out the pendulum?”
“The blood of a demon?”
My heart skips a beat the moment those words come out of her mouth. I slowly turn to face her with a look that could kill. “Seriously?” First, the animals I’ve vomited up and now this? “I’m not your personal goddamn vending machine, Fiona!”
I consider her a friend and an ally, but every now and then, I’m reminded of how very Hollywood she can be. One minute, she’s my best friend and ally, then suddenly, she’s making promises on my behalf and expecting me to provide her whatever she wants.
“We need the pendulum,” she shoots back. “You need the pendulum.”
“Why? Can’t we find Melchora on our own?”
“That’s not the question. The question is, can we find her before she strikes again?”
Damn it, that’s a good point. There’s no telling when Santa Muerte may strike again—and when she does strike, whose life might be lost.
I turn to Ammon. “This pendulum… what is it?”
Ammon smiles. Clearly, Fiona’s proposition has whetted his appetite. He rises from his desk and steps through a door into an adjacent room. Moments later, he returns with a small wooden box. It’s unstained, with a pale color and glassy grain that appears petrified. A tree is carved on the lid, its branches and roots wrapping into a perfect and circle around the tree.
He opens the box and lifts a silver chain. From it dangles a large clear crystal.
I shrug. “Neat. What does it do?”
“Finna Fiona,” Ammon says.
Slowly, the pendulum begins to swing. At first, it’s a normal rocking, back and forth. Then it stops. It levitates at a ninety-degree angle, pointing at Fiona.
“I crafted this from a piece of Iceland Spar I recovered from a shipwreck off the coast of Norway,” Ammon says. “I suspect it belonged to a shaman who guided boats at sea. Speak the words, and it will guide you where you want to go.”
I admire the pendulum. It’s transparent, like glass. As light hits it, it doesn’t refract the light like normal crystal. I have never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.
My attention shifts to Ammon, who watches me carefully. I can see him stifling the faint hint of a smile.
Leaning back in my chair, I shrug. “Why do you want my blood?”
“Stöðva,” Ammon says. The crystal drops, its weight returning to normal. He returns the jewel and chain to the box and closes the lid. “That is none of your concern. Do we have a deal, or not?”
“Aye,” Fiona says.
“No,” I say.
Ammon turns to Fiona. “She can be quite rude.”
I shake my head, not willing to let them shame me into compliance. “Look, Ammon, it is my concern. The last time I opted into this whole donation program, this one”—I jab a thumb at Fiona—“eBayed it to a witch, who later tried to have me killed. So pardon me for being a little gun-shy this time around.”
Fiona rests a hand on my arm to calm me. “Darcy, please…”
I pull my arm away. “Look, if you harvest me for more parts, you need to make a deal with me. Not Fiona. Me. I’m willing to discuss this exchange. But I need to know this blood isn’t going to come back and bite me in the ass.” My heart races. I take a deep breath, trying to relax before the alarm on my watch goes off.
Ammon doesn’t bother looking at Fiona. His eyes stay focused on me. “I spent my entire life studying magic—a lifetime that dwarfs yours by comparison. In that time, I have focused my attention on components and ingredients. Some are common. Some are not. And I have the unique training and ability to imbue the properties of these items, permanently, into other objects. Like that stone you are holding.”
I had all but forgotten the stone. I look down and open my fist. The stone rests lightly in the palm of my hand. No pain, no blisters—as if nothing ever happened. Actually, better—my skin isn’t even dry anymore.
I look up at Ammon. He’s holding his handkerchief again and opening it to me. Gently, I lay the stone in the fabric, careful not to make contact with him. He wraps the fabric around the stone and places it back on his desk.
“A demon’s blood is not something easily procured. I have never had the chance to work with it. I don’t know anyone who has. I can’t say for sure what use it will be. We are talking about the life force of an eternal and powerful entity—a thing that can cross the very planes of existence. I need to study it. To learn from it. Then if I can harness its power and use it in some… object… I cannot promise that someone somewhere down the line won’t use it against you.”
With my luck, I’m sure someone someday will.
“Then I think you’ll need to up the ante if you want this sweet A positive,” I say, tapping my forearm.
With a deep, resigned sigh, like so many other people make when dealing with me, Ammon asks, “What would you like?”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “This Santa
