Shay wondered how the pixie and gnome could just smell the thing and understand so much.
Magic is so fucking weird.
The tomb raider shook her head. “Not a curse. I had to grab a golden resurrection coffin. It was guarded by this invisible army of soldiers. One of them got a hit on me with his sword.”
Tubal-Cain nodded. “Ah, I see. That explains it all. The festering of your wound is a result of the curse on those soldiers. I’ve heard of them. Not the poor bastards’ fault…entirely. They messed with the wrong people centuries ago, and ended up, as a result, as the victims of very nasty magic that split their existence between different planes. Very rare thing, actually. Impressive in a disturbing sort of way.”
Shay blew out a breath. If anything, her arm hurt more since she’d stepped into the shop. “Can’t afford an excess of sympathy for anyone swinging a sword at my head. Those assholes were trying to kill me.”
“Yes, swinging and almost landing a clean blow.” The gnome chuckled. “You fought forty invisible spectrals without dying right then and there. I have to say I’m impressed, Miz Carson. You do have a knack for survival.”
“I had a magic sword. It helped.” Shay didn’t feel the need to explain that Lily had also helped. She assumed that the gnome knew somehow, but there was no reason to give him the satisfaction.
“Don’t be so modest, Miz Carson. Even with a magic blade, most single warriors would have been felled by such an army.” He rubbed his chin. “I wonder if your blade was enough to truly destroy them, or if they’ll return. It’s an interesting thing to consider.”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Shay took a few deep breaths. “I got the coffin, and it’s in good, safe hands and well away from any dark wizard cultists. My question for you is if you can do anything about my arm, or if I need to go to the hospital and fucking have them amputate it. It hurts like a motherfucker.”
Tubal-Cain rolled his eyes. “It’s just a little curse, no reason to be so dramatic. I have just the thing. You’d be surprised how often I see this sort of thing.”
Shay let out a sigh of relief. “Good. How much do I owe you?”
“A favor. I’ll even say a minor one.” The gnome gave her an almost feral grin. “Or you could go and get it amputated. That would stop the pain and spread of the infection. It might be interesting to see how you deal with such adversity.”
Shay forced a smile on her face. “I’ve grown rather attached to my arm. You have a deal.”
Tubal-Cain clapped. “Excellent. One moment. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared into the back and reappeared a minute later with a plain-looking black cloth.
The gnome offered the cloth to Shay. “Put it on the wound and wait. It’ll only take a minute, but it’ll be excruciating, so prepare yourself.”
Shay shrugged. “Better than chopping my arm off.” She grabbed the cloth and draped it over the infected cut.
Nothing happened for about five seconds, then the cloth suddenly tightened around her wound. She hissed. Tendrils detached from the material and threaded deep into her arm.
Shay closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. The ache became an inferno of agony. She managed to make it twenty seconds before she screamed, the pain knocking any other thought out of her head.
Then it stopped.
The tomb raider sat, hunched over, sweat all over her face, and panting. No burning, no pain, and no discomfort remained. She yanked the cloth from her arm. There was no wound or scar or even blood. The cloth fluttered to the ground.
Shay sat up. “Well, that was about as fun as crawling naked through glass.”
Tubal-Cain grinned and shrugged. “I do try and keep things interesting.”
When Shay stepped out of her Fiat into Warehouse Three, a sweet scent reached her nose. She tilted her head and sniffed a few times, trying to place it.
Peyton stood in front of a table near the oven kneading dough and whistling to himself. Flour covered the table, his apron, the floor, and even a wall yards away
How the hell did he manage that? Does he throw flour grenades in here?
Shay walked toward him, sniffing a few more times. Whatever Peyton was making, it wasn’t pizza.
Peyton looked up from his dough. “Hey, Shay.”
She searched around for a moment, spotting even more flour on walls, and a trail of floury cat footprints that led into the office.
“What are you doing?” Shay asked.
“Making cronuts. It’s like a croissant and a donut had a baby.”
“I know what they are.” Shay snorted and rolled her eyes. “I used to live in New York. That’s where they were invented.”
She blinked, realizing that several crates across the room were coated with flour. Some of the physics involved didn’t seem possible.
Okay, I don’t want to know. I’ll just ignore it and hope he has it cleaned up by the next time I come.
Shay spun on her heel and marched back toward her car.
“Where you going?” Peyton called.
“I’ve got research to do.”
Failure was the fire in the crucible of greatness. Every time a woman made a mistake, she should just think back, examine it, and figure out how to avoid making that mistake again.
Shay wanted to believe that, but her heart wouldn’t let her.
No. Mistakes burned in her soul, reminders of her failure and the fact that she wasn’t the best in the world at something. The best in the world wouldn’t have screwed up and failed to recover an artifact twice.
At least in Antarctica she’d had the excuse of being outclassed by Yulia, but her first real failure as a tomb raider hadn’t involved any witches, or even any enemies. Austria. Lake Toplitz.
Shay settled into a chair in front of a Warehouse Four
