“Okay,” I say, not really seeing how a love potion or any of the other charms that make up my particular bag of tricks could be called for. “So?”
“The ring’s missing.”
“Missing,” I say flatly.
“Yeah. From her safe.”
I shrug. “Maybe she took it out before she died.”
Manny shakes his head. “I saw it in there myself when I went to itemize the estate. It’s distinctive, you know. Big black thing. It was in there one day, and when I went back a week later, it wasn’t.”
“So someone took it out.”
“That’s what weird. I’m the only one who has the safe combination. Miss English was very particular about that. She wouldn’t tell it to anyone while she was alive.”
“Well, she obviously told someone, Manny.”
“I don’t think so. And the Museum doesn’t think so, either. They’re raising a huge stink about it. Evidently the ring’s got some big historical value.”
“What are we talking?”
Manny rubs a hand over his face. “They say three million.”
“Dollars?” I gape at Manny. I thought he was strictly small time. Divorces, wills, evictions, D.U.I.s. I’ve never known him to handle anything more than a couple hundred thousand. And now he’s got a ring worth three million?
Or, more to the point, doesn’t have a ring worth three million.
“Yeah.” His voice drops and he leans forward to say in a whisper, “Here’s the thing . . . they’re saying I must have taken it.”
“Ah.” I stare at the file, to avoid meeting his eyes. Manny doesn’t look it, with his rumpled suits and desk-jockey paunch, but he likes to take the occasional walk on the wild side. He takes cases no one else will. Skates close to the edge.
Consorts with witches.
For a moment, I have to wonder.
“I didn’t do it.”
I glance up at him. “I believe you.”
And I do. I only wondered for a second, and then logic and instinct kicked in. Logic: Manny would be setting himself up if he took it, since he’s the obvious suspect, and he’s too smart for that. Instinct: I’ve known Manny for years, and although you can never know for sure what goes on inside someone else’s head, Manny’s not the kind to steal from his own client. Not even for three million dollars.
“Who do you think did?” I ask.
“That’s the weird part, kid. I don’t. I’ve been over it time and again. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t write it down anywhere. Miss English didn’t tell. It’s like it just vanished.”
“Rings don’t just vanish on their own.” Well, not most rings anyway, and if Manny’s looking for one of those rings, there’s not much I’m going to be able to do to help him. Fae rings are beyond me. I sigh. “You need a private eye, not a witch.”
“Yeah, I thought about that. Then I read that letter that’s in there.”
There’s a folded piece of parchment tucked into the file. When I pull it out it’s stiff, heavy with red wax seals. I unfold it and try to read it, but it’s written in that impossible copperplate with the odd ‘f’s and ‘s’es. My eyes cross after the first line.
“What does it say?” I ask, knowing when I’m beaten.
“The ring belonged to Reverend George Burroughs. He was tried for witchcraft. You know, in Salem, back when. In his confession he said it was the ring Solomon used to command the demons who built his Temple . . .”
I hold up my hand with a rattle of bracelets. “King Solomon? Manny, you’ve got to be kidding.”
“Wish I was. That letter’s from a court clerk, Stephen Sewall, to the Governor of the Commonwealth. The ring was seized during Burrough’s trial. Sewall says he’s heard the voices of demons speak through it himself.”
I hunker into my army surplus jacket. Demons. Just the mention of them makes the sunny day go cold and grey. Ghosts, elementals, shifters, the fae – I’m fine with all of them. But demons? They scare the shit out of me. I admit it. Anything that picks between eating your face or your immortal soul is something I steer well clear of.
Through a shiver I ask, “What’s this thing doing in some little old lady’s safe?” I take another glance at the file. “In Beverly, of all places.”
“No idea. I’ve gone through every other scrap of paper in her house. Nothing. No mention of the ring except in the will. I’ve questioned her whole family, even the damn cat. One of the nephews thinks it’s a family heirloom. But that’s the best I can come up with.”
I shake my head. “Manny . . . what do you want me to do? Look, you know my deal. You want a love potion? A memory charm? I’m your girl. But I don’t know anything about this sort of thing. You need a—”
I trail off, because I know what Manny needs. He needs a diabolist. Someone who knows about demons and inferiarcus, their summoning artifacts. But I only know two real diabolists, that crackpot in Pennsylvania that I’m pretty sure has gotten too cozy with his subjects.
And Ro.
I sigh. “I know someone who might be able to help. I’ll give her a call.”
Manny reaches across the table and grips my hand. His hand is sweaty, and I don’t think it’s because of the warm fall sun. “Thanks, kid. I’m really in the shit on this one. I appreciate your help.”
I try to smile. Despite being a lawyer, Manny’s not a bad guy. He was there for me when I hit my own personal bottom. I want to help. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to.
Chapter 2
I’m late to the clinic, but Evonne just smiles her lighthouse smile at me from behind the reception desk. The staff are used to my odd hours. I’m not a morning person on the best of days, and on the days when I’ve been out until all hours the night before, tramping through the woods to collect the herbs I need, I often stumble in closer to noon than nine.
“It’s a brewing
