“Klondike Gold Rush museums on Earth?”
“No. This should not be on this world. It was likely stolen.”
“By our thief? How has she gotten all these magical devices?”
“How have you gotten all of your magical devices?” Zav looked pointedly at my charm necklace, then at Sindari.
Sindari sniffed. I am a magical tiger, not a magical device.
“Not by stealing them.” I folded my arms over my chest, not pleased by the insinuation. I’d thought Zav was past calling me a criminal.
“My point is only that many artifacts have been stolen and found their way to this world.” Zav lowered his hand. “I am suspicious, though, that this may have been given to your thief as a way to assist her in getting you.”
“Not another Silverclaw that wants to see my demise, I hope.”
“There are many Silverclaws, some who are scientists and who would have known about such devices.”
“What would have happened if I’d been sucked into it?” Maybe I didn’t want to know.
“It would take a scientist to read the settings,” Zav said, “so I cannot say for certain. It may have delivered you to a cage in a dragon scientist’s laboratory.”
“Maybe I should let it take me so we can find out who’s responsible.”
“It may also have dumped you into a xrackaw-filled swamp on Yagobar. Or into the magma of an active volcano.” He scowled at the box.
“On second thought, I’ll stay here, and we can leave that thing turned off.”
Magic tickled my senses, and the box started to fade. Disappearing just like the one that morning had?
Zav rested a hand on it, and his own magic surged. The process halted, and it solidified again.
He lifted it from the floor and, with another rush of power, opened a portal. There was barely room for it between a desk and a filing cabinet.
“I will take this to an ally who may be able to tell where it came from and what the settings are. I will return in the morning and take you to Dun Kroth to find the provenance and secrets to your sword. It is important for you to learn this information since so many seek to claim it for themselves. We will delay no longer in researching it.”
The provenance. That meant we might find out who it truly belonged to, and I would have to say goodbye to it. I gazed sadly down at Chopper.
“I suggest you return to your abode where the defenses are sound. This thief may have more tricks under her talons.”
“I’m certain of it.”
Zav strode toward the portal but paused to look at me, his gaze softening. “I will return in the morning,” he repeated, “and tomorrow night, we will enjoy tysliir.”
“Won’t we be on the dwarven home world?”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “They allow sex there.”
“Good to know,” I said as he sprang through the portal.
Do you and Lord Zavryd speak of things other than mating? Sindari sat on his haunches, probably wondering why I’d summoned him.
“Occasionally. Want to stick with me for a while in case a thief jumps out with powerful artifacts and tries to slay me on the way home?”
Will Dimitri be at the house?
“Are you only staying with me if he’ll be there to pet you when we get there?”
No, but it would be a perk. He has a crafter’s hands.
“What kind of hands do I have?”
They are brusque and rarely adoring.
“I’ll work on that.”
Do.
9
The next morning, I gathered all of my gear and headed to the coffee shop to see if the thief had been by and to wait for Zav there. I’d sent a text to Amber, letting her know I would be out of contact for a while but that she was welcome to send updates about her school life and that I would read them when I got back. That had earned me a yuck face.
“It’s fine,” a whiny boy voice was saying as I walked into the shop, drawing out the single-syllable word to at least two. Reb slouched by the coffee kiosk with an ice pack to his eye while his surrogate mother, at least until she found him a full-blooded troll mother willing to take him in, frowned down at him.
“Did you pound them mercilessly into the ground?” Inga asked. “You know trolls will keep striking if they sense weakness in you.”
“I know that. I am a troll. You’re just a big human with troll hair.” Reb wrinkled his face at her, then seemed to regret it as he winced and adjusted the ice pack.
Our barista, Tam, was making drinks and pretending not to pay attention to the exchange. Dimitri was in the back, with semi-professional lights shining down on a row of dragon door knockers in different colors as he took photos of them. He probably didn’t have to pretend not to pay attention.
I swung by the kiosk for a couple of sparkling waters to take with me to dwarf land—hey, a girl had to have a few luxuries—and asked, “Everything okay?”
Even though I hadn’t been responsible for Reb’s father’s death, it had been tied in with the dark elves I’d been investigating, and I felt some guilt over not being around to keep them from killing him. I was glad Inga had volunteered to take care of the boy, even if troll mothering techniques would have given Child Protective Services fits—had they acknowledged that trolls existed.
Reb slouched further. “Fine.”
“Fine.” Inga managed to sound almost as sullen and surly, but that was a typical tone for her.
“Need help with anything? Beating up trolls is a specialty of mine.”
“So I’ve heard.” She gave me a dark look.
At least she didn’t call me Ruin Bringer. We’d come to a semblance of peace, though I doubted Inga would ever adore me.
“I could show him a few moves. I’m teaching my daughter to fight.” I wondered what Amber would think about having a troll sparring partner.
“I will instruct the boy,” Inga said. “And teach him enchantments that could be useful.”
“I don’t want to learn magic,” Reb said to the floor at her feet. “I told you. I’m going to be a warrior. Like Sinjar the Bold!”
“That is a troll folk hero,” Inga explained to me.
“Did he have a cape?” I paid for the bottled drinks and swung my backpack to the floor so I could make room for them. It was jammed full with my extra ammo and grenades as well as less-explosive supplies, such as food, water, a multi-tool, rope, a blanket, a first-aid kit, and chocolate. The necessities.
“A what?” Reb asked.
“A cape. Like superheroes on Earth.”
“Capes sound sissy.” Reb pointed at my open pack. “Are those grenades?”
“Yes. I’m going somewhere dangerous. I’d wear a cape if I had one. They’re not sissy. Haven’t you heard of Superman?”
“Sinjar the Bold could kick Superman’s ass!”
Inga cuffed him. “Language.”
He spat a stream of words in trollish at her that likely involved more dubious language. Inga lifted her hand in warning.
“You’re not my real mother,” he blurted, then ran off—or tried. He tripped over my pack on the way, cursed again, and charged for the back exit.