Instead, he studied it, feeling along all the edges, turning it over. It seemed heavy.
“Well?” I didn’t know how much longer I could stand the suspense.
“Just wondering if there’s anything magical going on here,” he said.
That set me back. “Oh. How do you tell?”
He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a small iron nail tied to a string. This was Amelia’s work. I still wasn’t sure I entirely understood what had happened with the two of them, but I had learned to recognize when she was the one in charge. His movements became more careful, his diction more precise. Cormac had given up his guns, but Amelia’s magic was more powerful.
He held the end of the string and let the nail dangle, balanced horizontally. A makeshift pendulum. This was so exciting, but I held my breath and tried not to interrupt.
Nothing happened.
We waited. Still nothing, until finally Cormac bundled the string and nail back in his pocket.
“So. No magic?” I asked.
“Not that we can tell from outside.”
“Is this going to be like Al Capone’s vault? There’s not going to be anything in it, is there?” He hesitated, tilted his head. “What?”
“I had to explain Al Capone’s vault to Amelia.”
I wanted to scream. “Here. Give me the key. I’ll open it.”
Cormac smirked at me and slipped the key into the box’s lock.
So, it wasn’t Al Capone’s vault. The box wasn’t empty, but it also didn’t release a puff of stale, ancient, intriguing air like I was hoping it would. My wolfish nose took a long breath just to be sure. And . . . it smelled like an animal.
Cormac opened the lid all the way and we peered inside. The box contained two items: a chunk of fur tied with a string, and a postcard.
“Well, that’s satisfyingly cryptic,” I said.
He took out the postcard first. It showed a historic Western main street against the backdrop of snow-capped peaks. LEADVILLE, COLORADO, was printed across the scene in friendly letters. The back of the card was blank.
The fur was tawny colored, rough. “Can you tell what that came from?” he asked.
I leaned in to get a better smell. It smelled familiar, but not. Canine, I thought. But . . . I wrinkled my nose, tried again. Then leaned back.
“That came from a lycanthrope,” I said.
“One of yours?” he asked.
“No, I don’t know who it is. Just . . . it’s not entirely canine, it’s got that little bit of human in it, you know? No, I guess you wouldn’t. I don’t think it’s wolf. I don’t know what it is.”
“Huh,” he said, frowning.
I took the card from him, thinking maybe I could get a scent off it too, but it had been stored with the fur so long both items just smelled like each other. I studied the picture, looked over the back. Blinked. Looked again, just to be sure. Held the card up to Cormac.
“This . . . this is newer than fifty years old.” I pointed out the copyright date on the postcard. Ten years ago. The postcard, and probably the fur, were no more than ten years old.
“So?”
“Rick said he got the key fifty years ago. How can the key be older than the thing it locks? How did this get locked in here ten years ago if Rick already had the key?”
“I’m not here to ask questions. I’m just trying to do this job.”
“Maybe there was a second key? A master key?”
“See, logical explanation,” he said.
I wasn’t convinced. “This is a really weird job, Cormac.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
“So I guess we’re going to Leadville?”
“Shit,” he muttered.
We told the clerk we were finished with the box. We didn’t tell her we’d emptied it. I had a few questions for her. “Just out of curiosity, do you have information on file about when the box was rented and who rented it?”
She went to her computer terminal. It seemed to be a modern computer with a flat-screen monitor, so at least that was up to date. She typed for a minute, then another minute. “Hmm,” she murmured intriguingly.
“It’s rented under the name of Mr. Crow, and the rent on it was paid in advance . . . well, for a good many years, it looks like.”
“Do you have contact information for Mr. Crow?” I asked.
She gave me her best, most professional customer service smile. It was soothing. “Nothing I’m allowed to give out, I’m sorry.” She really did seem to be sorry.
“Thanks anyway,” I said. “You have a great day!”
“Thank you so much, you too!”
We fled.
I texted Ben to let him know we were going to Leadville, and told him to call Cormac with any questions. When Cormac’s phone rang a minute later, the hunter shut it off.
“He’s just going to call back,” I said. We were already on I-70 west out of Denver. This trip was going to take the rest of the day, at least.
“Then you talk to him, he’s your husband,” he said curtly.
So I called him. “Hey there, you’re on speaker,” I said, and held the phone between me and Cormac.
“Why are you going to Leadville?” Ben asked in a frustrated tone.
I answered, “Because we found a postcard for Leadville in the safe-deposit box.” A long pause followed. “Ben?” Maybe we’d lost the connection.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “Why is your client sending you on a scavenger hunt?”
“I’d like to know,” Cormac said. “This message is starting to feel like a grenade. I want to get rid of it before it goes off.” The original envelope was tucked in next to the driver’s seat.
Ben muttered a curse under his breath. “I hope you’re getting paid really well for this.”
“I even got half up front.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway. I don’t have to tell you to be careful, do I? This feels really off.”
“We’ll be careful,” Cormac said.
“Kitty? Call me the minute you’re headed back home. Or if you need help. Or if you get arrested. Or—”
“I’ll call. I promise. Love you.”
“I love you, too. Be careful!”
I ended the call and blushed a little, with all that emotion out in the open and Cormac looking on, stone-faced. If he cared, I’d never know it.
“Sorry about the mush,” I said.
We probably went another mile before he said, quickly, like he was worried he couldn’t get it all out, “You two are the best people I know. I’m glad you’re together.”
In an incautious moment I asked, “So, no regrets?”
He hesitated. Just for a minute. “A few. But it’s okay.”
“It might have been fun. You and me.”
“Maybe. And it would have ended the minute you tried to bring me home to meet your parents.”
“Wait. You still haven’t met my parents, have you? You really should come over sometime. Maybe Thanksgiving.”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t have to stay long, just have some pie or something—”
“No.”