Page 42 of Way of the Wolf

His nose wrinkled even more. “I can’t believe I came in extra early to help you.”

“It’s three minutes before eight.” I glanced at the time on my phone and waved at the office hours posted outside the door. “Now,twominutes before eight.”

“I can’t believe I came inslightlyearly to help you.”

“Tell me what help you’re offering so I know how appreciative to be of your sacrifice.”

Bolin lowered his voice again—further. “It’s about the case.”

I perked up at that. I hadn’t forgotten about it, but the previous night’s events, especially Mom’s revelation that she was dying, had distracted me. “Did you research it?”

“Yeah, and I asked my father about it. He was really into it, like it was a piece of fine art or something. He got a magnifying glass out and could tell it was druid craftsmanship and magic. Old World kind. He said artifacts like that are really rare, especially in our country. They hardly ever make it out of Europe.”

I thought of the medallion Mom had shown me and wondered what a druid would think of it.

“Even over there,” Bolin continued, “real druids are scarcethese days. Magic has been bleeding out of the world for generations, at least according to my dad. But your case is probably really old and was made when there were more crafters around, more people with the gift. He figured it’s centuries old, at least.”

“Interesting.”

And puzzling. It wouldn’t have been entirely mystifying if one of my family members had hidden something to do with werewolves at my place—maybe trying to hide it from the rest of the pack?—but I hadn’t crossed paths with many druids. If the case had been made with their magic, it might not have anything to do with my mom’s medallion after all. Werewolves had their own magic, their own crafters, though they were also scarce these days.

“There’s some writing on the bottom too,” Bolin added. “It’s faded and hard to read, so I didn’t notice it at first. I left Dad painstakingly copying it. He said he’ll get out some books and see if he can translate it.”

“Did he figure out how to open the case and see what’s inside?”

“I don’t think so. He said it would be wise to research it thoroughly before attempting to do so because it’s ensorcelled.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed the hand that had been zapped, glad I hadn’t tried to force the lid open.

“Imight have tried to open it,” Bolin admitted.

“How’d that go?”

“This is an iced mocha because my father suggested a cold pack for my hand.” Bolin held up the drink with the caramel sauce drizzled over the whipped cream, and I glimpsed a bandage on his palm.

“Is it numbing you suitably?”

“Yup.” He slurped from the straw. “We took some pictures and made notes. When do you need me to bring the case back?”

I considered Duncan’s interest. As far as I knew, that hadn’t changed. I didn’t know him well enough to guess whether he would break into a locked apartment to steal something. Fromwhat I’d seen of his career, thus far, the magic- and metal-detector adventures weren’t illegal, but… who knew how far his endeavors for finding lost things went? What if those lost things were stashed in someone’s sock drawer? And was it strange that I missed Duncan’s companyandwas debating if he was a thief?

“Why don’t you keep it for a couple of days?” I suggested. “While you guys study it.”

“Are you sure? My father said it’s really valuable, at least to those who know what it is.” Bolin sipped from one of his cups. “He’s got a safe he can keep it in, I guess. You wouldn’t want it just lying around. If someone who doesn’t know anything about magic and artifacts gets their hands on it, it could end up at a flea market.”

“I’d think the good-looking wolf carved into the front would make someone think it has more value than a five-dollar tchotchke.”

“Okay, it might end up on Etsy. Do you know the origins of that word?”

“Tchotchke? It’s Yiddish, isn’t it?”

“Originally, it comes from the Polish word for trinket. It was adopted into Yiddish slang astshatshkeand popular with Jewish Americans last century.” A nose wrinkle suggested Bolin might not think it was still popular and that I was an old fart for using it.

“Did you ever have to spell either at a bee?” I asked.

“No, but they’d be easy.”

“If you say so.” I’d only typed the word a few times, and AutoCorrect had had a heyday with my attempts.

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