Page 7 of Dead and Gone

"You did what?" asks the curator. "What are you? I thought you were a vamp like the kid in the leather jacket."

"I'm not a vamp."

"A witch?" He sucks on his teeth.

"No." I look at Rowan. "Should I be disappointed that not every resident in town knows who I am? I'd begun to enjoy my infamy."

But Rowan has an odd expression. Hedidwander away when our conversation with the curator began, and he now jerks his head to one side.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

His eyes dart to the curator, who's watching us all with continuing suspicion. Another jerk of the head.

"Either you've developed a nervous tic, or something is wrong," I whisper.

"And which do you think is likely?" he whispers back.

Rowan nods at Leif, who nods in return, then turns to the curator. "Would you like to see more of Marvin's adventures?" he asks the man.

"No, I would not," he grits out. "I would like my exhibit returned. Intact."

Leif leans down and whispers something to Holly, and she glances at me and Rowan before launching into her theories about 'Marvin's’ whereabouts.

Rowan takes my hand and leads me through the doorway back into the main museum.

I partially understand the curator's annoyance at losing items from the museum to the hands of the supernatural council because who would pay good money to look at empty glass display cabinets? The remaining exhibits link back to the agricultural origins of the town—farming implements and samples of clothing worn over a hundred years ago, again joined by old photographs of the area's history.

"What am I looking at?" I ask as Rowan pauses by one such cabinet. "Rusty spades? This place is awful. I shall apologize to Holly for my bad choice of excursion."

"Not that one. Here." Rowan tugs me past the display and inclines his head to another small room close to the one housing the taxidermist's dream.

Rowan leads me to a tall glass-fronted cabinet that contains various items with descriptive cards. A compass and a pistol donated by the Whittaker family are displayed beside a small ivory trinket box carved with a swirling ivy pattern along the edges. Items of jewelry are pinned to a board behind: a chain holding an open silver locket containing a picture of two small children, a gold brooch inset with a line of small sapphires, and a matching ring with a distinctly larger diamond.

"Something inside the cabinet contains magic," says Rowan quietly.

"Oh? Which item?" I ask as Rowan's ability to read energy from objects strikes again.

"I don't know." He places a palm on the glass and bites his lip. "I've touched all the cabinets because I wanted to check if there're magical items in the museum. This cabinet has a faint energy, which means something insideis."

"But our friendly curator said the supernatural council removed anything magical."

"Perhaps they missed something?" he suggests. "Maybe somebody placed an item inside the museum after the council half-emptied the place?"

A loud tut comes from behind us, and the curator appears, then pulls a white cloth from his waistcoat pocket as Rowan hastily withdraws his hand.

"I'd expect small children to put dirty fingers on my exhibits, not teenagers," says the curator, vigorously rubbing the white cloth against the glass.

Good grief.

Rowan digs hands into his pockets and steps back, flashing the curator a filthy look.

"You have some interesting exhibits," I say. "Besides the stuffed animal skins, that is."

"Are you also planning to steal something valuable?" he asks suspiciously. "Did you like the look of the necklace?"

"I already informed you that I've no desire to take anything." Which is now a lie—if there's a magical item behind this glass, I want it. "Do people often steal from you? You're rather paranoid."

His lips thin until they almost disappear. "Supes broke in a couple of months ago. I discovered every cabinet door unlocked the next morning."

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