Page 98 of For Dear Life

VIOLET

“Iron,” I say and smooth a hand across the lid. “That’s why the magic’s faint.”

“Before you ask, we’re not taking the whole box,” warns Rowan.

“Do you know the runes, Violet?” asks Grayson.

“Unfamiliar, but useless, whatever they are,” I say and trace one of the circles and intersecting lines with my finger. “These look like an attempt at a spell by a non-witch.” I casually pull open the lid.

Folded papers rest at the top of the full box, and I pass them to Rowan as I delve below. A yellowing envelope contains a series of photographs, which I pull out and flick through. A young couple in various close-up shots. The black-haired girl’s pretty features could be fortunate human genetics, or she could be a lamia vamp. Same with the tousle-haired guy—good-looking but in a classical human way and not the almost-too-perfect that gives a vamp’s features a slightly ‘off’ look. Or are they witches?

A love heart is inked in blue on the back of one photo. Pursing my lips, I also hand the guys the pictures, then take hold of a deep purple piece of torn silk cloth. Something’s inside, and I unwrap it to reveal a small, spiked silver tiara jeweled with prominent amethyst oval gems. Rowan crouches and takes the tiara from me, closing his eyes momentarily before shaking his head. “Nothing. Dead energy.”

“Not literally, I hope,” says Grayson.

I take the tiara back and shove it in my pocket.

Rowan now holds the envelope and stares at one of the pictures. “Is that the academy behind them?”

The two teens stand together, holding hands, beaming at the camera. They’re dressed in formal attire, the girl in a long, purple dress that reveals every one of her perfect curves, the neckline scooped low enough to be on the edge of decency, and the thigh slit almost to her backside. Good grief. Is this what girls wear to formal occasions?

“She’s wearing the tiara,” says Grayson.

I examine the purple, silky material in my hands. “Is this part of the dress?”

“Whoa. Okay.” Rowan pulls the torn material from me. “Either this literally is dead magic energy or I’m getting a bad personal feeling about what this is.”

“Take that photo. Leave the rest.” I attempt to remove the picture from his hand, but he keeps hold. “Rowan.”

“Did I just see you pocket the tiara?”

“We need a more focused psychometry spell on this object. You said that’s why you’ve brought the backpack.”

“But taking something this hidden and significant…” He sighs and holds a hand out. “Fine.”

Delving back into my sweater, I hand the tiara to Rowan, who re-wraps it in the purple cloth. “Do you recognize the people? Are they witches or humans?” I look closer. “Is one Sawyer?”

“The photo’s from years ago. They’d be old by now. Older than Sawyer.”

“Humans didn’t attend the academy back when people took those type of photos,” says Grayson. “And nobody knew about supes existing—any human staff were mind-wiped.”

“But supes and humans would mix,” I say. “Local reports about attacks that could’ve been vampires or shifters existed. I can’t believe no supe formed a romantic relationship with a human without telling them.”

“That can’t be anything to do with Sawyer,” says Rowan firmly.

“Why not? He has a weird relationship with supes. What if that family connection goes back years?” I ask. “We take the photo, cloth, and tiara.”

“No body parts?” Grayson asks.

“I haven’t delved deep enough to see if there’s any mummified…” I pause and narrow my eyes. “Sarcasm?”

Grayson gives a tight smile and I tut at him.

“Maybe don’t joke until Violet’s checked,” says Rowan.

“Oh, crap, I hope not,” mutters Grayson.

My fingertips run along the base of the iron box, but semi-thankfully there’s nothing more inside. “What are the other papers?” I ask. “Do we take those?”

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