Cormac showed her the key. “Do you have safe-deposit boxes?”
She studied the key for a moment. “Oh yes, that’s one of ours. If you’ll come this way, I can get the box for you.” We followed her to a small conference room off the main lobby. “It’ll just take me a moment,” she said pleasantly. “Can I get you coffee, tea?”
“No thanks,” I said, my smile frozen, while Cormac studied the room like he expected to find a bomb. I whispered to him, “Don’t they usually need to see ID or something before they’ll get out a box?”
“No idea,” he said. “I’m not going to bring it up.”
My pulse was racing, waiting for the teller to bring in the box. What would we find? How amazing was this, a real-live treasure hunt? Cormac’s expression never changed. Could he at least pretend to be excited?
We both twitched when the door opened again and the teller came in with a metallic box in her arms, about the size of a shoe box, locked tight. She set it on the table and turned back to the door with hardly a second glance. “Let me know when you’re finished, or if you need anything else.” She must have practiced that smile in the mirror every morning.
The conference room door closed, and Cormac considered the box.
“Open it, open it!” I urged, bouncing in place a little.
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.