Page 38 of Another Man’s Treasure

She continues, “Sipan, our original keeper, was all about delightfully hidden surprises. He had an adventurous heart, and he felt true Gulchers would have that characteristic too. Not to mention he was an extraordinarily talented green witch, so there are lots of neat planty things around here. In fact, one of Lemon’s friends from Rainbow just relocated to take over some of his old projects. Her name’s Shadow; she’s awesome.”

“Genius,” Willa murmurs, looking around at the bar. “What sort of projects did he have in mind?”

Bluebell smiles. “Actually, the new humans who run monster headquarters were just here to talk about that. Apparently, Sipan wrote a whole business plan on how he wanted to grow Pine Gulch, but the prior HQ leaders buried it because they didn’t like his ideas. I suppose it shouldn’t be that big of a shock that the Gulch has never liked anyone they’ve sent us.”

“This feels like gossip,” Willa says with a delighted laugh. “Tell me absolutely everything.”

The wall to my left shudders and shuffles, and a framed photograph drops onto the center of the table.

Willa jolts but looks up at the ceiling with a big smile. “Thank you, friend.”

The photograph looks old, very old, showing a handsome white-coated longhorn minotaur. The plain gold ring in his nose indicates he never mated, but he looks happy anyhow in an old-timey three-piece suit. A gold chain hangs from a pocket on his vest. Below the picture, a burnished gold plaque reads “Sipan Varian, beloved Keeper.” I’d think it would be traditional to show the dates he functioned as Keeper, but it’s like he’s the only one who matters at all.

“Curious,” Willa says, turning the frame over. On the back, a folded sheet of paper is taped to the kraft paper backing. She carefully removes it and opens the tiny sheet.

“What the hells is that?” Bluebell leans forward over the table, staring at the bitty page.

Willa scans it quickly, then sets it down. Angular cursive writing is scrawled over it, so lyrical it could be a song.

Bluebell takes it and stares, dark brows furrowing as she reads.

If a true Gulcher at heart, take your time, do your part.

At her core there is more if you’ve the guts to explore.

An eleven will strike lest the Keeper choose fight.

I take the sheet. “Is that it? What is this? Is this one of the secrets you were mentioning?”

Hadrian shakes his head. “No, I have no idea what that is, although, admittedly, I never lived here full-time until this year.” He turns to Bluebell, who’s still staring at the paper. “Do you know what this is?”

I find myself wondering if Oz would have an idea. I bet he would.

She shakes her head. “No idea, and I’ve lived here my whole life.”

Willa reaches for the paper. “Can I have that? I’m nothing if not nosy, and I’m an excellent investigator. I might head to the records department at the Auction House and see if I can figure this out. I love a good mystery.”

“All yours.” Bluebell hands her the tiny sheet. “Let us know what you find because who wrote that? And why is it taped to an old photograph of Sipan Varian? And what does it even mean?”

Hadrian thrums his fingers on the tabletop, gathering my attention. “Dude. Why don’t you guys come over tomorrow and we can look at those books about your bulls? Maybe your sister will have figured out some of this mystery by then, too. I’ll admit to being curious. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” I say as I wonder if it’s alright for me to make Oz a plan without checking.

I know two things with certainty. One: if anyone can figure it out, it’s my sister. And two? I wish Oz was here so he could be part of this.

Oz

If I have to hear Saint Ashbourne drone on for another godsdamned minute, I’m going to simply get up and leave. He’s spent the last two hours complaining about every facet of Pine Gulch—the people, the land, the weather, the travelability, the food. Even the gorgeous steak in front of him right now doesn’t have enough marbling, it’s not soft enough, it’s not juicy enough. Glancing at my comm watch, I note it’s nearly ten p.m.

I wonder what Wilder’s doing right now?

“Can you believe that?”

The irritation in Saint’s tone pulls me out of my head, and I blink, trying to figure out what he’s bitching about now.

“It’s almost ten,” I say instead, deciding I don’t really care how good of a time he has. At the last minute, I remind myself that it matters at least a little bit because he’s representing the Sandovals, and we don’t want to piss them off and lose Wilder’s ranch or my spa dreams. I flash Saint a smile. “One more drink and then I’ll head home?”

He smirks at me, reaching down to rest a hand on his thigh. “Skip the drink. Let’s go to my room.”