Page 117 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“Ms. Bradley.”

A pause. “Are we back to last names? Did I do something?”

“No.”

“Good, because I didn’t think I’d had time to cross you. It’s been a very document-heavy day.”

I looked toward the garden, unwillingly pleased by the sound of her voice. “I would like you to accompany me to an auction this weekend.”

Another pause, longer this time.

“An auction?” she said.

“Yes.”

“As part of the case?”

“Of course.”

“Right. Obviously. What kind of auction?”

“Private antiquities and Olden Folk artifacts. One of the items listed appears to be the shrine mirror from my family’s collection.”

Her breath changed. “The third relic.”

“Yes.”

“That’s huge.”

“It may be.”

“It is.” Her certainty moved through the phone with startling force, and for a moment I let myself have it. Not hope as contract. Hope as useful, my father would say.

“I think your presence would be beneficial,” I said.

“Because of the legal angle?”

“Because you have shown an ability to identify social and practical avenues that others miss.”

“Oh.” There was a rustle on her end, then a muffled sound, as if she’d covered the phone and answered someone nearby. When she returned, her voice had lowered. “I’d have to clear it with Moira and Helena Wallace.”

“I’ll speak to the firm.”

She sighed. “Of course you will.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s just very dragon of you.”

“I am a dragon.”

“I walked into that.”

“You did.”

She laughed softly, and the balcony seemed to warm by several degrees.

God, I was in trouble.