pearl. They stained the comforter in watery, diffuse shades and splashed the floor with pools of light. I'd have found it pretty hard to get any sleep myself, but at least the subject suited him: a group of soldiers waving antique weaponry.
I reluctantly went to work, and was soon wondering more about what I didn't find than what I did. Along with some wadded-up T-shirts and enough firepower to conquer a small country, I found several pairs of jeans, a new pair of tennis shoes, a few basic toiletries and some socks still in their packages. All of said purchases bought in haste by a guy who wasn't dressing to impress. He was just replacing necessities that, presumably, couldn't be reached because he didn't dare to return to his apartment. With the Circle after him for a couple dozen reasons, most having to do with helping me, I didn't blame him there. But it still didn't explain where the wardrobe for his alter ego was stashed.
I finally picked up a small wooden case on the nightstand. I'd deliberately left it for last, hoping that I'd find the rune tucked into a sock and not need to pry into something that practically screamed personal. If I hadn't needed the damn thing so badly, I'd have been out of there like a shot. As it was, I reluctantly opened the lid.
There was no rune in sight, just a few yellowing letters and a badly faded photograph. The woman it depicted was wearing a dark hat and a high-necked dress that made her face stand out like a pale thumbprint. It was pretty indistinct, but she looked young, with regular features and light-colored eyes. She was pretty, I decided—or would have been if she'd been smiling.
I turned the box over, but if there were any hidden compartments, I couldn't find them. It was just a plain pine rectangle, without even a lining that anything could have been hidden under. I flipped the photo over. It had a studio's name on the back: J. Johnstone, Birmingham.
Pritkin had mentioned once that he'd lived in Victorian England, which made him a hell of a lot older than his thirtysomething appearance, but what with the fighting and the running and the almost dying, I'd never gotten around to asking him about it. And he'd never mentioned any family. I didn't know if the picture might be his mother, his sister or even a daughter. I realized with surprise that although I could have written a book about the mage, I didn't know much about the man at all.
Billy drifted through the door, interrupting my thoughts. "Did you get it?" I asked eagerly. He spread empty hands and I sighed. I put the letters back unread—a quick feel had been enough to show that the rune hadn't been tucked into one—and centered the box carefully back on its square of dust-free wood. "What now?"
Billy gave me a look. "You know what now. You searched this room; I ransacked the den downstairs. And he wouldn't stash something that valuable just anywhere. He's got it on him."
It was worst-case scenario, so of course that had to be it. "How are your pickpocket skills?"
"Depends on whether he's paying attention. I lifted a rune for you once before, but only because you two were so busy yelling at each other that he didn't notice. You'll need to cause a distraction."
Great. Normally, picking a fight with the ever prickly mage wouldn't have been a problem, but now…“I don't think so," I said fervently.
"Then you may want to get gone, 'cause I passed him on my way here."
I stared at Billy blankly for a second, then what he'd said registered and I lunged for the door. It was exactly the wrong thing to do, especially when I could have shifted, but I panicked. The knob turned under my hand and, before I could breathe, I was back on the bed, a hard chest pinning me down and a knife at my throat.
I blinked nervously up at the mage, his face splashed with color from the rainbow spilling over the bed. Blue light limned his pale hair and caught on his cheekbones, making him look oddly alien for a moment. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.
The cold edge of the blade had dented my skin, disturbingly close to the jugular. I swallowed. "Trying not to move?"
Pritkin pulled away, scowling, the knife disappearing almost magically. "You should have given me some warning if you