Dylan nodded. “Expensive. Probably from an old Irish king.”
He examined another photograph. “This one’s odd. It’s a Saxon ring. It was in the Celtic collection because an old fairy donated it.”
He handed it to me. The gold ring was a classic design of the ouroboros, a scaled snake biting its own tail. The snake eyes were set with small rubies. It was as nice as Belgor said it was.
The remaining photos were of three fibulae, antique brooches for holding clothing together: a horned serpent in gold, a tree made of silver with tiny gold apples, and another gold one that looked like mistletoe. “The fibulae all have druidic symbols. That could be a connection.”
Dylan nodded. “Arguably, it’s all druidic. I think the motive is most likely profit. Boston’s Samhain draws a lot of people, so the market’s here.”
I slid the fibulae photos to the bottom of the stack. “Which is why you were staking out Belgor. You mentioned your agents were distracted when he was attacked.”
He looked out the window in thought. “They didn’t see the attacker enter the store. A distraction spell must have been used on them to lull them into inattention.”
“They were spotted,” I said.
“They’re very good agents. I’d be surprised if both of them were seen,” he said.
“Then I’d say whoever the attacker was knew Guild operations, either through experience or a leak.”
He sighed loudly. “Yes, well, the organization here is lax, if you ask me.”
It’s funny. I had issues with the Boston Guild, but hearing Dylan criticize it made me bristle. “Guildmaster ap Eagan has been sick for a long time,” I said.
“Yes, well, I don’t get why Maeve hasn’t stepped in sooner.”
“Maeve doesn’t do a lot of things she should,” I said.
He smiled to soften the tone of the conversation. “Okay, buddy, calm down. I was only making an observation. Auntie Bree said you have issues with the Guild, and obviously I don’t know them all.”
“Sorry. Bad habit. How’s the rest of the show going?”
Dylan rocked his head. “Busy. Incredible number of assault and batteries in the last few weeks. The Boston P.D. is staying out of it, which is and isn’t helping. The police are much more cooperative in New York.”
“We have Commissioner Murdock to thank for that. He would like nothing better than for the Weird to break off and float out to sea,” I said.
Dylan chuckled. “Yes, I’ve talked to him. Walks the line a hairbreadth from insulting.”
I saw an opening to take Meryl’s advice and spread a little more good karma. “Keeva can help you with him.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t think diplomacy was one of her skills.”
I had to laugh at that one. Obviously, he had been on the receiving end of one of Keeva’s barbed comments. “She and the commissioner are two sides of the same coin. She can help you.”
He pursed his lips. “You know she’s on suspension.”
“She’ll be cleared. She’s good at what she does, Dylan. Let her do it.”
The sly smile came back. “Why the support? I don’t get the sense she likes you.”
I shrugged. “I owe her a couple of favors. Putting in a good word for her is a no-brainer.”
His smile became a little more genuine. “I’ll take your word for it, then. I’ll cut her as much as slack I can.”
I stood. “Thanks. I should let you get back to work.”
From another folder, he took out more pictures, grainy shots of a building interior, and slid them across the desk. “I shouldn’t show you these. Security photos from the Met.”
It took me a moment to realize the same person appeared in them, a small, blond-haired woman with a rather plain face. He spun the photos back toward himself to examine them. “We haven’t identified her yet. I was hoping you might recognize her. She entered the U.S. three weeks ago and visited the museum twice before the robbery. We know she met with Bergin Vize at least once in the month before she left Germany.”
In addition to being the thug who either accidentally or intentionally destroyed my fey abilities, Vize was an international terrorist, part of a group of people intent on bringing down the Seelie Court. He’d helped plan a major attack in Boston the previous spring and manipulated a mentally unstable fey man into nearly causing a cataclysm. I killed the plan, and High Queen Maeve apparently executed the perpetrator. “Why didn’t you arrest her?”
“We wanted to track her movements. We lost her in New York, but we believe she came to Boston. She’s the reason I’m here. I thought you should know,” Dylan said.
I don’t have proof, but the fact that Vize had been involved in two terrorist plots that also almost killed me was no coincidence. “Do you think she could be behind the odd attacks against me?”
He shook his head. “I don’t see any connection to you at all other than Bergin Vize, and he’s connected to a lot of stuff. I’ve never heard of spells that work the way you’ve been describing. But there’s more going on than just that. We suspect a major terrorist operation is in the works. Her friends in Europe have gone into hiding,” he said.
“You mean the Guild has lost Bergin Vize again,” I said.
“You’re not supposed to know that,” he said.
I didn’t know what to think. First Ceridwen dangled Vize in front of me, then Dylan. Ceridwen I didn’t trust. Dylan I wanted to. He surveyed the piles of paper on his desk. “You can be part of this again.”
I shook my head. “Freelancing suits me for now.”
He looked at the photos, then back at me, slight disappointment on his face. “Okay-for now. If you hear anything related to this, let me know?”
I don’t know why he trusted me. “Sure thing.”
I walked the corridor on the opposite end of the floor until I reached Keeva’s office. She had two nameplates outside her door. The top one had most of her full name with its old country spelling, CAOIMHE AP LAOIRE MAC NIAMH AES SIDHE. Fairy commoners often ended their names with their clan affiliation, like Danann Sidhe. The monarchy, though, used the simple Aes Sidhe. Everybody knew they were Dananns. Americans had a hard time with the old spellings and diphthongs, so like a lot of fey, Keeva anglicized her name for easier pronunciation by the local folks. Hence, the bottom plate read a simple KEEVA MACNEVE.
Her door was ajar. I pushed it open with my foot and found Keeva staring out the window. She had a great view of South Boston and the harbor beyond it. When I knocked, she pivoted her chair slowly toward me, an annoyance on her face that did not change much when she saw me. “How do you do it?”
Without waiting for an invitation, I took the guest chair. “Do what?”
She pulled her chair up and leaned across her desk blotter. “How do you not work here and still manage to make my life miserable?”
I tried an apologetic smile. “It’s a knack?”
She glared. “I’m not amused.”
“Why don’t you clue me in to the problem?”
Her eyes flicked to the door for a fraction of a second. “Dylan macBain.”
I shrugged. “I’m not responsible for him.”
She rubbed her neck in frustration. “If I have to hear one more story about what great fun it was working with you ‘back in the city,’ which I assume he means that slab of concrete and garbage on the Hudson River, I will not be responsible for the removal of his tongue.”
I exaggerated looking up in pleasant memory. “Yeah, it was fun working with me back then.”
She growled. “You must have used up all the fun part before you came here.”
“So, I’m guessing you’re not happy with the current job share?”
She huffed and turned back to the window. “It’s only procedural. It’ll be cleared up in another day or two, and Mr. Wonderful will be on his way back to the city.” She used her fingers to make air quotation marks when she said “the city.”
I leaned back. “He’s just doing his job, Keev. He’s good at it. Like you said, he’ll be gone soon.”