Page 25 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

It was the only advantage humans had over supernatural races—that only a human could make such an object. And it had been exploited throughout history. Especially in days long past.

Before the Supernatural Council had been formed, more commonly dubbed the SC, races had no qualms about enslaving humans, forcing them into crafting dangerous objects of power. This made it far more difficult to keep the magical world hidden. Now, only a select few humans became artificers, which made them answerable to the SC, but they also had rights, just like any supernatural.

Eleanor cleared her throat, remaining silent otherwise.

He said, “You mentioned studying art history and other ancient things with Professor Miller. You were really just referring to artifacts, then?” She nodded. “And? The artifacts Professor Miller had in her possession, are they missing?”

“Some of them,” she managed, her voice falling to a whisper. “But she could have, I don’t know, sold them, or gotten rid of them. Maybe donated them.”

“What does your gut tell you?”

“A few of them were really important to her.”

He sat up straighter. “How do you know that?”

“Because…” She chewed on her bottom lip, briefly drawing his attention to her plush mouth. “Because I helped her find some of them.”

He sat forward. “You?”

“During…like, when I was studying under her.”

He huffed. “You guys went out and hunted artifacts or something? Like some modern tomb raider shit?”

“Actually, yes. That’s…that’s exactly what we did.”

He gaped at her, realizing he’d vastly underestimated her, then snapped his mouth shut. “They let you get a master’s degree in shit like that?”

“Well, no, not really.” Her cheeks flushed. “But…”

Damn. She was a mystery unfolding. He rubbed his chin.

“We did it in secret—Professor Miller and I. My master’s was supposed to be in art history, minor in archeological anthropology. When people don’t know magic exists, ancient objects are seen as relics of an old time. Humans have no idea that half the things in their museums are, in fact, magical objects. And then there are the allusions to artifacts that spring up in art pieces all over the world, objects of myth and legend depicted in paintings and journals and such. That sort of thing. Those were often what we searched for. Common things like armor, belts, crowns, jewelry, masks, mirrors, musical instruments—that’s always a fun one—tools⁠—”

“Okay, okay.” He exhaled through his nose. “I get it. Shit. This changes things.”

The realization was sinking in. If Professor Miller was tangled up in something like this, then it was very likely her death was premeditated and centered around her artifact work.

“Right. Well. So, yeah. That’s what we did together. Most of the things we reclaimed were in the name of the university, as part of our research and whatnot. But sometimes we did stuff on the side too. That’s how she got her own collection.”

“And your necklaces?” He lifted an eyebrow.

She shrank down in her seat. “I mean…well, yeah.”

He studied her. Clearly this wasn’t something she wanted to discuss. He was tempted to push, but if it didn’t have anything to do with the case, then it didn’t matter. And yet, it mattered a whole hell of a lot to him, when it shouldn’t have.

In fact, nothing about her should have mattered to him. Nothing. And yet, he found himself wanting to know more. Wanting to know everything.

Wanting to hear stories of the adventures she’d been on. Of the artifacts she’d found.

He pushed that aside and said, “Fine. All right. I want you to make a list of all the artifacts you remember in Professor Miller’s house. I want to know what they did, too. I can go through it to see if it explains this. It might be our best lead.”

She nodded, her eyes going distant as she gazed out over the quiet suburb street they’d parked along. “I can do it after I get home,” she whispered.

“Good. Then let’s get you home.” He turned the key in the ignition and they set off, all while ignoring the sense of dissatisfaction blooming in his chest over the idea that he would soon be separated from her.

10

Isat silently in the passenger seat of Bastian’s truck as the city rose around us. Seeing Professor Miller’s house had been difficult. I needed another hot shower, fresh clothes, and my bed, which was why I couldn’t wait to get home. There was a part of me that panicked—wondering if Luke had found me at the club, could he find my home too? But the other part of me, the one desperate for comfort, brushed it aside.