Page 43 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I’d avoided this tower for good reason. The last time I’d visited, Griffin had accidentally animated all the furniture, and I’d spent an hour being chased by an overly affectionate ottoman.

I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the building pressure. We’d been trying to remove the Heirloom all morning. “Maybe if you used less brute force and more finesse.”

Kazimir stepped back, his jaw tight. “Maybe if you hadn’t put the damned thing on in the first place.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I dropped my hands. “Next time an ancient artifact of unimaginable power wants to disappear into my skull, I’ll tell it to ask your permission first.”

“That’s not—” He stopped. His jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jump. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I? Because it sounds like you’re blaming me for trying to help.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “I don’t merge with random magical artifacts.”

“No.” I crossed my arms. “You just invade kingdoms on a whim and wonder why things go sideways.”

The air between us crackled. Not with magic—with the familiar friction of two stubborn people who didn’t back down.

But fighting with Kazimir wouldn’t get the Heirloom out of my head. I took a deep breath. Then another. The familiar scent of sulfur and burnt herbs that permeated the lab helped ground me.

His posture shifted, some of the rigid tension easing from his shoulders. He studied me with that intense focus that usually preceded either brilliant strategy or spectacular violence. “Maybe we’re approaching this wrong. The Heirloom merged with you when the ley lines were corrupted. Perhaps it’s protecting itself.”

“Maybe.” I closed my eyes, searching inward for that golden shimmer that now lived beneath my skin. Leave. Get out. Vacate the premises. Find a new home.

Nothing.

Please?

Still nothing.

I’ll melt you down and turn you into earrings.

The Heirloom pulsed once, almost like it was laughing at me.

I opened my eyes to find Kazimir watching me expectantly. “Anything?”

“It thinks I’m funny.”

His lips twitched. “At least someone does.”

I glared at him, but some of the tension eased from my shoulders. My gaze snagged on a collection of failed experiments, with jars labeled with dates and cryptic notes like “Do not feed after midnight” and “Achieved sentience—had to put it down.”

“Why does Griffin have so many eyeballs?” I nodded toward the collection that was still watching us.

“Failed scrying experiments. They’re mostly harmless. Don’t make direct eye contact with the green one.”

A screech from outside made us both turn. Nyx’s massive head appeared at the window, her silver eyes fixed on me with an intensity that was somewhat weakened by the shimmering pink blaze forming along her snout.

“No.” I crossed to the window, keeping my voice firm. “You’re not allowed in here. Griffin’s familiars, remember?”

She screeched again, talons scraping against the stone in clear protest.

“I don’t care if it looked delicious. Stay out. You can barely fit through the window anyway.”

Her head tilted. That look—the one that said she could fit anywhere she wanted to, thank you very much—was unmistakable.

“Don’t even think about it. I’ll find you later, I promise.”

She huffed, sending a small puff of purple flame through the window that singed a stack of papers on the nearest desk.