Page 19

“Good to know.”

“You're not frightened. How fascinating.”

I shrugged. “I spend my days with objects that shouldn't have survived as long as they have. You're just the first one that talks.”

That earned a full, boisterous laugh from him.

“She's a conservator at the Smithsonian,” Tristan said. “The one who found the reliquary. And don't insult me by asking me which one. I know you've already heard about it.”

Haversham's expression sharpened at that, the amusement folding away into something more careful. “The Byzantine piece. I've heard whispers.”

“You've heard whispers,” Tristan repeated, flat.

“You didn't come here for small talk, and you certainly didn't bring a mortal woman into my sitting room without a good reason. Ask what you came to ask.”

Tristan set his empty glass on the floor. “First, I'd like you to confirm what I am, for her sake. I want her to hear it from someone who isn't me.”

Haversham turned his attention back to me. “Do you really need to? I'm sure he proved himself already, and you've outed me yourself.”

“I believe him, but I'd like to hear it from your perspective.”

“Ah, yes” He pointed at me. “Very wise. Perspective is everything.”

“It colors the story. So, paint me your version.”

“Tristan is a Curse. A force born of belief and emotion chose him to be its vessel. There are one hundred and fifty-eight Curses scattered across the world.”

“I knew you would be precise” I grinned.

Haversham lifted a shoulder. “I mean, it's possible there are some who have remained hidden, even from the likes of me, but I doubt it. Curses have existed alongside humanity since before you killed a god to save yourselves. They have their own laws, their own hierarchy, and their own enforcers to handle those who break their laws. Most humans never notice them, because they were human once, and they live like humans. They don't drink blood or murder people, nothing to draw attention to themselves.”

“And no one notices the things that happen around them?”

“Generally, no. Especially not these days. We're in an age so advanced that it has erased the possibility of the supernatural. Everything can be explained away with AI. Someone could film Tristan standing in the middle of a stadium full of screaming people, and it would be deemed fake. Besides, you can't condemn a person for what happens around them.”

“True. No one leaps to supernatural conclusions.”

“Precisely.” He paused and sipped his tea. “They're not all the same, mind you. Some are Divine, born of Gods instead of mortals. Some are called Legacies because their Curses were born from stories or events, but most are Echoes like your Tristan here. Echoes are born of pure emotion. No pretty stories, no divine hands shaping them, they are the primal Curses, torn from the hearts of humans. Tristan is one of the oldest.”

I looked at Tristan, who was watching me with the stillness of a man preparing for damage control.

“Okay. Thank you.” It all spun in my head—revenants; Divine Curses, Legacies. Echoes. Curses had their own society. Government. This was so much more than I'd thought.

“You're very welcome.” He lifted his teacup to me.

Tristan exhaled, and focused on Haversham. “Someone hid an enchanted piece of silver in the reliquary centuries ago. It had my sigil on it.” He paused. “I believe they sent it to Destiny deliberately, knowing it would draw us together. Do you know who did it?”

“I don't know for certain, but I'm...” He shook his head from side-to-side. “Eighty percent sure. Are you interested?”

Tristan pulled out his phone and typed. “The usual amount?”

“My price has gone up a little since we last met. Inflation. But I'll give you a twenty percent discount since I'm only eighty percent sure. The old amount will do.”

Tristan tapped the phone again and nodded.

Something buzzed, and Haversham pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He checked it and stuck it back in. “A man named Osric Taylor has come to my attention. He's been asking questions about the Severing, conducting research into it and into attempts at separating Curses from their vessels, and he's collected many artifacts used in those attempts. One of those artifacts is a certain Byzantine reliquary.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked pointedly at Tristan. “He's a witch, English, and fascinated by Curses to the point of obsession. In addition to his shopping habits, I've heard he's taken an interest in your Curse recently.” He paused and looked at me. “And in you, Ms. Takeda.”

My pulse jumped. “If he's the one who sent the reliquary to the museum, he must be the one behind the silver piece.”