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“Best six hours of his life, apparently, even if it cost him a fortune.”

She laughed again. “Either your brother has the stamina of a bull, or the token is not a run-of-the-mill one. You got it on you?”

I put the groceries down then tugged the token from my jeans pocket and handed it to her.

She sucked in a breath. “Thisis no ordinary Eve token. There’s some major magic behind the creation of it.”

“I thought all Eve tokens took major magic?”

She grimaced. “Depends on what’s required. This particular token has two prongs of attack—seduction, of course, but there’s also a sound bubble spell.”

“Meaning it ensured no one could hear them beyond the limitations of the bubble, or thathecouldn’t hear anything beyond it?”

“The latter. It’s an odd choice, really, as most people using Eve tokens generally prefer to keep their trysts secret. Whoever used this was more concerned about her victim hearing what else might be going on than of being seen or heard.”

Which is exactly what had happened. The question was, what had they been looking for? Had they found it? Was that why he was killed? Or was his death truly an accident?

“I don’t suppose you can tell where the token originated? Or perhaps even who cast it?”

“Possibly.” Her gaze swept me shrewdly. “What are you intending to do with caster once you find him?”

Him, not her. At the very least, she knew that much. “Ask him if he has the record of who he crafted the token for. My brother wants the woman and his money, not the witch responsible for the token. And he’d rather avoid getting the cops involved—getting scammed like this wouldn’t go down well at work.”

She laughed again. “I can understand that.” She paused, flipping the token over to study the runes on the back. “I can do a reverse search on the few magical threads that remain, but it’ll be costly.”

“Not as costly as the sum he lost in this mess, I’m thinking.” I paused, though mainly for effect. “How much are we talking about?”

“An even grand should do it.”

Wow. She certainlywastaking advantage of the situation, given the cost of tracking spells—or at least the ones I’d seen advertised—generally hovered around the two hundred mark. Still, I couldn’t exactly blame her, given it was winter and tourists—who were generally the main trade for shops like this—were thin on the ground.

“If I’m going to be tattling on a fellow caster,” she continued, obviously having seen my reaction, “I’m going to be well paid for it.”

Which was also fair enough. “Are you able to try now?”

“Well, it ain’t like I’m being rushed off my feet right now. This way.”

I picked up my groceries and followed her through the curtained doorway. The small room beyond was filled with all manner of witchy items, and the floor and ceiling covered in arcane symbols. I had no idea what any of them were, but a deep sense of well-being and safety infused the air—a feeling amplified by the fact my knives didn’t react.

She motioned me to sit opposite her at the table, then placed the token in the middle of an intricate circle inked into the wood.

I put the shopping on the floor and resisted the temptation to run my fingers across the table; there was an odd, almost otherworldly energy emanating from it that suggested it wouldn’t be a wise idea.

She pressed a finger lightly against the token and began what I presumed was a spell. I couldn’t understand any of the words, but energy rose, the power strong enough to nip at my skin. Again, the knives didn’t react. Her magic might sting but it wasn’t designed to harm. It also meant that, unlike so many witches who ran these sorts of shops, this woman was the real deal.

Once again, instinct or second sight or whatever the hell that inner voice was had not led me astray.

The token began to glow lightly, and the woman’s eyes became slightly unfocused. I watched her, waiting, as the token pulsed under her finger and the energy nipping at my skin increased, until it was all I could do to remain still and not scratch. Then the light died, the biting faded, and the woman sat back in her chair with a sigh.

“Any luck?” I asked.

She nodded. “The craft behind the spell has the resonance of the Einar line, who these days hail mainly from Cambridge.”

Einar? My pulse rate accelerated. Would it be too much of a coincidence to believe that the person who’d created this token was the very same person whose name Vincentia had written in blood?

Were we finally getting a decent break?

I did my best to hide my excitement. “I didn’t think there’d be much call for witches in a place like Cambridge.”