Page 76 of Cold Curses

But near his hand was something very pale. I leaned in closer, holding my breath, and saw what looked like a square of paper. Careful not to touch or disturb the body—only the evidence that the body was holding, which probably wasn’t better from a forensic perspective—I slipped out the paper. It was card stock, thick and crumpled.

And then I heard Theo’s low curse.

“What?” I asked, standing and looking around for the threat. But it wasn’t a threat to us.

Like outside the mural building, the bodies had begun to burn, and the air began to sour with the scent of demon magic.

Demon fire sprang up in each body, and the field began to dance with flames that weren’t really fire. And magic transformed bodies to glittering metallic ash.

We both dodged flames and ran for the sidewalk, trying not to get wrapped in the magic.

“Shit,” Theo said, looking at his screen. “We haven’t even been here for ten minutes.”

“Did you get pictures?”

“A few, but they’re shit. Fuck,” he said, and kicked a discarded box. It sailed halfheartedly for a few feet before landing again to no applause. “We should’ve known. We just fucking talked about it, and we should’ve taken pictures as soon as we got here.”

“We didn’t know they’d be incinerated,” I said, but without much enthusiasm. Because he was right. We had known incineration was a risk, and we should have dealt with it immediately.

I looked back at him. “Tell her it was my fault. Then she can’t take it out on you.” I meant Gwen, but it occurred to me that the same sentiment would have worked for Petra.

He gave me a sardonic grunt. And then frowned. “Why now?”

“Why now what?”

“We were thinking this copper-ash dissolving trick might be a way to punish losers or keep minions from giving up their secrets. But we were only standing here. We weren’t trying to make anyone talk.”

“Bodies tell their own stories,” I said. “With forensics, with evidence.”

And I remembered the paper still clenched in my hand. I opened my fingers, glanced down.

There, written in tiny, scratchy script, was a note.

Buckley:

You took what was mine when you left New York. I’m taking it back.

—D

Theo came over, read over my shoulder, whistled. “Where did you find that?”

“Clutched in the hand of a demon who is now dust.”

“Damn,” he said. “I mean, we have to verify, but if Dante is the‘D,’ that appears to confirm he and Buckley knew each other before Dante came to Chicago. And had some strife.”

“Yeah,” I said. “He said he and Buckley were business associates. So, what did Buckley take from him?”

“Not the condo,” Theo said. “Dante’s not in the purchase history.”

“Maybe the condo is the payback,” I said. “That would explain the one-dollar purchase price. Pay only what’s necessary for the paperwork.”

A car door slammed, and we looked up. Gwen strode forward in a lavender suit with a rip in the left shoulder and bloodstains on the right arm; she had hell in her eyes.

“You tell her,” I said, changing my mind.

“You agreed,”Theo whispered fiercely.

“I only offered. You didn’t accept my offer, so I take it back.”