"It's a… magical ward."

"To protect against evil spirits?"

"No, it's… like a capacitor. It collects, or deflects, magical power," I said. "Which depends on the intent of the wearer."

"Do you know who inked this?"

I'd have to look closer at the design to tell that. I really didn't want to do that. I looked up at Rand, eyes pleading. His face had gone cold, a bit stony; not unfriendly, but all cop. I leaned forward, looked through the clear plastic bag, at the wreath, the inking. The board exposed through the rip was smoothly polished and finely worked, despite the bloodstains. Suddenly I knew.

"Yes, I know the artist," I said. "Not, I mean, personally. It's Richard Sumner."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Buried in Cincinnati," I said. "Sumner was famous, but he died in

… 2005, I think?"

"Hell," Balducci said. "That rules out a suspect-" "Do you know who this was inked on?" Rand asked. "No," I said, closing my eyes at last. That piece of skin had come from a living human person. I'd really been trying not to think of that. My mind cast around for anything else. "Sumner did thousands of people. You could email the Lancing Dragon in Cincinnati, though. Sumner took extensive pictures. They're stored there."

Rand smiled. "We'll do that." His smile faded. "Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against Sumner, or against any of his subjects?"

"No," I said. "I mean, I don't know anyone who has a grudge against anyone-"

"Really?" Rand said. "What about against other tattoo artists? Especially magical ones?"

"According to our newsletter," I said sarcastically, " 'there are over two hundred licensed magical tattoo artists in the United States,' so it's a pretty big list-"

"Could we get a copy of that newsletter?" Rand asked. I thought about it for a moment. "Yes." "Is there anything you would like to add?" Rand said. "Yes," I said, nodding at the skin-covered board. "I would like to add a what the fuck is that thing? "