“It’s hexed,” he told me.

Damn. Despite my uncertainty about his motives, I didn’t doubt him. After what I’d seen him do in Laredo, I had to take him seriously. His reactions and recovery came from something greater than insanity; that was for sure. I wasn’t ready to admit he had a direct line to the divine or anything, but his presence had saved my ass once before. There could be no discounting him now.

It was lucky I hadn’t lifted Eros out of the box he’d come in. In all honesty, I didn’t know who had sent the set. I’d found them this morning and assumed they comprised part of Señor Alvarez’s last shipment—that could’ve been a costly mistake.

Alvarez had done a stellar job running the pawnshop while I was gone, but he seemed relieved to be out of the store. Much as I didn’t understand it, he preferred being on the street looking for lost riches. Hm. On the other hand, maybe I knew why he didn’t want to deal with customers all day. That was my least favorite part of running the place.

Belatedly, I realized I was fixating on the mundane to keep fear from paralyzing me. A hex meant nothing good, but it remained to be seen how bad it was. I squared my shoulders and edged the white case away from me with the heel of my hand.

“What kind?”

“The killing kind.”

A shudder rolled through me. “So if I’d picked it up, I’d be dead on the floor. Right now.”

Dammit, I owed him my life. Again. I hated having unpaid debts. Right now, I could think of better positions to be in: I owed my life to both God’s Hand and a demon who said to call him Maury, which wasn’t his real name, but he didn’t want me summoning or binding him. Talk about your grandiose games of tug-of-war.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said, and the tattoos against his skull glowed just a little, as if bearing witness.