“People have chased after the stones for centuries, going on nothing more than blind faith that the stones exist, and they’ve done some horrific things to get them. It wouldn’t surprise me if Reedy was the latest victim in a long history of victims.”

We went silent at the sound of someone trying the doorknob. There was some scratching and jiggling. A pause. More scratching and jiggling. Another pause. Someone was trying to pick the lock and not having any success. Diesel went to the door, peeked out the security peephole, and turned back to me, smiling.

“It was Hatchet,” Diesel said. “It looks like he’s leaving.”

Steven Hatchet is a soft lump of dough with red scarecrow hair. He’s sworn allegiance to Wulf, dresses in full Renaissance regalia, and is off-the-chart crazy. He’s in his late twenties and is the only other human known to have an ability similar to mine. Supposedly, we can sense energy locked inside common objects. At first glance, it sounds like fantasyland to be able to do this, but I don’t imagine it’s much different from a farmer using a divining rod to find water underground. Although honestly, I’m not sure I believe in divining rods.

We took one last tour of the apartment, and Diesel scooped up the anthology, the pad, and the folders.

“You can’t take all that stuff,” I said. “That’s stealing.”

“Think of it as borrowing,” Diesel said. “Someday I might bring them back.”

Diesel locked the door and stuck the crime scene tape back in place. We took the elevator to the lobby and ran into Hatchet carrying a chain saw.

“Does Wulf know you’re playing with power tools?” Diesel asked Hatchet.

“My lord only knows I will get the job done. He cares not how. You and your slut need not know more than this.”

I felt my eyes narrow, and I listed a couple inches in Hatchet’s direction. “Slut? Excuse me?”

Diesel slid an arm around my shoulders and eased me far enough back so my fist couldn’t reach Hatchet’s nose.