“How?”

Stella grinned. “I would imagine she went to college, maybe for many years.”

“How did you know about the connection to the Christian relics?”

“Alleged Christian relics. The Christian relics Pastor Haywood may have authenticated, those Christian relics?”

I would strangle her in a minute. I sat down at the table and smiled at her. “My patience is an infinite lake. Feel free to drown yourself.” There were times when ancient proverbs came in handy.

“You are no fun. I’m here to help. Like a colleague or a partner.”

“You screwed up and got sent to Atlanta, because that’s where the Order dumps troublemakers with potential, those who don’t follow orders. This is the end of the line if Nick can’t”—I paused, looking for the right word—“rehabilitate you. Except both times I came to the Order, you were there, in the middle of the day, at your desk, instead of being out working a case and making a difference. Nick is keeping you on a short leash. It’s killing you, and here is a high-profile murder that none of the other knights are working. You saw it and you jumped on it. So, you didn’t come to help me. You came to help yourself.”

Stella looked at me for a long moment. “That, and I don’t trust you. Also, I’m bored.”

“How did you find out about the relics?”

“Nick sent me to the Methodists to check on the boy. While I was there, one of them handed me a list of relic hunters to pass on to my ‘colleague.’ He also mentioned that there were two historians in north Georgia who specialized in consulting on relics and Alycia Walton was one of them.”

And Stella had put the rest of it together. Smart. She would be all over this murder, except Nick had surrendered this case to me, and she probably didn’t have authorization to investigate things on her own. She needed me.

“Can I have that list?”

She passed me another folded piece of paper. I opened it and scanned the six names. None of them looked familiar.

“How is Douglas?”

“Who’s Douglas?”

“The little boy.”

Stella grimaced. “They said they are doing all they can.”

Whenever I heard that, things turned out for the worse.

“Do you want to see this crime scene or not?” Stella asked. “I’d love to waste more time, but if we don’t hurry, the cops will cart the body off.”

“You mean this is a recent murder? When exactly did this happen?”

“It was reported about an hour ago.”

“Were you going to tell me this at some point?”

“I just did, but if you want, we can keep trading barbs in your charming kitchen.”

“Wait for me outside, please.” I got out of my chair and went to get my horse.

*

Thirty minutes later, Stella and I stood in front of Henry L. Bowden Hall in the heart of Emory University. The three-story building loomed in the dark, dimly illuminated by a row of fey lantern streetlamps, and the ghostly blue light gave it a foreboding air. When we arrived, two policemen, armed with shotguns and swords, guarded the entrance. We had shown them our badges, and one of them went inside to let the lead detective know that we were there.

We’d been standing around for twenty minutes, waiting for the PAD to finish processing the scene. Supposedly, we’d be allowed in once Biohazard said it was safe.

The building was older, pre-Shift, with the first floor sheathed in pale stucco and the two upper ones inlaid with polished stone tiles, marble or granite; I couldn’t tell in the dark. All three floors sported rows of rectangular windows, three feet wide and six feet tall, shielded by thin metal grates. Half inch steel bars, only two cross bars, cheap-looking steel without any trace of silver. Protection on a budget. To make things worse, the grates opened like shutters, so the top and bottom edges of the grate weren’t anchored. The entire mess was secured by four bolts on each side, driven into the wall.

Do you want magic monsters in your office? Because this is how you get monsters in your office.

I was pretty sure Alycia Walton hadn’t wanted monsters.

“The grates aren’t properly anchored,” Stella said quietly.

“It’s a college.”

“So?”

“They have a limited budget.”

Stella rolled her eyes. “The Academy is a college and it has proper grates.”

She wasn’t wrong. “Let’s take a walk around the building.”

We turned left and followed a paved path around the corner, rounding the building. The Woodruff Library sprawled to the left of us, cushioned in trees and steeped in deep, night shadows. You could hide a dozen wolves in those shadows, and using my magic to send out a pulse and check if they were there was out of the question. I didn’t know what Stella’s special tricks were. The less she knew about me, the better.

Moonlight cascaded from the dark sky, illuminating the side of Bowden Hall. A hole gaped in the top row of windows, second from the left, emanating a faint cerulean glow. The steel grate that used to shield it stuck out of the hedge bordering the path. The corner of it jutted up, with the bolts still attached to the hinge. You get what you pay for.

Deep gashes marred both sides of the window.