They waited. And waited. Flames licked across the surface of the box with no apparent effect. The wood was so impregnated with charms that it was impervious even to wizard flame.

They continued until Jason's arm trembled with the weight of the box and he had to support his elbow with his other hand. The tongs grew warm and then hotter and hotter so that he had to concentrate to keep his fingers from blistering.

Finally, Mercedes let her song trail away. “All right,” she said, her long face settling into disappointed lines. “It's not working. I'm afraid we'll never get it open.” She removed a silk scarf from her head and her wiry hair exploded free. She mopped sweat from her face with the scarf. “That's enough for today.”

Gingerly, Jason set the box back on the floor, dropped the tongs, and wiped his seared hands on his jeans.

Rows of artifacts were lined up on one of the crypts, sorted by function and tagged with their magical names. There were heartstones of all kinds: pendants, scrying stones, amulets that strengthened the bearer, talismans of protection, lovestones that muddled the mind. Enchanted mirrors that displayed bewitching and confusing images of past, present, and future. Jeweled daggers that made wounds that would not heal. Belts and collars for holding magical captives. Recalling his escape from the ghyll, Jason was amazed that it had all fit in his backpack.

“We've done a lot already,” he said, gesturing toward the catalogued items.

Mercedes nodded grudgingly. “Perhaps, but I can't help thinking that the most powerful sefas are resisting us.”

The remaining pieces were grouped forlornly in one corner: the small wooden box that could not be opened, a worn cloak carefully mended with glittering thread, a silver hammer inscribed with runes, faceted bottles filled with unknown potions, their stoppers larded with time-darkened wax. And, of course, the Dragonheart on its ornate metal stand.

Except for the opal, Jason couldn't remember why he'd chosen any of them. “Maybe this is just junk,” he suggested. “Maybe I stumbled onto the magical landfill of Raven's Ghyll.” Mercedes mashed her lips tight together, but he persisted. “There were tons of loose gemstones in the cave. I took a few, but I mostly focused on the magical pieces. Maybe the opal is just another gemstone in the pile.”

As if to contradict him, the Dragonheart sent light spiraling around the crypt. It looked different from before, almost agitated. Power washed over him, warming the Weirstone under Jason's breastbone like a banked fire.

The three of them stood frozen, staring at it.

Snowbeard cleared his throat. “I think the stone is important,” he said. “Else I wouldn't spend so much time on it.”

Jason shrugged, struggling to hide his annoyance. “Whatever. Anyway, it's a waste of time to keep working on this. I'm thinking I should collect some of the most powerful pieces and take them back to Hastings in Britain. I hear he's planning a major attack on the ghyll. These could help.”

“Has Hastings asked you to bring any of the items back to Raven's Ghyll?” Nick asked.

“No, but…”

“Didn't he say to keep them within the sanctuary?”

“They don't do us any good here!” Jason paced back and forth, making tight turns within the confines of the crypt. “I might as well have left them in the cave.”

“I think the fact that they're not in our enemies' hands is a good thing,” Nick said, his black eyes tunneling all the way to Jason's spine.

“When you think about it, this stuff belongs to me,” Jason said. “I found it. I carried it out of the ghyll. I should be able to do what I want with it.”

“Jason Haley!” The wizard's voice reverberated against the stone walls of the crypt, although he wasn't speaking particularly loudly. Snowbeard seemed to grow until his head nearly touched the ceiling. Flame flickered about his angular frame. “You know better than that. You are not a child who can demand your toys back. The future of the magical guilds may depend on how we use what's fallen into our hands. I will not allow you to recklessly endanger all of us with their ill-considered use.”

Jason knew he should just shut up, but he couldn't help himself. “So you think we should just hole up here and wait to be attacked?”

“I think we don't know enough yet to see who our most dangerous adversary will be. If D'Orsay holds the Covenant, the hoard, and the ghyll, then why hasn't he acted? Why hasn't he consecrated the document and brought us all under his heel?”

“How would I know?” Jason stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Hastings seems to think he's worth going after, now that I'm stuck back here.”

Nick's voice softened. “Jason. This work we're doing is important, even if you don't think so. I believe we've been given a rare gift, if we can just figure out how to use it.”

Jason wasn't buying it. “You sound like Hastings.”

“Indeed?” Nick lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps there's a reason.”

“I'll just take the opal, then,” Jason said. “You can keep the rest.” Impulsively, he reached for the Dragonheart.

And was slammed back against the wall with stunning force. He seemed to stick for a moment, then slid down the wall until his butt hit the floor.

“Jason!”

Mercedes and Nick leaned over him, both talking at once, checking him for missing parts. Once they figured out that he was okay, the interrogation began.

“Jason! What did you do?” Nick gripped his arm hard.

“I didn't do anything. Jeez. I just reached for it.”

“Did you speak a charm of any kind?” Mercedes grabbed his hands, turning them palm up, as if to examine them for contraband. “Did you apply anything to the stone? Did you use a sefa?”

He shook his head, ripping his hands free. “I just went to pick it up.” He felt humiliated and frustrated. Rejected by a rock.

Being a sorcerer healer, Mercedes was an empath, too. So she began to try and soothe him, which only irritated him more. “Don't worry. We've probably destabilized it with our poking and prodding,” she suggested.

“I never had any trouble with it before,” Jason said, remembering how he'd handled the stone in the ghyll, caressing its crystalline surface, the flames percolating gently under his fingers. He stood, rubbing his elbows where they'd hit the wall.

“We've been whacking at it for weeks,” Mercedes said. “It might be time to give it a rest. Sefas are temperamental, you know.” She grabbed up the velvet bag. “I'll just put it back in the crypt.”

“Mercedes—” Snowbeard began what sounded like a warning. But the sorcerer reached for the Dragonheart and the stone responded with an eruption of flame that sent her staggering back on her long bird legs. She would have gone down had Snowbeard not caught her arm.

“Well!” Mercedes gasped. “Well, well.”

“You want to try?” Jason said to Snowbeard, feeling somewhat redeemed.

Snowbeard eyed the stone. Not being a fool, he snatched up his staff from where it leaned against the wall and extended the bear's-head tip gingerly toward the Dragonheart until they almost touched.

The stone seemed to explode, spinning the staff from Snowbeard's hands, shattering it into three pieces that clattered onto the stone floor.

They all looked from the broken staff to the Dragonheart and back again.

“Your staff!” Jason was shocked. Snowbeard had carried that staff for hundreds of years, probably. It was an extraordinarily powerful sefa. Or it had been. Jason collected the pieces, and laid them out on top of the crypt. “Man, I'm sorry. Can you fix it?”

“The head is intact,” Mercedes said, fingering the broken shaft. “Maybe we can remount it.”

“Hmmm? Perhaps, perhaps.” Snowbeard seemed distracted. He poked at the broken staff, then turned and studied the Dragonheart, smoothed his beard, twisting the ends between his thumb and forefinger. “It's mounted a vigorous defense against us,” he said. “What do you suppose accounts for that? What's changed?” He seemed more intrigued with the Dragonheart than concerned about his wizard staff.

“Who knows,” Jason said. “But now we can't even touch it.” So much for his plans to take it back to Raven's Ghyll. He eyed the stone, wondering if he could sneak up on it somehow.

“I wish we had the book you found,” Snowbeard said. “That might tell us something.”

“I can go back and get it,” Jason suggested. When that proposal was met with silence, he added, “I'll tell you one thing. I'm not going to hide out here forever, sucking dust in a church basement.”

He swung around to Mercedes. “See you around, Mercedes. I'm done for the day.”

Hunching his shoulders against the disapproval emanating from behind, Jason clumped up the stairs to the side door of the church. He knew he should leave through the cold, miserable tunnel, but, just then, he didn't care.

When he emerged from the building, brilliant sunshine struck him like a club. It was a beautiful winter day, and he'd wasted it holed up in a cellar with old people.

“Hey, there.”

The back of his neck prickled. He turned to see Leesha Middleton sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard that adjoined the church. Snow was melted in an arc around her.

Jason was amazingly glad to see her.

“You've been in there half the day,” Leesha went on, crossing her legs and swinging her booted foot. “Choir practice, or what?”

Jason sat down next to her, taking advantage of the warm microclimate zone she'd created around the bench. He could think of no explanation to offer as to why he'd spent all morning in church. “Why? Have you been waiting for me?”

“Maybe.” She put her hand on his arm. “It's Saturday. I'm bored. Want to do something?”

“Like what?”