Because of her.

No, you did what was right. You know that. Don’t question it. Accept it.

“I can accept it,” she said to everyone. Because it had been the right thing to do at the time.

Turning, Annja scanned the warehouse. Many had fallen. And those standing were not necessarily friends. How had Garin known to find her here?

Striding purposefully toward him she held up the sword and looked aside the blade at him.

She was not ready to give it up. It was hers. She controlled it, when it was not controlling her. She and the sword had an ineffable connection. And she liked that just fine.

“Skull’s broken,” she said. “Hope you weren’t expecting to make a fortune on it.”

“Not at all.”

“Liar.”

“Truth? My initial hopes were to make a couple of bucks, yes. But I had a change of heart. I’ve been considering that empty grave as a good spot for its final resting place. I don’t think it was something that should have been circulated in the first place. I know Mr. Wisdom has taken excellent care of it, but in the wrong hands…?”

“Why do you think it worked for Serge and not Ben or this guy here?” Garin gestured to Maxfield.

“And you?” she posited. “You’ve held it twice, Garin. What’s your suspicion?”

He shrugged. “I wish I knew. Is it because I’m immortal?”

Annja saw Maxfield’s head whip around to inspect Garin, but he remained silent.

“Could be. And the necromancer has a connection to spirits and souls.”

“I expected it to work in your hands, Annja.”

“So did I.” She caught the skull half Garin tossed to her. And she tossed it back to him. “Keep it. Bury it deep, deeper than an open grave.”

“It will give me great pleasure to do so.”

“On second thought, Bart may need it for evidence.”

“Annja!” Maxfield called out. He inched across the floor, still tied to the chair.

“Here.” She handed Garin the battle sword. “Hold this a second, will you?”

The mighty man gaped. Almost reluctantly, he opened his fingers to take the sword. It remained solid in his grip. It did not disappear into the otherwhere. Because she did not want it to leave this realm. Not yet.

Annja nodded and dodged to the side to untie Maxfield. “Sorry about the skull,” she said as she worked the rough hemp rope free from a knot.

“It was the right thing to do,” he offered. “I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it. It has power. It is evil.”

“Not evil. Just something that should be lost for good.”

“I agree.”

Hands and ankles free, Maxfield stood and ran his fingers through his sweat-laced hair. He exhaled and then bent forward, catching his palms on his knees.

“You going to be okay?”

“Yes. Just give me a moment.” He clasped her hands and left out a heavy breath. “Thank you. For believing.”

“I try to believe in what is shown to me,” she said.

Garin had not moved since she’d handed him the sword. He tilted the weapon, studying the blade. It caught the light. Each turn of the blade glinted in his eyes, a silver flash. Greed or lust or something deeper, like fear?

Crossing her arms, Annja waited to see what he would do. If he turned and attempted to run off with it, could she wish it from his grasp and into the otherwhere? There was no telling now that she’d given it freely to him.

“I have not held it since long before it was shattered. An exquisite sword. Not so fancy. A fine battle weapon.” He smiled and, with a wistful smirk, handed it back to Annja. “Next time.”

She took the sword, swung out her arm and released it into the otherwhere. “We’ll see. But I must say, what you just did was impressive.”

He offered a devil’s smirk. “I’m just not ready for the adventure to end,” he said.

She lifted a brow.

“Like I said—” he smoothed fingers along his goatee “—next time.”

“If there is a next time.”

“There’s always a next time, Annja.”

She could definitely get onboard with that.

“You want me to clean up the mess?” He strode across the floor. Garin lifted Ben to his feet and inspected his wounded shoulder.

“I’ll have you arrested for murder,” Ben said with a nod toward his men.

“Will you shut him up?” Annja said to Garin.

“With pleasure, my lady.”

A punch reduced Ben to a heap at Garin’s feet. Garin gave her a pleased grin. He inspected the carnage, then started collecting scattered weapons.

Bart charged through the open doorway, taking everything in. Pistol held before him, he didn’t call out until he’d surveyed the entire room. “Annja?”

“You took your time getting here, Bart.”

“You didn’t tell me which warehouse it was. Looks like things are under control. Braden.” He nodded to the bigger man.

Annja noted their acknowledgment of each other. When had they met?

“You okay, Annja?”

“It’s been an interesting day, Bart,” she said.

“Looks that way. You’re safe?”

“I’m fine.”

He lowered his pistol but still held the grip ready, and approached Annja. “You’re cut. On your throat.”

“I’ll survive. The skull is destroyed. Garin subdued Benjamin Ravenscroft over there. Not sure what you can charge him with. Though an accessory to murder comes to mind.”

“Is he the guy you think hired the sniper at the canal? The thug in the warehouse?”

“I’m sure your investigation will prove it,” she said.

“Who’s he?” Bart nodded toward Serge, who knelt over the skull pieces.

“A necromancer. I’m not sure he’s committed a crime beyond communicating with the dead.”

She watched Bart struggle to maintain his composure. “I’m calling for backup. I’ll need you to stick around for questioning this time.”

“I’ll go wherever you ask, Bart.”

His shoulders relaxed and he nodded. He spoke under his breath. “You need another one of those hugs?”

She didn’t respond, and instead embraced him. She noticed Garin’s curiosity at their embrace. Indeed, it had been a very interesting day.

39

Dinner, as she’d promised Maxfield Wisdom, was out of the question. He’d gotten a call from home and had to fly back immediately. Without the skull, which made her feel badly, but he reassured her the Wisdom family had many more mysterious artifacts to boast about.

The man could not know what that statement did to Annja’s thirst for curiosity. She got his address in Venice and promised to visit as soon as she could swing a trip overseas.

She had spoken briefly to Serge before he’d been handcuffed and taken way for questioning. Deeply saddened at the loss of the skull, he did say he felt he’d done nothing wrong and looked forward to his freedom from Ravenscroft.

Annja hoped it would work out for him. He had a family in the Ukraine that she understood he supported by working here in the United States. It wasn’t clear if he would move back home, but any suspicion regarding him wanting to harm anyone had been alleviated.

Even though she had a hole in her wrist from him. He’d only been trying to track a means to his escape from a maniacal man who wanted to control Serge for his benefit.

She was waiting for Bart. He wanted to escort her to the police station for questioning. That was fine with her. She didn’t mind interrogation by a friend and had nothing to hide. Though they’d certainly get an earful when she started talking about the necromancer.

Bart would probably want her to tone that down a bit.

He pulled up in his car in front of her building and Annja slid into the front seat. Heat blasted from the vents. It felt great.