Page 3 of Fierce Highland Magic

I swept the flashlight across the road.

That was when I saw the silver.

It lay exactly where the woman had stood.

For one irrational second, I thought it was a coin.

Then the light caught its shape.

A thistle.

Not a real one. A pin, perhaps two inches long, made of tarnished silver. Its tiny leaves curled around a thorny stem. The bloom at the top was worked so finely that each silver petal looked sharp enough to draw blood.

"Found something," I said.

Cat's voice sharpened. "What kind of something?"

"A piece of jewelry."

"Lyra."

"I know."

"Do not touch it."

"That was already my plan."

"Because it could belong to the woman?"

"Because it could be evidence."

Despite the rain, a laugh escaped me.

I crouched at the road's edge, angling the flashlight down. The thistle pin lay in a shallow pool of rainwater, shining too brightly for the night around it.

There were no footprints. Not in the mud. Or in the wet grass. Or on the road. I could see mine already, dark and definite behind me.

The woman had left nothing but the pin.

The sensible response was to photograph it. Note the location. Return to the car. Call emergency services from somewhere with a signal and an actual road number.

I took out my phone, ended the call with Cat long enough to open the camera, and aimed it down.

The screen went black.

"Of course," I said and tapped the screen.

The phone brightened again.

For half a heartbeat, it showed the image I had expected: road, rain, silver pin.

Then the screen flickered.

The rain blurred into pale mist. The road became a narrow path lined with lanterns. Something moved beyond the light—tall shapes in cloaks, bright masks, eyes reflecting green-gold in the dark.

I jerked the phone away from my face.

The image vanished.