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Morrow pulled out his little Happy Links drawstring bag. Flint leaned in for a closer look, plucking out a few of the charms. He reached into his pocket and produced a jeweler’s loupe, turning the charms this way and that as he examined them, taking particular interest in a beach ball.

“We’re having a hell of a time understanding these things,” I said. “The charms put their wearers into a trance state if they perform any activity related to the charm’s design itself — like going to the beach or whatever. And they appear to affect both mundane and magical people. We also have reason to believe that divine magic is involved.”

I had carefully left out the part where we knew Loki was behind it. Because did we, really? The involvement of powerful charm magic made the parallel too convenient to ignore. With or without the magpies, the cultists in their red hoodies, this still felt too much like the Goddess of the Valley’s doing.

“Fascinating,” Flint said, shifting gears from adventurer to jeweler. “The enchantment remains inert until its wearer performs a very specific trigger. I’d go so far as to classify these as cursed objects.”

Which naturally did nothing to dissuade me from suspecting the Goddess of the Valley’s involvement. The binding curse she’d used to try and enslave me, that quick hex she used to control Morrow’s mind. I didn’t like where this was going.

“But the resources it would take to manufacture so many of these things boggles the mind,” Flint said. “They’re selling them in your city, you say? People are actually buying these things?”

Morrow nodded. “In the hundreds by the day, if not the thousands. And that’s just Nomicon Valley. Happy, Inc. is a multinational operation. Who knows how many people have gotten their hands on these charms already?”

“Fucking corpos,” Flint said, dropping the beach ball in Morrow’s hand. “No offense. Probably. I don’t know. You Occultech people don’t exactly have your hands clean, either.”

I pursed my lips and shrugged. “It’s a living. But we still uphold the Accord. The retrieval work we do keeps dangerous magical objects contained where they won’t hurt the general populace, mundane or otherwise. Occultech’s reputation is far from spotless, but we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t care about keeping people safe.”

I interpreted Morrow’s quirked eyebrow as tacit approval. Maybe he even looked a little impressed. I felt myself standing two inches taller.

Flint assessed us in thoughtful silence, eyes traveling between our faces, his jaw clenched, his arms crossed.

“I don’t think I can help you.”

“Seriously? Just because we work for a corpo?” Morrow thrust his hands toward me. “Even after his impassioned little speech?”

“Hey!”

“It’s not that,” Flint said. “Loath as I am to admit it, this is out of my wheelhouse. Out of anyone’s wheelhouse here at M and E, in fact. I swear I’m not being a snot-nosed prick, but we specialize in deeper, smaller-scale studies of enchanted wearable art. Handcrafted stuff, I mean.”

I frowned. So the guild only cared about the artisanal stuff. Like small batch beers, a couture collection. I could finally see why Flint saw his peers as pretentious, even if he was kind of like them himself, try as he might to avoid the elaborate trappings of the average guild member.

“But I can refer you to someone who might know more. These charms are mass produced, so you’re better off talking to someone who’s more familiar about manufacturing. Head over to the guild of artificers, the Halls of Making. It’s right on the Black Market’s rim, too, like two minutes away. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you for your time,” Morrow said, slipping the drawstring bag into his pocket. “We still appreciate the help you’ve given us.”

Morrow was professional enough that I couldn’t really tell whether he was being sarcastic. Flint either didn’t care as much or didn’t notice. He just rubbed the tipped of his fingers together.

“And time is money, fellas. It’s not much, but it’s courteous to pay a guild member a little gratuity.” His eyes slid down, then up Morrow’s body. “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you? You’re a guildie yourself.”

How Flint could even tell — oh, wait. Of course. That loupe had other applications, after all. It wouldn’t take the strongest enchantment to see the bandolier of scrolls hidden behind Morrow’s jacket.

Oh, dang. What else could Flint see in there? Did his eyes cut toward me for just a second? I shifted from one foot to the other.

“It doesn’t have to be much, you know. Just a token. Tell you what — I’ll do you a special, just for today.” He tapped the side of his jaw, chiseled as sharp and strong as a gemstone. “Quick peck on the cheek. From the little one.”

Oh, cute. That was me, the little one. I rubbed the back of my neck, glancing at the top of my shoes as I took one small step forward.

“Do you take credit?” Morrow said through gritted teeth, digging into his jacket for his poor, overworked Occultech card.

Flint Lockstone smirked, then winked at me. Had this near-total stranger just wingmanned for me?

As promised, the next guild was only minutes away. My brow furrowed at the sight of its HQ. This didn’t make any sense.

“Morrow — maybe we’re going around the rim the wrong way? This looks more like the headquarters for the flower guild.”

The guild of flowers — the Garland — was known for more than just blossoms, rather a full outfit dedicated to the study of arcane botany. Their members traveled the world and dimensions beyond, collecting and breeding rare varieties of plants, fruits, and flowers, many of them magical.

“No, we have the right place,” he said. “The Halls of Making. But you’re right. This isn’t quite what I expected to find here.”