Free Iron and Blood by Gail Z. Martin Page A

provenance and dubious ownership, and on rare occasions, pieces whose owners did not part with them knowingly or willingly. Being in the business of obtaining valuable things and discreetly transporting them meant it was often best to avoid attention, especially from the governments or local authorities.
    Two of their frequent clients were Andreas Thalberg, and Dr. Konrad Nils, an antiquarian in the employ of Andrew Carnegie and the chief curator of Carnegie’s growing collections.
    “Henry is an excellent office manager,” George said. “But when it comes to thinking on his feet under pressure—”
    “Or under gunfire,” Jake supplied,
    George nodded. “Indeed. Let’s just say Henry isn’t ideally suited for the kind of… exploits you and Rick often handle.”
    Jake chuckled. “My dear brother has the soul of an accountant. I’m almost certain he’s never even fired a gun, let alone swung a punch.”
    “Exactly.” George leaned back, and considered the scotch in his glass for a moment. “The nature of the pieces our specialty business trades in are valuable because they’re unique. Only one person can own them, and powerful people don’t take disappointment well.” George paused. “It was a good choice not only for the business but for my interests as well. Can’t say I’m not pleased that you and Rick will continue the business… you keep him grounded, and get him out of at least as much mischief as you get him into.”
    Jake raised an eyebrow and sipped his drink. Over the past couple of years, he and Rick—and often Nicki—had retrieved a wide variety of antiques, curios, and oddities for some of New Pittsburgh’s wealthiest collectors. Most had been straightforward—if expensive—acquisitions, but some of the pieces had a murky past, and others had been rumored to be cursed, or worse. A few of those adventures had included wild rides and close calls.
    “So… how does this have anything to do with what happened to Father? Was it a robbery?”
    George frowned. “Your father was known for working late. Four days ago, when he was nearly alone in the building, Thomas collapsed and died. Later that night, someone broke in and ransacked his office.” He paused. “They also went through the shipping room looking for—something. We don’t know what. None of the crates were missing. But someone expected something important to be here, and I believe they killed Thomas to get it.”
    That would have been close to the time I had that nightmare, Jake thought to himself as George took a sip of the scotch and continued.
    “I came as soon as the janitor called me. He found the body. By the time I got here, I discovered Andreas Thalberg waiting for me in my office. He said he had come for a meeting with your father, and arrived too late to prevent his death. He also said that there was, as he put it, ‘an imprint of dark magic’ that clung to the body and the office.”
    George shrugged. “I’ll admit, initially I was skeptical about magic. I’m Anglican, for God’s sake! We stopped believing in that kind of thing back in Shakespeare’s day.” He let out a long breath. “Then I met Andreas. The man is what he claims to be. Over time, I’ve seen too much proof to doubt it. And Andreas is certain that magic was used to kill your father.”
    “You think Father was killed over the urn we picked up in London?” Jake felt his anger rise. “Because someone in London certainly wanted it very badly.”
    “The urn did not lead to your father’s death.”
    Jake and George both started. Andreas Thalberg stood in the doorway. He was several inches taller than Jake, with a slender, strong build and an aristocratic manner. His dark brown hair was longer than the current fashion, but on Thalberg, Jake thought, it looked right. Thalberg looked to be in his early thirties, but his pale blue eyes gave a clue to his real age. They spoke of centuries, not decades. Jake wondered whether Thalberg’s apparent