“You know about the Society?” he asked.

“North found a reference to it in the library at Fogg Lake,” she said.

“A family named Jones was evidently at the heart of the Society,” North said. “We wondered if it was just a coincidence that you’re also a Jones.”

Ambrose gave him a cryptic look. “You know what they say—there’s no such thing as coincidence.”

And that, Sierra knew, was all they were going to get out of Ambrose Jones on the subject of the Arcane Society. North apparently came to the same conclusion.

“If you ever get tired of trying to protect these artifacts from the raiders, the Foundation would be happy to take them off your hands,” he said.

Ambrose chuckled. “Victor Arganbright has already made that clear. But at the moment I’m quite capable of protecting my little trinkets. The weapon you want is in that glass case, by the way.”

The object in the case looked exactly like the night gun that Marge and Matt Harper had described—a clear crystal artifact shaped like a flashlight.

North went swiftly across the room and started to open the case.

“Hang on,” Sierra said. “It’s my job to authenticate the artifact, remember?”

Reluctantly, North stepped back

Sierra opened the lid of the glass case, stripped off one leather glove and reached inside to pick up the crystal device. The instant she touched it she sensed the energy in it.

“It’s definitely hot,” she said. “And definitely dates from the era of the lost labs.” She handed it to North. “Also, the last person to handle this gun was very unstable.”

“Probably one of the Puppets,” North said. He took the weapon from her. Energy shifted in the atmosphere. “It’s been damaged but it definitely has Griffin’s signature.”

Ambrose watched him with an interested expression.

“Can I ask what you plan to do with that artifact?” he asked.

North glanced up. “Reverse engineer it to figure out how it works and then retune it.”

“You sound like an engineer.”

“Probably because I was trained as one.”

Ambrose nodded. “I see. A family talent. But you became a cleaner instead.”

“I had my reasons,” North said. “Turns out criminal investigations require a similar skill set.” He slipped the night gun inside his jacket. “There’s no way to know yet if I can use this to save my dad, but it’s the artifact I’ve been chasing. Thanks, Jones. I owe you.”

“You’ll get my bill,” Ambrose said. “And Sierra’s as well.”

North looked at him. “Loring was satisfied with the crystal in that radio you traded for this?”

“Yes.” Ambrose raised his brows. “Any reason why he might not have been satisfied?”

“No, the crystal was originally tuned for Crocker Rancourt. I’m sure it has his psychic signature.”

“I see. Well, I can tell you that all Loring seemed to care about was that the crystal was live. Not shattered.”

“He would also have known that the provenance was clean,” Sierra said. “After all, the crystal has been sealed up inside the old Fogg Lake lab since the day Griffin Chastain was murdered.”