Gwendolyn bristled. “I’m sorry to hear that, but if you’re implying I had something to do with the attack on Mr. Chastain—”

“No, damn it. I’m trying to get a lead.”

Gwendolyn Swan was an attractive woman in her thirties, very businesslike. Her hair was pinned up in a no-nonsense twist. She watched him with undisguised wariness. He didn’t take it personally. He had learned long ago that no one in the underground market liked to start the day with a visit from someone from the Foundation.

Before entering the shop Sierra had suggested he let her handle the inquiries. He had brushed aside the offer. He was the investigator, after all. He knew what he was doing.

Swan was cooperating, but in a minimalist way. Like most dealers she was suspicious of anyone connected to the Foundation. The Rancourts had left a legacy that was proving hard to overcome. And, okay, he was probably not handling things in the most diplomatic manner. He couldn’t help it. The abiding sense of urgency was riding him hard.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Gwendolyn snapped. “I can show you the paperwork involved in the sale and I can assure you the artifact had a paranormal provenance. I picked it up at an estate auction. It was in a crate together with a lot of other low-level artifacts. Your father examined several items that came in the same shipment but the radio was the only thing he took with him.”

Sierra apparently concluded there was nothing for her to do. She turned away from the counter and started to wander through the array of statues, vases and miscellaneous antiques that littered the shop floor. As far as North could tell everything looked like a reproduction or an outright fake.

Sierra had explained that everyone in the trade knew the real artifacts were downstairs in the basement of Swan’s shop. That was typical of most dealers. The good stuff was always stored belowground, where the earth and sturdy construction materials, such as concrete and steel, shielded the paranormal currents and made it harder for raiders to detect the objects.

“Do you think the radio came from one of the lost labs?” North asked.

Gwendolyn shrugged. “In my professional opinion it’s a possibility. But I make no guarantees when it comes to the authenticity of lost lab artifacts. Mr. Chastain understood that. The relic could have picked up some energy simply by sitting around in a collector’s vault for several years.”

Out of the corner of his eye North saw Sierra stop in front of a display stand that held an old twentieth-century camera. She picked it up to take a closer look.

Gwendolyn watched her with slightly narrowed eyes, as if she was afraid Sierra might try to slip it into her pack.

“Did any of your other customers show an interest in the radio?” North said.

“What?” Frowning, Gwendolyn switched her attention back to him. “No.”

Her responses were growing increasingly curt. Her eyes flicked back to Sierra, who had just put the camera back on the stand.