Smug, I ran my card, and the door clicked open. Barb wasn’t cleared to be down here, but thanks to Jenks, the door’s security system was recording the last number that had been used.

“Go,” I said as I went in, my fingers already unhooking the lanyard to lighten the load. Jenks snatched it, his flight bobbling as he headed down the hallway to the elevators. I didn’t like separating like this, but if all went well, Ivy would join us soon.

“Like clockwork,” I said as I shut the door behind him and turned. Riffletic, I thought as I scanned the room for the rings. I needed the pair donated by Riffletic. They were perfect, and probably exactly what Riffletic’s estate said they were, seeing as I had found two confirmations of it in Trent’s books. Crap, I’d forgotten to take those back this morning.

I took the doppelgänger charm off, shuddering as I felt the magic leave me. I smiled when I saw the rings were all together in one case, and I scanned the little cards under each one, concentrating on the few that had pairs of rings. Slowly my smile drained away. No Riffletic.

Concerned, I paced through the entire exhibit, thinking that such valuable rings as elven wedding bands might have been given their own case. Statues, books, pictures, and even an ancient tea set, but no more rings.

“Son of a bitch!” I whispered, hearing the sound of soft-soled shoes in the hallway, then pausing when I spotted two of the three tarot cards I’d once seen hanging in Trent’s great room. Had the Riffletic family pulled their rings from the show upon hearing I wanted them?

The card reader beeped, and annoyed, I spun to the door. “Where are Riffletic’s rings?” I asked Ivy as she came in, then froze when I realized it wasn’t Ivy.

A smallish woman in a businesslike skirt and lab coat was standing there, staring at me. Her glasses were thick, and she had a folder in her hand and a sketch of what looked like a gallery. “Who are you?” she said, clearly affronted. “You’re not supposed to be down here.”

Crap on toast! I thought, scrambling, then decided to play it to the hilt. “I said, where are Riffletic’s rings?” I repeated tartly, wishing I had a clipboard or something. A clipboard and a hard hat could get you just about anywhere. “I flew all the way here to pick up some stupid rings, and I don’t see them. Who are you?”

Head tilted, the woman eyed me suspiciously. “I’m Marcie. I’m arranging the displays for the show. And Riffletic’s rings have already been picked up.”