“Does it hurt him?” I asked.

“Doesn’t appear so.” Doolittle leaned against the chair. “I poked and prodded at it a bit. It seems that the ‘roots’ shift under pressure so any attempt to cut the necklace will likely cause it to contract and strangle him. I don’t want to fool with it.”

“The woman,” Curran said, “she knew better than to touch it.”

I thought out loud. “She was unaffected by the glow, so either she’s immune or she knows how it works.”

“The boy didn’t cry when you took him from his mother?” Doolittle asked.

“No,” I said.

The medmage glanced at the door again. “The child is very passive and compliant. He doesn’t speak unless spoken to. He doesn’t take initiative. This boy is doing his best to be invisible. Sometimes this is a sign of a shy nature. Sometimes it’s a sign of emotional abuse or neglect.” Doolittle crossed his arms. “Such an accusation can’t be made lightly. This is just something to keep in mind in dealing with her. If she is emotionally distant, she may not have any attachment to him. Let me run some tests. The sooner we identify what the necklace is, the better.”

We left the infirmary and walked down the long hallway, heading toward the stairway leading up to the top of the tower, to our rooms. The Keep’s hours were skewed toward the night. For most people ten p.m. meant evening and probably bedtime—both electricity and the charged air that powered feylanterns were expensive and people tended to make the most of daylight. For shapeshifters ten p.m. was closer to four in the afternoon. The hallways were busy. Random shapeshifters ducked their heads as we passed them.

Something had occurred to me. “When the journeyman handed Amanda the necklace, did it seem paler to you?”

Curran frowned. “Yes. Almost white gold.”

“And now it’s almost orange.”

“You think it feeds on the host?”

“It would make sense. Maybe it develops hunger. The girl died instantly, because the necklace was hungry. Now it’s satiated, so it’s biding its time.”

“We’ll need to talk to the journeyman,” Curran said. “And the boy’s mother.”

“Yes, the woman. The supernaturally beautiful woman with long flowing hair…Can’t forget her.”

Curran turned his head to look at me.

“What?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

I shrugged. “I’ll speak to the journeyman tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with you.”

And why would he want to do that? I pictured trying to conduct an interview in the presence of the Beast Lord. The journeyman would take one look at him and run for the hills screaming.

“No.”

“You always say that word,” he said. “Is it supposed to mean something?”