The third wasn’t an office, but it did appear to be a workspace. Wide tables lay along the walls, covered in chunks of crystal—clear quartz, smoky quartz, etc.—in various states. Some were raw and jagged; others were polished and carved. Tools like blades and picks lay nearby, along with a more sophisticated and modern-looking device I couldn’t identify. Maybe some type of laser cutter.

Best of all, there was a two-drawer filing cabinet against the wall. I hurried to it, still mindful of Mary’s chatter, and opened the top drawer. Over a hundred file folders with names met me. I pulled one at random and saw that it did indeed have a job order. There was a description of the item, client information, job status, and a picture of the finished product. Unfortunately, having all this information meant little to me. I had no idea what name had been used for the seal—or if Mary was even the one who had made it.

Frustrated, I opened the next drawer and found financial records, like bills and bank statements. I also located folders labeled “work logs” categorized by month. I eagerly pulled out this month’s and discovered a simple list of dates, client names, and brief descriptions of products. All—except for the three most recent ones—had check marks beside them. Finished products, presumably.

I scanned the dates before Jerome’s disappearance, cross-checking against the descriptions. Green Tara statue. Bracelet. Athame. Three invoices in the last two weeks caught my attention: round pendant, talisman, medallion. I recognized none of the client names, but the culprit could no doubt have used an alias.

Returning to the second drawer, I found each client’s file. The pendant was the right size and shape, but it had a hole drilled in it for a chain or string. I couldn’t say why, but something told me the seal’s original form would be whole. The talisman turned out to be the wrong shape. It was thick and oblong, more like a stone someone would keep in their pocket for good luck.

I was starting to panic now. This was taking too long, and I couldn’t hear Mary anymore. God, espionage had been so much easier when I could turn invisible. With shaking hands, I pulled out the last file—the medallion. The client was Sam Markowitz, and he’d picked it up four days ago. The photo depicted a flat, quarter-sized disc made of smoky quartz with symbols I didn’t recognize etched onto it. Was that it? It was the closest I had to a match of Carter’s description. There could be other matches—items ordered months ago—but I didn’t have time to go through any more files. I shoved the medallion photo into my purse, closed the drawer, and hurried back out to the hall, half expecting to find Mary blocking my path.