The backyard was hidden behind an eight-foot high privacy fence at the end of the drive. The gate was half-opened, and they went through.

Everywhere they looked, they saw metal sculptures. Naked women cavorting, naked men cowering. A high-pitched whine was coming from a free-standing shed. The Doc’s shop.

Nora stared at one sculpture of a woman in a robe holding an arrow and ramming it into the balls of a male angel who was either really into it or really, really not into it. Hard to tell if the face was moaning or screaming.

“A reverse St. Theresa and the Angel,” Nora explained. “I think I want it.”

“Nora.”

“Sorry.”

They went to the shop doop. Cyrus was half-worried they’d scare Doc into setting himself on fire if he pounded on the door.

He did it anyway.

BAM BAM BAM.

He had to do it a few more times, but eventually it got the man’s attention. The machine sound ceased and a clattering came from within, then a muffled swearing sound. Finally, the door opened.

Doc stood before them in stained canvas trousers and a t-shirt that appeared to have burn holes in it.

“Oh, Doc,” Nora said. “You are in so much trouble.”

“Mistress Nora,” he said with a grin. “I was hoping we’d meet again.”

“You better let us in,” Cyrus said.

“With pleasure.” Doc stepped back from the door and held out his arm to usher them in. “Watch your step.”

There was shit everywhere. Boxes and buckets full of sand and water, equipment, tools, the whole insane nine yards. As the smoke cleared, Cyrus saw various workstations in the shop. One for welding, one for polishing, one for engraving.

“I’d ask you to sit,” Doc said, “but—”

“We’ll stand.” Nora crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t seem very surprised to see us.”

“Surprised? No. Pleased, most definitely.” He reached for her hand, and Nora swatted it away, rather viciously Cyrus thought, pleased.

“Give it up,” Cyrus said. “I’m done watching your stupid act. You lied to us.”

“I didn’t lie.” Doc held up both hands. “I would never lie to the Queen.”

“Doc, seriously,” Nora said. “It’s getting old.”

He lowered his hands. “You’re really not as much fun as they say you are, you know.”

“Ah, you’re one of those,” Nora said, nodding. “You only like the idea of women. You don’t like actual women.”

“You wound me.”

“You wish,” Nora said.

“The man whose picture we showed you—that’s Isaac Murran,” Cyrus said. “You know him. You either made or engraved a chastity device for him. Or both.”

“I don’t reveal the names of my customers,” Doc said.

“You already ratted him out as being in one of your classes,” Cyrus said.

“That was before he was a customer. After trading a few emails with the man, then he became a customer. After that, you get nothing else from me.”

“He’s dead, Doc. He killed himself. Shot himself in the head. Right before he did that, he called me.” Nora pointed at herself. “He had my business card. You gave it to him, right?”