“Yeah, and Aunt Sophie would be pissed.”
Wulf took a beat. “Legend has it that when a guardian dies he’s buried with an inscribed tablet. I’ll give you the Stone without a fight, but I want the tablet.”
“Deal,” Diesel said. “My instructions are to get the Stone.”
Diesel placed the ladybug on its carving and the bug hummed. “Nice,” Diesel said. “Very clever. And it feels like there’s a slight magnetic pull, holding the charm secure.” He placed the honeybee on the honeybee carving and the bee hummed.
Diesel was about to place the cockroach on the casket, and my purse rocked out with “Thriller” again.
“Excuse me,” I said. And I answered my phone.
“I’m beginning to appreciate Hatchet,” Wulf said to Diesel.
Diesel smiled. “She has her moments. And she makes cupcakes.”
I disconnected and stuffed my phone into my pocket.
“Well?” Diesel asked.
“It was Glo. Her broom ran away again.”
“I would appreciate it if we could get on with this without more interruption,” Wulf said in his eerily quiet voice, his eyes riveted on mine.
“Lighten up,” I said to Wulf. “Glo lost her broom again. This is a big deal for her. And what have we got here anyway . . . a dead guy and a Stone. Do you think they can wait for three minutes longer?”
Diesel gave a bark of laughter, and Wulf looked like he was trying hard not to sigh. Diesel set the cockroach onto the cockroach carving, and we listened to the bug hum.
“Your turn,” Diesel said to Wulf.
Wulf laid his dragonfly on the dragonfly carving. All four bugs hummed in unison, locks tumbled, and the casket lid released with a hiss of air.
Carl wrapped his arms around Diesel’s leg. “Eep.”
Cat’s ears pricked forward.
“Open it,” Wulf said to Hatchet.
Hatchet’s face paled. “Me?”
Wulf glared at Hatchet, and Hatchet tentatively reached out and touched the casket. Nothing happened, so Hatchet stepped a little closer and raised the lid. We all peered inside, and no one said anything for a full minute. Diesel was the first to speak.
“Where’s Uncle Phil?” Diesel asked.
“I don’t know the answer to that question,” Wulf said.
The casket held a small stone and a metal tablet the size of a greeting card. No ashes. No body. No Uncle Phil.
Hatchet was closest to the casket. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and his skin looked clammy.
“The Stone,” Hatchet said. “The SALIGIA Stone. It’s beautiful. Can you hear it? It’s singing.”
I wasn’t hearing any singing, and I didn’t see all that much beauty in the Stone. I mean, it was a plain ol’ rock the size of a duck egg, for crying out loud.
“Fear not, my liege, these thieves shall not have our Stone,” Hatchet said. “This Stone belongs to thee and me.” Hatchet plunged his arm into the casket and grabbed the Stone. His eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at the Stone in his hand. “I can feel the power,” he said, almost reverently. “It’s inside me. It’s like I’m the Stone. Like I’m a god.”
“The God of Gluttony?” Diesel asked.
Hatchet cut his eyes to Diesel. “The God of Everything.”