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correctness at college,” Grandfather said. “We’re doing what we’ve always done. We’re making sure beautiful objects get in the hands of those who appreciate them.”
    â€œNo, we’re putting them in the hands of those who can afford them and locking out anyone else who might appreciate them. Fine, I’m a coward. But I’m brave enough to give it all up, Grandfather. That means the travel, the nice clothes, the spacious loft and all the rest of the money. Could you do that? So who’s the selfish one here?”
    Dad held up his hands. “Marian. I hear you. But did you hear me? This is a very bad time for you to leave.”
    â€œIt’s always a bad time.”
    â€œWe have a unique job that requires your skills. We just found out about it today.” Dad’s voice ended on a whisper that sounded like a plea.
    â€œIt’s always a unique job that requires my skills.” But her voice wavered.
    â€œIt’s the most important job you will ever have on behalf of our firm,” Grandfather said. “We have to take it.”
    â€œWhat the hell could be that important?” Tantor had been a million-dollar job. What could be more important than that?
    â€œThis job is from our special patrons, the Court,” Dad said, taking off his glasses.
    â€œThe Court?” She collapsed on the couch, next to the baby blankets. “You’re kidding. You mean that fairy tale about the mysterious Court of Immortals who’ve hired us through the centuries?”
    â€œIt’s no fairy tale. They rarely come to us, but when they do, we are duty-bound to do what they ask. These are not people to piss off, Marian,” Dad said.
    Marian swallowed to bring moisture to her dry throat. She was being sucked back in. She should run. Phase. Get away somehow.
    Grandfather sat in the single chair in the room. Something squeaked. He reached back and pulled out a rubber duck from the cushions. With a grimace, he tossed it aside.
    â€œWhat do these supposed immortals want?” Marian asked.
    â€œObviously, they need your phantom talent,” Dad said. “And don’t joke. They’re very real.”
    â€œRight. Of course they are.”
    Dad sat down next to her and put his arm over her shoulder. “Isn’t a part of you curious about meeting an immortal?”
    She sighed. “Maybe. If they’re real.”
    â€œYou can have a six-month sabbatical after you help Richard Genet. I promise.”
    She rubbed the back of her neck. “Six months? Really?” Argh. Try not to sound so eager, she told herself.
    Dad squeezed her hand tighter. “Six months, absolutely.”
    â€œWe cannot refuse the Genets,” Grandfather said, pontificating as if his easy chair were a throne.
    She stood. Her grandfather believed the Court was real. She could discount that. But her father believed too, and she couldn’t discount that. “I’ll do this. And I’ll take those six months. But I’m not promising anything about when I’m coming back.”
    Her life needed to change, one way or another.
    â€œAnd keep in mind while you’re so worried about pissing off these immortals, you might start worrying about pissing me off. I’m the only one qualified to train the next person who inherits the phantom ability. And I won’t do it unless I’m sure they have a choice in the matter and that they’re not raised to be criminals looting the heritage of nations. This is no way to live.”
    It was a dumb last word, but it was the best she could do. All three of them knew she’d given in to her grandfather.
    Again.

Chapter Three
    William Doyle Antiquities was exactly as Richard pictured it would be.
    The firm was located in a three-story brownstone on a quiet street in midtown New York City. The solid wood door with the gilded decorations, the entrance room with all the European antiques on display, and the