“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s his first name or his last. But he’d come over, and then there’d be yelling, and Lorcan would leave in a rage.”

“Were they . . . involved?” Dean said as delicately as he could.

Sophie laughed. It was rueful but light. “No. It was purely professional. Joseph didn’t date, anyway. He had other concerns.”

“Absent-minded professor type, huh?”

“You could say that. He was like a monk without orders.” She paused and bit her lip. “Or like a knight without a master.”

Dean said softly, “A good guy, huh?”

“The best.” She looked away, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I’m going to miss him.”

Dean nodded, surprised at how invasive it felt to intrude on her grief. He did this all the time, questioned the living about the dead, but today it just felt cruel. “Did you ever hear what they fought about, Mr. Temple and this Lorcan?”

“Joseph had something Lorcan wanted to buy, but Joseph wouldn’t sell.” Her sweet face turned hard. “I have no doubt he was killed because of that.”

“Do you know what it was?” Dean said. “What was worth killing a man for?”

Mrs. Fisher looked at Dean and when she spoke her voice was different, steady and low as if she were casting a spell. “It was precious. Priceless. The most precious thing on this Earth. Men have killed for it, died for it, wandered the Earth for a glimpse of it.”

Dean watched her face, confused and feeling like he was falling into a dream. “What?” he whispered.

“Are you ready to undertake this journey, Dean Winchester?” she said in that same soft, relentless tone. “Are you strong enough? Are you brave enough? There are monsters on this path, and angels, and it’s hard to say which will be your doom. You follow this road to its end, Dean Winchester, and I cannot promise you will come home again.”

Dean inhaled and said, “My name is — it’s Chilton. Not Winchester.”

Mrs. Fishes smiled wryly and the moment was gone. “Of course. No, I don’t know what they took.”

Dean had to shake his head a little to clear it. “Um. Thanks. For your time. Sorry for your loss,” he said and got up from the chair.

“Mister — Agent Chilton,” Mrs. Fisher said. “Joseph was my friend. Please. Find the men who killed him.”

“We will, Mrs. Fisher,” he said, and she smiled that half-smile again and saw him out, closing her door with a firm click.

Dean went to Joseph Temple’s apartment, lifted the crime scene tape and let himself in. Sam had the EMF meter out, and it wasn’t making a sound as he scanned the bookshelves. “Anything?”

“There is this.” Sam pointed to a framed piece of art on the wall.

Dean stepped closer for a better look, recognizing it from the vision. It was made up of the major arcana of Tarot cards, old ones to judge from the sepia tones of the paper, starting with the Fool and ending with the World. They were simply drawn in a medieval style, with just three colors of ink — dark blue, pale yellow, red dark as blood. They used medieval iconography, too — Death was a walking skeleton, the Devil was a hairy demon, a hanging man was dressed like a squire.

“And  –” Sam touched the frame and it swung away from the wall to reveal a wall safe.

“Not the most orthodox hiding place, but lots of people have safes like this.” He looked at Sam. “Do you think it means something?”

Sam looked smug and held the EMF meter to the safe. The meter buzzed loudly enough to make Dean start.

“Holy fuck! Some major mojo in that thing.”

“Whatever was stolen,” Sam said, “was a powerful artifact of some kind, more powerful than anything we’ve dealt with.”

“This job just got a whole lot more interesting,” said Dean.

***

They say in California orange blossoms froze on the trees.

They say in Montana Arctic winds swept down across the plains, causing cattle to freeze to death by the hundreds.

They say in Maine lobster fishermen pulled up broken traps.

They say in the oceans whales sang each other songs of mourning.