Gwendolyn looked in the container and recoiled.
“How dare you bring a cursed object into my house?” she demanded, glaring up at him. “This was made in the Shadow Lands—I don’t want it here.”
“Well, I don’t want it on my land, either,” Victor growled. “Which is where I found it when I put my fucking foot in it last night.”
“We want to know who put it there and why,” I said quickly, leaning forward on the faded couch. “And we thought since you’re a witch, you might be able to tell us.”
Gwendolyn frowned. “Well, it’s true that an individual witch’s magic leaves a personal signature behind but I don’t recognize this one. Whoever did it, though, they’re very strong. And very into the dark arts.”
“Do you know anyone like that? Could you give us a name—someplace to start?” Victor asked.