Finn groaned. “Are you kidding me? I never want to see that place again.”

   But I shook off my surprise and started going through the photos, looking at and then handing them off to Finn one by one.

   Most of the shots were the same sort that Ira had taken—pretty pictures of the hotel, theme park, and lake. My heart started to sink. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe there wasn’t any information about the Circle in here at all. Maybe Fletcher hadn’t known anything about the mysterious group. After all, the old man had kept tabs on Deirdre to make sure that she wasn’t headed back to Ashland to threaten Finn. Maybe that’s what he’d been doing down at Bullet Pointe. Following her and seeing what she was up to.

   Finally, I came to the last picture, a large rectangular print that had been stuck in the very bottom of the box, as though it were of no importance at all. I glanced at it, expecting to see another shot of the hotel lobby. That’s exactly what it was, but I recognized someone in this picture.

   My mother.

   I sucked in a breath. Finn realized that I’d finally found something, and he put down the photo he was looking at to peer at the one in my hand.

   “Son of a bitch,” he said. “That’s your mom.”

   “Not just her,” I whispered. “Not just her.”

   The picture showed a group of people sitting at a table in the middle of the hotel lobby sometime during the holidays, given the mistletoe, bows, and other decorations in the background. And my mother wasn’t the only person that I recognized. Deirdre Shaw was in the photo too, along with Mab Monroe. Several other people were also gathered around the table, their faces clearly visible, although I didn’t know any of them.

   The group seemed to be celebrating something, given the champagne glasses on the table and the pleased grins on everyone’s faces—except for my mother’s. Her mouth was a hard slash in her face, and her hand was wrapped around her champagne flute, her arm drawn back slightly, as though she were thinking about hurling the glass at the two people sitting across the table from her.

   Finn tapped his finger on one of those people. “There’s Tucker.”

   I nodded. “And I’m willing to bet that this is the rest of the Circle.”

   “Deirdre, Tucker, Mab, your mother. You might be right. But who are the rest of these folks?”

   I studied the faces a little more closely, but I still didn’t recognize anyone. “No idea.” I pointed to the photo again. “But this guy—he’s the leader.”

   The man was sitting next to Tucker and seemed to be the person that my mother was glaring at. He was the only person whose face you couldn’t see, since his back was turned to the camera. All I could tell about him was that he had dark hair and looked to be a big, tall, strong guy.

   Finn frowned and leaned forward, staring at the photo again. “Why do you think that he’s the leader?”

   “Because Tucker is sitting next to him, and look at the vampire’s posture. He’s leaning in and ducking his head. You know Tucker. He wouldn’t show that sort of deference to anyone . . .”

   “Except his boss.”

   “Exactly. Besides, my mother is sitting as far away from this man as she can possibly get, clear on the opposite side of the table. He’s the leader. I know it.”

   I did know it—deep down in my bones.

   “But why doesn’t Dad have a shot of this guy’s face?” Finn asked. “He has a clear view of everyone else. Surely it wouldn’t have been that hard to discreetly move around the table and snap a picture of the leader. So why didn’t he?”

   I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe Fletcher could only get this one shot of the whole group of them. These people are paranoid about their secrecy. They wouldn’t have wanted anyone taking pictures of them.”

   Finn nodded, accepting my explanation, but my mind kept churning and churning. He was right. Fletcher should have included a picture of the leader’s face, but he hadn’t, and I couldn’t help but think that it was a deliberate omission. But why? What was so interesting or horrible or shocking about this man that Fletcher had excluded him?

   And how was it going to impact me, Finn, and everyone else?

   Finn pointed at the photo. “Hey, look at that. What does that look like to you?”

   I squinted at the picture. I hadn’t paid any attention to it before, but the table boasted an elaborate metal centerpiece, the sort of thing you might put candles in, although this piece had none. “That looks like . . . a group of swords, all bound together and pointing outward.”

   “Not just a group of swords, but a group of swords in a circle.” Finn looked at me, excitement flashing in his eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think that we just found the official rune for the Circle.” He paused. “Well, the official, probably top-secret, and no-one-knows-about-it-but-them rune. But still.”

   “I think you’re right.”

   We looked at each other, both of us grinning like fools, realizing that we were finally—finally—on track to getting the answers we wanted.

31

   We went through the rest of the safety-deposit boxes, opening them one by one, and examining all the items inside.

   They were all filled with photos, just like the first one, and all the pictures were various shots of the people that had been gathered around that table. I hoped that there might be more. Perhaps some diaries or logs of who the people were and all their movements, but nothing like that was in the boxes. Perhaps Fletcher hadn’t been able to get all that much information about the members of the Circle. I’d probably never know for sure, but the uncertainty didn’t bother me the way it had before. The old man had given me a place to start. That was all that I needed.

   The only person Fletcher didn’t seem to have photographed was the man with his back to the camera in that first photo, the leader of the Circle. I still wondered why Fletcher hadn’t identified him as well, but I wasn’t overly worried about it. I’d find his friends first, and they would eventually lead me to him.