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something amiss.
    Irenee dismissed the mystery man from her mind to concentrate on reviewing the procedures for destroying an evil item. Eventually, the limo pulled up to the HeatherRidge Center and dropped her off at the building housing the Defender offices, classrooms, and training facilities.
    The center, the practitioner complex of training, meetings, research, and condo/hotel, was the only site in North America for advanced Defender and Sword education. Destruction of major evil magic items took place here in an extensive underground network of rooms. Although practitioners loved the original HeatherRidge Hotel close to the edge of downtown Chicago, nobody wanted to destroy major items in the middle of a city where a mistake could cause disaster.
    When she started training, she’d moved to the Center, but she didn’t drop by her own condo in another building to change out of her evening dress. First she had to report, and she hurried down to the conference room where the team was waiting.
    “I have it!” she announced when she entered the room. In addition to the six members of her team, four other Defenders—including her father—were present. The only other Sword besides Fergus was John Baldwin from New York, a member of the Defender Council. The item had to really be important if a council member was here.
    Everyone burst into applause.
    “Excellent,” Fergus said and gave her a hug. It was like being hugged by a combination bear and Santa Claus since Fergus stood six-five and had a full beard and flowing white hair.
    Irenee stepped up to the table between Fergus and Glynnis Fraser, their resident expert in the power and character of magical items, and opened her purse. “I found something else and brought it along.” She held up the book. “It seemed to go with this.” She handed Fergus the book and took out the bag and laid it on the table.
    Fergus opened the book and looked at a few pages. “Looks like Greek combined with another language. Here, Jacob, what do you think?” He passed the book across the table.
    Ancient-language expert Jacob Mbuto leafed through it. “Yes, at least one other. I can see Cyrillic, maybe some Sanskrit, and a few letters that appear to be totally made up. I’ll consult with a few scholars tomorrow.”
    “Fine. Now let’s see the real prize. Irenee, you do the honors.” Fergus waved at the bag and the crystal bowl in the middle of the table.
    “Wait,” Glynnis, a tall woman with light brown skin and salt-and-pepper hair, spoke. “First, everyone put on your robes for protection. We don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with here.”
    “Here, Irenee, I brought yours,” her father said, handing her the garment, after giving her a little hug.
    “Thanks,” Irenee said and hugged him back.
    She shrugged into the flowing, hooded, midnight black robe but didn’t bother to close it. Her fellow Swords, Fergus and John Baldwin, wore the same color, and their greater experience and power was displayed in the many glyphs appearing—to those few with the talent to see them—on the bands down the center and on the cuffs and around the bottoms and hoods of the robes. By contrast, Irenee had only a few of the symbols; she’d accumulate more with experience.
    Defenders wore the colors associated with their everyday talents, and several shades of blues, greens, browns, reds, yellows, metallics, and others swirled when they donned theirs.
    Telling herself to be calm even though she was about to burst with excitement, Irenee picked up the bag while Glynnis positioned the bowl and the plate under it.
    “Be careful,” Glynnis warned, “not to touch the item. Evil has a way of ‘rubbing off’ on the handler of some of these stronger articles.”
    “I’ll watch out,” Irenee assured her. She loosened the drawstrings, grasped the two corners at the bottom, and slid the contents into the shallow receptacle.
    A couple of people gasped. Several drew their robes tight around