She walked back to the clearing’s center where the iron necklace lay like a forgotten noose. "I should probably put this back on until we can talk with your mother and father," she said, bending to pick it up. "Just to be safe."
Her fingers closed around the chain. Heat slammed into her palm so suddenly she hissed. "It's hot!" she cried, jerking her hand away. The necklace should have fallen—should have clattered to the ground—but it held fast. The iron surrendered to something else: it liquefied against her skin, not dripping but flowing, a molten thread that gleamed as if lit from within. It moved with intent, a shimmering river of gold that crawled up her wrist and coiled around her forearm like a living thing.
"Finnegan!" she shouted, clutching her arm. He lunged forward, but before
