What kind of crazy witch curses a diadem to kill people? Apparently the kind that founds small beach towns and makes iced tea and finger sandwiches for cocktail parties. Why am I not surprised? This is, after all, the south. I admit I messed up when I dragged a sunken treasure chest to shore. I'll even take part of the blame for my obsessive-compulsive sister throwing them in an auction before I had a chance to check them for magical mojo. That doesn't mean I should have to deal with snobby socialites and the weak-kneed weenies that bow at their Prada-clad feet. Especially when said socialite is dead. Actually, it does. Because I come from a long line of powerful witches and warlocks tasked with keeping magical artifacts out of non-magical hands. Our family reputation is sterling, but just like all fine silver and old families, there's a little tarnish here and there. It's what makes us good at what we do. Now I'm going to have to trot out every trick I know when a local woman keels over dead at her own bridal party. Not only do I have to figure out what killed her, I have to recover it before it finds another victim, then cover it up to keep magic hidden. Together with my best friend, a powerful warlock who's personality tempers my own, and an ancient catalog that's been in my family for generations, we'll find the next artifact and take one more step toward cleaning up my mess.