The boy found it, pulling the ancient, rusted chain free of the muck and grim in which it had been entombed for centuries. As he started tugging on the amulet itself, still embedded in the soil, I swatted him away and took the chain from him before he had a chance to foolishly damage the thing.
It was magnificent. Once pried from its resting place and gently washed, it gleamed as though it had just been pulled from the fires of its forge. Made of solid gold, it was diamond in shape, encrusted with rubies and emeralds around the edges. Intricate rune patterns adorned both sides. I muttered a few words of old Altartongue and the runes began to glow. I patted the boy on the shoulder and we began making our way out of the catacombs, back toward the bright streets of Paris.
I picked at the gems. They were a little loose after all this time. “Once we pry this shit out it’ll be useful,” I said.
“Is that the magic that will bring mommy back?” the boy asked.
“Perhaps,” I said. “Or perhaps the magic is inside you already.”
He stopped and stared with wide eyes. “Really?”
“No,” I snapped. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s the amulet.”