Kitabı oku: «The Good, The Bad and The Undead», sayfa 2
Jenks alighted on my earring, swearing up a blue streak. I repeatedly flicked the switch for the window, but Glenn had locked it. I settled back with a huff. I could jam my finger in Glenn’s eye and force us off the road, but why? I knew where I was going. And Edden would see that I had a ride home. It ticked me off, though, running into a human who had more gall than I did. What was the city coming to?
A sullen silence descended. I took my sunglasses off and leaned over, noticing the man was going fifteen over the posted limit. Figures.
“Watch this,” Jenks whispered. My eyebrows rose as the pixy flitted from my earring. The autumn sun coming in was suddenly full of sparkles as he surreptitiously sifted a glowing dust over the detective. I’d bet my best pair of lace panties it wasn’t the usual pixy dust. Glenn had been pixed.
I hid a smile. In about twenty minutes Glenn would be itching so bad he wouldn’t be able to sit still. “So, how come you aren’t scared of me?” I asked brazenly, feeling vastly better.
“A witch family lived next door when I was a kid,” he said warily. “They had a girl my age. She hit me with just about everything a witch can do to a person.” A faint smile crossed his square face to make him look very un-FIBlike. “The saddest day of my life was when she moved away.”
I made a pouty face. “Poor baby,” I said, and his scowl returned. I wasn’t pleased, though. Edden sent him to pick me up because he had known I couldn’t bully him.
I hated Mondays.
Two
The gray stone of the FIB tower caught the late afternoon sun as we parked in one of the reserved slots right in front of the building. The street was busy, and Glenn stiffly escorted me and my fish in through the front door. Tiny blisters between his neck and collar were already starting to show a sore-looking pink against his dark skin.
Jenks noticed my eyes on them and snorted. “Looks like Mr. FIB Detective is sensitive to pixy dust,” he whispered. “It’s going to run through his lymphatic system. He’s going to be itching in places he didn’t know he had.”
“Really?” I asked, appalled. Usually you only itched where the dust hit. Glenn was in for twenty-four hours of pure torture.
“Yeah, he won’t be trapping a pixy in a car again.”
But I thought I heard a tinge of guilt in his voice, and he wasn’t humming his victory song about daisies and steel glinting red in the moonlight, either. My steps faltered before crossing the FIB emblem inlaid in the lobby floor. I wasn’t superstitious—apart from when it might save my life—but I was entering what was generally humans-only territory. I didn’t like being a minority.
The sporadic conversation and clatter of keyboards remind me of my old job with the I.S., and my shoulders eased. Justice’s wheels were greased with paper and fueled by quick feet on the streets. Whether the feet were human or Inderlander was irrelevant. At least to me.
The FIB had been created to take the place of both local and federal authorities after the Turn. On paper, the FIB had been enacted to help protect the remaining humans from the—ah—more aggressive Inderlanders, generally the vamps and Weres. The reality was, dissolving the old law structure had been a paranoiac attempt to keep us Inderlanders out of law enforcement.
Yeah. Right. The out-of-the-closet, out-of-work Inderland police and Federal agents had simply started their own bureau, the I.S. After forty years the FIB was hopelessly outclassed, taking steady abuse from the I.S. as they both tried to keep tabs on Cincinnati’s varied citizens, the I.S. taking the supernatural stuff the FIB couldn’t.
As I followed Glenn to the back, I shifted the canister to hide my left wrist. Not many people would recognize the small circular scar on the underside of my wrist as a demon mark, but I preferred to err on the side of caution. Neither the FIB nor the I.S. knew I had been involved in the demon-induced incident that trashed the university’s ancient-book locker last spring, and I’d just as soon keep it that way. It had been sent to kill me, but it ultimately saved my life. I’d wear the mark until I found a way to pay the demon back.
Glenn wove between the desks past the lobby, and my eyebrows rose in that not a single officer made one ribald comment about a redhead in leather. But next to the screaming prostitute with purple hair and a glow-in-the-dark chain running from her nose to somewhere under her shirt, we were probably invisible.
I glanced at the shuttered windows of Edden’s office as we passed, waving at Rose, his assistant. Her face flashed red as she pretended to ignore me, and I sniffed. I was used to such slights, but it was still irritating. The rivalry between the FIB and the I.S. was long-standing. That I didn’t work for the I.S. anymore didn’t seem to matter. Then again, it could be she simply didn’t like witches.
I breathed easier when we left the front behind and entered a sterile fluorescent-lit hallway. Glenn, too, relaxed into a slower pace. I could feel the office politics flowing behind us like unseen currents but was too dispirited to care. We passed an empty meeting room, my eyes going to the huge dry-marker board where the week’s most pressing crimes were plastered. Pushing out the usual human-stalked-by-vamp crimes was a list of names. I felt ill as my eyes dropped. We were walking too fast to read them, but I knew what they had to be. I’d been following the papers just like everyone else.
“Morgan!” shouted a familiar voice, and I spun, my boots squeaking on the gray tile.
It was Edden, his squat silhouette hastening down the hallway toward us, arms swinging. Immediately I felt better.
“Slugs take it,” Jenks muttered. “Rache, I’m outta here. I’ll see you at home.”
“Stay put,” I said, amused at the pixy’s grudge. “And if you say one foul word to Edden, I’ll Amdro your stump.”
Glenn snickered, and it was probably just as well I couldn’t hear what Jenks muttered.
Edden was an ex-Navy SEAL and looked it, keeping his hair regulation short, his khaki pants creased, and his body under his starched white shirt honed. Though his thick shock of straight hair was black, his mustache was entirely gray. A welcoming smile covered his round face as he strode forward, tucking a pair of plastic-rimmed reading glasses into his shirt pocket. The captain of Cincinnati’s FIB division came to an abrupt halt, wafting the smell of coffee over me. He was my height almost exactly—making him somewhat short for a man—but he made up for it in presence.
Edden arched his eyebrows at my leather pants and less-than-professional halter top. “It’s good to see you, Morgan,” he said. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
I shifted my canister and extended my hand. His stubby thick fingers engulfed mine, familiar and welcoming. “No, not at all,” I said dryly, and Edden put a heavy hand on my shoulder, directing me down a short hallway.
Normally I would have reacted to such a show of familiarity with a delicate elbow in a gut. Edden, though, was a kindred spirit, hating injustice as much as I did. Though he looked nothing like him, he reminded me of my dad, having gained my respect by accepting me as a witch and treating me with equality instead of mistrust. I was a sucker for flattery.
We headed down the hallway shoulder-to-shoulder, Glenn lagging behind. “Good to see you flying again, Mr. Jenks,” Edden said, giving the pixy a nod.
Jenks left my earring, his wings clattering harshly. Edden had once snapped Jenks’s wing off while stuffing him into a water cooler, and pixy grudges went deep. “It’s Jenks,” he said coldly. “Just Jenks.”
“Jenks, then. Can we get you anything? Sugar water, peanut butter…” He turned, smiling from behind his mustache. “Coffee, Ms. Morgan?” he drawled. “You look tired.”
His grin banished the last of my bad mood. “That’d be great,” I said, and Edden gave Glenn a directive look. The detective’s jaw was clenched, and several new welts ran down his jawline. Edden grasped his forearm as the frustrated man turned away. Pulling Glenn down, Edden whispered, “It’s too late to wash the pixy dust off. Try cortisone.”
Glenn gave me a closed stare as he straightened and walked back the way we had come.
“I appreciate you dropping in,” Edden continued. “I got a break this morning, and you’re the only one I could call to capitalize on it.”
Jenks made a scoffing laugh. “Whatsa matter, got a Were with a thorn in his paw?”
“Shut up, Jenks,” I said, more from habit than anything else. Glenn had mentioned Trent Kalamack, and that had me itchy. The captain of the FIB drew to a stop before a plain door. Another equally plain door was a foot away. Interrogation rooms. He opened his mouth to explain, then shrugged and pushed the door open to show a bare room at half-light. He ushered me in, waiting until the door shut before turning to the two-way mirror and silently shifting the blinds.
I stared into the other room. “Sara Jane!” I whispered, my face going slack.
“You know her?” Edden crossed his short, thick arms on his chest. “That’s lucky.”
“There’s no such thing as luck,” Jenks snapped, the breeze from his wings brushing my cheek as he hovered at eye level. His hands were on his hips and his wings had gone from their usual translucence to a faint pink. “It’s a setup.”
I drew closer to the glass. “She’s Trent Kalamack’s secretary. What is she doing here?”
Edden stood beside me, his feet spread wide. “Looking for her boyfriend.”
I turned, surprised at the tight expression on his round face. “Warlock named Dan Smather,” Edden said. “Went missing Sunday. The I.S. won’t act until he’s gone for thirty days. She’s convinced his disappearance is tied to the witch hunter murders. I think she’s right.”
My stomach tightened. Cincinnati was not known for its serial killers, but we had endured more unexplained murders in the last six weeks than the last three years combined. The recent violence had everyone upset, Inderlander and human alike. The one-way glass fogged under my breath and I backed up. “Does he fit the profile?” I asked, already knowing the I.S. wouldn’t have brushed her off if he had.
“If he were dead he would. So far he’s only missing.”
The dry rasp of Jenks’s wings broke the silence. “So why bring Rache into it?”
“Two reasons. The first being Ms. Gradenko is a witch.” He nodded to the pretty woman past the glass, frustration thick in his voice. “My officers can’t question her properly.”
I watched Sara Jane look at the clock and wipe her eye. “She doesn’t know how to stir a spell,” I said softly. “She can only invoke them. Technically, she’s a warlock. I wish you people would get it straight that it’s your level of skill, not your sex, that makes you a witch or warlock.”
“Either way, my officers don’t know how to interpret her answers.”
A flicker of anger stirred. I turned to him, my lips pressed. “You can’t tell if she’s lying.”
The captain shrugged, his thick shoulders bunching. “If you like.”
Jenks hovered between us, his hands on his hips in his best Peter Pan pose. “Okay, so you want Rache to question her. What’s the second reason?”
Edden leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I need someone to go back to school, and as I don’t have a witch on my payroll, that’s you, Rachel.”
For a moment I could only stare. “Beg pardon?”
The man’s smile made him look even more like a contriving troll. “You’ve been following the papers?” he needlessly asked, and I nodded.
“The victims were all witches,” I said. “All single except for the first two, and all experienced in ley line magic.” I stifled a grimace. I didn’t like ley lines, and I avoided using them whenever I could. They were gateways to the ever-after and demons. One of the more popular theories was that the victims had been dabbling in the black arts and simply lost control. I didn’t buy that. No one was stupid enough to bind a demon—except Nick, my boyfriend. And that had been only to save my life.
Edden nodded, showing me the top of his head of thick black hair. “What has been kept quiet is that all of them, at one point or another, have been taught by a Dr. Anders.”
I rubbed my scraped palms. “Anders,” I murmured, searching my memory and coming up with a thin-faced, sour-looking woman with her hair too short and her voice too shrill. “I had a class with her.” I glanced at Edden and turned to the one-way glass, embarrassed. “She was a visiting professor from the university while one of our instructors was on sabbatical. Taught Ley Lines for the Earth Witch. She’s a condescending toad. Flunked me out on the third class because I wouldn’t get a familiar.”
He grunted. “Try to get a B this time so I can get reimbursed for tuition.”
“Whoa!” Jenks shouted, his tiny voice pitched high. “Edden, you can just plant your sunflower seeds in someone else’s garden. Rachel isn’t going anywhere near Sara Jane. This is Kalamack trying to get his manicured fingers on her.”
Edden pushed himself away from the wall, frowning. “Mr. Kalamack is not implicated in this whatsoever. And if you take this run gunning for him, Rachel, I’ll sling your lily-white witch butt back across the river and into the Hollows. Dr. Anders is our suspect. If you want the run, you leave Mr. Kalamack out of this.”
Jenks’s wings buzzed an angry whine. “Did you all slip antifreeze in your coffee this morning?” he shrilled. “It’s a setup! This has nothing to do with the witch hunter murders. Rachel, tell him this has nothing to do with the murders.”
“This has nothing to do with the murders,” I said blandly. “I’ll take the run.”
“Rachel!” Jenks protested.
I took a slow breath, knowing I would never be able to explain. Sara Jane was more honest than half the I.S. agents I had once worked with: a farm girl struggling to find her way in the city and help her indentured-servant family. Though she wouldn’t know me from Jack, I owed her. She was the sole person who had shown me any kindness during my three days of purgatory trapped as a mink in Trent Kalamack’s office last spring.
Physically, we were as unalike as two people could possibly be. Where Sara Jane sat stiffly upright at the table in her crisp business dress with every blond hair in place and makeup applied so well it was almost invisible, I stood in scraped-up leather pants with my frizzy red hair wild and untamed. Where she was petite, having a china-doll look with her clear skin and delicate features, I was tall with an athletic build that had saved my life more times than I have freckles on my nose. Where she was amply curved and padded in all the right places, I stopped at the curves, my chest not much more than a suggestion. But I felt a kinship with her. We were both trapped by Trent Kalamack. And by now she probably knew it.
Jenks hovered beside me. “No,” he said. “Trent is using her to reach you.”
Irritated, I waved him away. “Trent can’t touch me. Edden, do you still have that pink folder I gave you last spring?”
“The one with the disc and datebook containing evidence that Trent Kalamack is a manufacturer and distributor of illegal genetic products?” The squat man grinned. “Yeah. I keep it by my bed for when I can’t sleep at night.”
My jaw dropped. “You weren’t supposed to open it unless I went missing!”
“I peek at my Christmas presents, too,” he said. “Relax. I won’t do anything unless Kalamack kills you. I still say blackmailing Kalamack is risky—”
“It’s the only thing keeping me alive!” I said hotly, then winced as I wondered if Sara Jane might have heard me through the glass.
“—but probably safer than trying to bring him to justice—at the present time. This, though?” He gestured to Sara Jane. “He’s too smart for this.”
If it had been anyone but Trent, I’d have to agree. Trent Kalamack was pristine on paper, as charming and attractive in public as he was ruthless and cold behind closed doors. I had watched him kill a man in his office, making it look like an accident with a swiftly implemented set of preparations. But as long as Edden didn’t act on my blackmail, the untouchable man would leave me alone.
Jenks darted between me and the mirror. He came to a hovering standstill, worry creasing his tiny features. “This stinks worse than that fish. Walk away. You gotta walk away.”
My gaze focused past Jenks, upon Sara Jane. She had been crying. “I owe her, Jenks,” I whispered. “Whether she knows it or not.”
Edden shifted to stand beside me, and together we watched Sara Jane. “Morgan?”
Jenks was right. There was no such thing as luck—unless you bought it—and nothing happened around Trent without reason. My eyes were fixed upon Sara Jane. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do it.”
Three
My gaze was drawn to Sara Jane’s nails as she fidgeted across from me. Last time I had seen her, they were clean but worn down to the quick. Now they were long and shapely, polished a tasteful shade of red. “So,” I said, looking from the fitfully flashing enamel to her eyes. They were blue. I hadn’t known for sure. “You last heard from Dan on Saturday?”
From across the table, Sara Jane nodded. There hadn’t been a flicker of recognition when Edden introduced us. Part of me was relieved, part disappointed. Her lilac scent pulled the unwelcome memory of helplessness I had felt while a mink caged in Trent’s office.
The tissue in Sara Jane’s hand was about the size of a walnut, clenched into a ball with her trembling fingers. “Dan called me as he was coming off of work,” she said, the tremor reflected in her voice. She glanced at Edden, standing beside the closed door with his arms crossed and his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Well, he left a message on my machine—it was four in the morning. He said he wanted to have dinner together, that he wanted to talk to me. He never showed up. That’s why I know something’s wrong, Officer Morgan.” Her eyes went wide and her jaw clenched as she struggled not to cry.
“It’s Ms. Morgan,” I said uncomfortably. “I don’t work for the FIB on a regular basis.”
Jenks’s wings shifted into motion as he remained perched on my foam cup. “She doesn’t really work regularly at all,” he said snidely.
“Ms. Morgan is our Inderland consultant,” Edden said, frowning at Jenks.
Sara Jane dabbed at her eyes. The tissue still in her grip, she nudged her hair back. She had cut it, and it made her look even more professional as it bumped about her shoulders in a straight yellow sheet. “I brought a picture of him,” she said, digging in her purse to pull out a snapshot and push it at me. I looked down to see her and a young man on the deck of one of the steamers that take tourists out on the Ohio River. They were both smiling. His arm was around her, and she was leaning into him. She looked happy and relaxed in blue jeans and a blouse.
I took a moment to study Dan’s picture. He was clean-cut, sturdy looking, and wearing a plaid shirt. Just the kind of man one would expect a farm girl to bring home to Mom and Dad.
“Can I keep this?” I asked, and she nodded. “Thanks.” I tucked it in my bag, not comfortable with how her eyes were fixed upon the picture as if she could bring him back by her will alone. “Do you know how we can get in touch with his relatives? He may have had a family emergency and needed to leave without notice.”
“Dan is an only child,” she said, dabbing at her nose with the crumpled tissue. “Both his parents are gone. They were serfed on a farm up north. Life expectancy isn’t high for a farmer.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Technically, we can’t enter his apartment until he’s declared missing. You don’t happen to have a key, do you?”
“Yes. I—” She blushed through her makeup. “I let his cat in when he works late.”
I glanced down at the lie-detecting amulet in my lap as it briefly shifted from green to red. She was lying, but I didn’t need an amulet to figure that out. I said nothing, not wanting to embarrass her further by making her admit she had the key for other, more romantic reasons.
“I was there today about seven,” she said, eyes downcast. “Everything looked fine.”
“Seven in the morning?” Edden uncrossed his arms and levered himself upright. “Isn’t that when you—you witches, I mean—are tucked in bed?”
She gazed up at him and nodded. “I’m Mr. Kalamack’s personal secretary. He works in the mornings and evenings, so my schedule is split. Eight to noon in the morning and four to eight in the afternoon. It took a while to become accustomed to it, but with four hours for myself in the afternoon, I was able to spend more time with…Dan,” she finished.
“Please,” the young woman pleaded suddenly, her gaze shifting between Edden and me. “I know something’s wrong. Why won’t anyone help me?”
I shifted uncomfortably as she struggled for control. She felt helpless. I understood her better than she knew. Sara Jane was the latest in Trent’s long string of secretaries. As a mink I had listened in on her interview, unable to warn her as she was lured into believing Trent’s half-truths. For all her intelligence, she hadn’t a chance to escape his charm and extravagant offers. With his offer of employment, Trent had given her family a golden ticket out of their indentured servitude.
And Trent Kalamack was truly a benevolent employer, offering high wages and outstanding benefits. He gave people what they desperately wanted, asking in return nothing but their loyalty. By the time they realized how deep he demanded that loyalty go, they knew too much to extricate themselves.
Sara Jane had escaped the farm, but Trent had then bought it, probably to ensure that she would keep her mouth shut when she found out about his dealings in the illegal drug Brimstone, as well as the desperately sought-after genetic medicines outlawed during the Turn. I’d almost tagged him with the truth, but the sole other witness had died in a car explosion.
Publicly, Trent served on the city’s council, untouchable because of his vast wealth and generous donations to charities and underprivileged children. Privately, no one even knew if he was a human or Inderlander. Even Jenks couldn’t tell, which was unusual for a pixy. Trent quietly ran a good slice of Cincinnati’s underworld, and both the FIB and the I.S. would sell their bosses to have a court date with him. And now Sara Jane’s boyfriend was missing.
I cleared my throat, recalling the temptation of Trent’s offer myself. Seeing Sara Jane under control again, I asked, “You said he works at Pizza Piscary’s?”
She nodded. “He’s a driver. That’s how we met.” She bit her lip and dropped her eyes.
The lie-detecting amulet was a steady green. Piscary’s was an Inderland eatery serving everything from tomato soup to gourmet cheesecake. Piscary himself was said to be one of Cincinnati’s master vampires. Nice enough, from what I’d heard: not greedy with his vamp takes, eventempered, on record as being dead for the last three hundred years. ’Course, he was probably older than that, and the nicer and more civilized an undead vampire seemed, the more depraved he or she generally was. My roommate thought of him as sort of a friendly uncle, which made me feel oh-so-warm and fuzzy inside.
I handed Sara Jane another tissue, and she smiled weakly. “I can go out to his apartment today,” I said. “Do you think you could meet me there with the key? Sometimes a professional can spot things others miss.” Jenks snorted, and I shifted my legs, bumping the underside of the table to make him dart into the air.
Sara Jane showed relief. “Oh, thank you, Ms. Morgan,” she gushed. “I can go right now. I just have to call my employer and let him know I’ll be a little late.” She gripped her purse, looking like she was ready to fly out of the room. “Mr. Kalamack told me to take all the time I need this afternoon.”
I glanced at Jenks’s attention-getting buzz. He had a worried I-told-you-so look. How nice of Trent to let his secretary take all the time she needs to find her boyfriend when he’s probably stuffed in a closet so she’ll keep her mouth shut. “Ah, let’s make it tonight,” I said, thinking of my fish. “I need to look up a few things.” And whip up a few antigoon spells, check my splat gun, and collect my fee…
“Of course,” she said, settling back as her expression clouded.
“And if nothing turns up there, we’ll go on to the next step.” I tried to make my smile reassuring. “I’ll meet you at Dan’s apartment a little after eight?”
Hearing the dismissal in my voice, she nodded and stood. Jenks flitted into the air, and I rose as well. “All right,” she said. “It’s out at Redwood—”
Edden shuffled his feet. “I’ll tell Ms. Morgan where it is, Ms. Gradenko.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Her smile was starting to look stilted. “I’m just so worried…”
I disguised putting my lie-detecting amulet away by digging through my bag and pulling out one of my cards. “Please let me or the FIB know if you hear from him in the meantime,” I said as I handed it to her. Ivy had the cards professionally printed, and they looked slick.
“Yes. I will,” she murmured, her lips moving as she read VAMPIRIC CHARMS, the name Nick had given my and Ivy’s agency. She met my eyes as she tucked the card in her purse. I shook her hand, deciding her grip was firmer this time. Her fingers, though, were still cold.
“I’ll show you out, Ms. Gradenko,” Edden said as he opened the door. At his subtle gesture, I sank back into my chair to wait.
Jenks buzzed his wings for my attention. “I don’t like it,” he said as our eyes met.
A flash of ire took me. “She wasn’t lying,” I said defensively. He put his hands on his hips, and I waved him off my cup to take a sip of my lukewarm coffee. “You don’t know her, Jenks. She hates vermin, but she tried to keep Jonathan from tormenting me though it might have meant her job.”
“She felt sorry for you,” Jenks said. “Pitiful little mink with a concussion.”
“She gave me part of her lunch when I wouldn’t eat those disgusting pellets.”
“The carrots were drugged, Rache.”
“She didn’t know that. Sara Jane suffered as much as I did.”
The pixy hovered six inches before me, demanding I look at him. “That’s what I’m saying. Trent could be using her to get to you again, and she wouldn’t even know it.”
My sigh pushed him back. “She’s trapped. I have to help her if I can.” I looked up as Edden opened the door and poked his head in. He had an FIB hat on, and it looked odd with his white shirt and khakis as he gestured for me.
Jenks flitted to my shoulder. “You and your ‘rescue impulses’ are going to get you killed,” he whispered as I found the hallway.
“Thanks, Morgan,” Edden said as he grabbed my canister of fish and led me up front.
“No problem,” I said as we entered the FIB’s back offices. The hustle of people enfolded me, and my tension eased in the blessed autonomy it offered. “She wasn’t lying about anything other than having a key to let his cat out. But I could have told you that without the spell. I’ll let you know what I find out at Dan’s apartment. How late can I call you?”
“Oh,” Edden said loudly as we slipped past the front desk and headed for the sunlit sidewalk. “No need, Ms. Morgan. Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch.”
I stopped short in surprise. A curl of escaped hair brushed my shoulder as Jenks’s wings clattered against themselves in a harsh noise. “What the hell?” he muttered.
My face warmed as I realized he was brushing me off. “I did not come down here just to invoke a lousy lie-detecting amulet,” I said as I jerked into motion. “I told you I’d leave Kalamack alone. Get out of my way and let me do what I’m good at.”
Behind me, conversations were going quiet. Edden never hesitated in his slow stride to the door. “It’s an FIB matter, Ms. Morgan. Let me help you out.”
I followed, tight to his heels, not caring about the dark looks I was getting. “This run is mine, Edden,” I almost yelled. “Your people will mess it up. These are Inderlanders, not humans. You can have the glory. All I want is to be paid.” And see Trent in jail, I added silently.
He pushed open one of the glass double doors. The sun-warmed concrete threw up a wave of heat as I stomped out after him, almost pinning the short man against the building as he gestured for a cab. “You gave me this run and I’m taking it,” I exclaimed, yanking a curl out of my mouth as the wind blew it up into my face. “Not some stuck-up, arrogant cookie in an FIB hat who thinks he’s the greatest thing since the Turn!”
“Good,” he said lightly, shocking me into taking a step back. Putting my canister on the sidewalk, he stuffed his FIB hat into his back pocket. “But from here on out, you are officially off the run.”
My mouth opened in understanding. I was officially not here. Taking a breath, I willed the adrenaline out of my system. Edden nodded as he saw my anger fizzle out. “I’d appreciate your discretion on this,” he said. “Sending Glenn out to Pizza Piscary’s alone isn’t prudent.”
“Glenn!” Jenks shrilled, his voice scraping the inside of my skull, making my eyes water.
“No,” I said. “I already have my team. We don’t need Detective Glenn.”
Jenks left me. “Yeah,” he said as he flew between the FIB captain and me. His wings were red. “We don’t play well with others.”
Edden frowned. “This is an FIB matter. You will have an FIB presence with you when at all possible, and Glenn is the only one qualified.”
“Qualified?” Jenks scoffed. “Why not admit he’s the only one of your officers who can talk to a witch without pissing his pants?”
“No,” I said firmly. “We work alone.”
Edden stood beside my canister, his arms crossed to make his squat form look as immovable as a stone wall. “He’s our new Inderland specialist. I know he’s inexperienced—”
