to what to get her mother.
Glenn had stood at the sound of the gun, his hand atop his holster. His face slack, he alternated his gaze between Ivy and me. I tossed him the splat gun, and he caught it. Anything to get his hand away from his pistol. “If that had been a sleepy-time potion,” I said smugly, “she’d be out cold.”
I handed Ivy the roll of paper towels we kept on the island counter for just this reason, and she nonchalantly wiped her hand off and continued to shop.
Head bowed, Glenn eyed the paint-ball gun. I knew he was feeling the weight of it, realizing it wasn’t a toy. He walked to me and handed it back. “They ought to make you license these things,” he said as it filled my grip.
“Yeah,” I agreed lightly. “They should.”
I felt him watching as I loaded it with my seven potions. Not many witches used potions, not because they were outrageously expensive and lasted only about a week uninvoked, but because you needed to get a good soaking in saltwater to break them. It was messy and took a heck of a lot of salt. Satisfied that I’d made my point, I tucked the loaded splat gun into the small of my back and put on my leather jacket to cover it. I kicked off my pink slippers and padded into the living room for my vamp-made boots by the back door. “Ready to go?” I asked as I leaned against the wall in the hallway and put them on. “You’re driving.”
Glenn’s tall shape appeared in the archway, dark fingers expertly tying his tie. “You’re going like that?”
Brow furrowing, I looked down at my red blouse, black skirt, nylons, and ankle-high boots. “Something wrong with what I’ve got on?”
Ivy made a rude snort from her computer. Glenn glanced at her, then me. “Never mind,” he said flatly. He snuggled his tie tight to make him look polished and professional. “Let’s go.”
“No,” I said, getting in his face. “I want to know what you think I should put on. One of those polyester sacks you make your female FIB officers wear? There’s a reason Rose is so uptight, and it has nothing to do with her having no walls or her chair having a broken caster!”
Face hard, Glenn sidestepped me and headed up the hallway. Grabbing my bag, I acknowledged Ivy’s preoccupied wave good-bye and strode after him. He took up almost the entire width of the hall as he walked and put his arms into his suit’s jacket at the same time. The sound of the lining rubbing against his shirt was a soft hush over the noise of his hard-soled shoes on the floorboards.
I kept to my cold silence as Glenn drove us out of the Hollows and back across the bridge. It would have been nice had Jenks come with us, but Sara Jane said something about a cat, and he prudently decided to stay home.
The sun was long down and traffic had thickened. The lights from Cincinnati looked nice from the bridge, and I felt a flash of amusement as I realized Glenn was driving at the head of a pack of cars too wary to pass him. Even the FIB’s unmarked vehicles were obvious. Slowly my mood eased. I cracked the window to dilute the smell of cinnamon, and Glenn flipped the heater on. The perfume didn’t smell as nice anymore, now that it had failed me.
Dan’s apartment was a town house: tidy, clean, and gated. Not too far from the university. Good access to the freeway. It looked expensive, but if he was taking classes at the university, he could probably swing it just fine. Glenn pulled into the reserved spot with Dan’s house number on it and cut the engine. The porch light was off and the drapes were pulled. A cat was sitting on the second-story balcony railing, its eyes glowing as it watched us.
Saying nothing, Glenn reached under the seat and moved it back. Closing his eyes, he settled in as if to nap. The silence grew, and I listened to the car’s engine tick as it cooled off in the dark. I reached for the radio knob, and Glenn muttered, “Don’t touch that.”
Peeved, I sank back. “Don’t you want to question some of his neighbors?” I asked.
“I’ll do it tomorrow when the sun is up and you’re at class.”
My eyebrows rose. According to the receipt Edden had given me, class ran from four to six. It was an excellent time to be knocking on doors, when humans would be coming home, diurnal Inderlanders well up, and nightwalkers stirring. And the area felt like a mixed neighborhood.
A couple came out of a nearby apartment, arguing as they got into a shiny car and drove away. She was late for work. It was his fault, if I was following the conversation properly.
Bored, and a little nervous, I dug in my bag until I found a finger stick and one of my detection amulets. I loved these things—the detection amulet, not the finger stick—and after pricking my finger for three drops of blood to invoke it, I found that there was no one but Glenn and me within a thirty-foot radius. I draped it about my neck like my old I.S. badge as a little red car pulled into the lot. The cat on the railing stretched before dropping out of sight onto the balcony.
It was Sara Jane, and she whipped her car into the spot directly behind us. Glenn took notice, saying nothing as we got out and angled our paths to meet her.
“Hi,” she said, her heart-shaped face showing her worry in the light from the street lamp. “I hope you weren’t waiting long,” she added, her voice carrying the professional air of the office.
“Not at all, ma’am,” Glenn said.
I tugged my leather coat closer against the cold as she jingled her keys, fumbling for one that still carried a shiny, new-cut veneer and opened the door. My pulse increased, and I glanced at my amulet with thoughts of Trent going through me. I had my splat gun, but I wasn’t a brave person. I ran away from big-bad-uglies. It increased my life span dramatically.
Glenn followed Sara Jane in as she flipped on the lights, illuminating the porch and apartment both. Nervous, I crossed the threshold, wavering between closing the door to keep anyone from following me in and leaving it open to keep my escape route available. I opted to leave it cracked.
“You got a problem?” Glenn whispered as Sara Jane made her confident way to the kitchen, and I shook my head. The town house had an open floor plan with almost the entire downstairs visible from the doorway. Stairs ran a straight, unimaginative pathway to the second floor. Knowing my amulet would warn me if anyone new showed up, I relaxed. There was no one here but us three and the cat yowling on the second-floor balcony.
“I’ll go up and let Sarcophagus in,” Sara Jane said as she headed for the stairs.
My eyebrows rose. “That’s the cat, right?”
“I’ll come with you, ma’am,” Glenn offered, and he thumped upstairs after her.
I did a quick reconnaissance of the downstairs while they were gone, knowing we’d find nothing. Trent was too good to leave anything behind; I just wanted to see what kind of a guy Sara Jane liked. The kitchen sink was dry, the garbage can was stinky, the computer monitor was dusty, and the cat box was full. Clearly Dan hadn’t been home in a while.
The floorboards above me creaked as Glenn walked through the upstairs. Perched on the TV was the same picture of Dan and Sara Jane aboard the steamer. I picked it up and studied their faces, setting the framed photo back on the TV as Glenn clumped downstairs. The man’s shoulders took up almost the entirety of the narrow stairway. Sara Jane was silent behind him, looking small and walking sideways in her heels.
“Upstairs looks fine,” Glenn said as he rifled through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. Sara Jane opened
