“You handle yourselves okay.”

Quentin gave him a disbelieving look. I shook my head, and said, “I’ve had a lot of practice,” hoping that my bitterness wouldn’t show. I was sure it would. “Is there anyone else you think I should know about?”

“Huh.” He tilted his head to one side. “You’ve met Gordan, Elliot, and Jan—Peter’s locked in his office working on a deadline, and Terrie’s on the night shift.”

“And then there’s April.”

Alex almost smiled, agreeing, “And then there’s April. I take it you met?”

“Blonde kid, glasses, talks like the Oracle at Delphi when she was in junior high. Yeah, we met.”

“She’s creepy,” Quentin added.

“Dryads generally are,” I said, offhandedly, and paused. “That’s how she disappeared.” Dryads are one of the only races that can teleport entirely on their own. The normal ones need to be close to their trees, but if April had been integrated with the company network, she probably just needed to be close to a power outlet.

“Exactly,” Alex confirmed.

Quentin looked at me, wide-eyed. “She’s a Dryad?” “It’s a long story. Alex—”

The rest of my question was lost when April appeared next to the table, sending an electric shock through the air. I jumped, and Quentin yelped.

April looked at him. “Are you all right?” The concern sounded rehearsed.

“I’m fine,” Quentin muttered.

“You . . . surprised us,” I added.

“Mother is looking for you,” she said, feigned concern dissolving. “She wants to talk to you and has asked me to find you.” She made it sound like being out of Jan’s sight was a crime.

“So I guess we should go to her, hmm?” said Alex, grinning. She looked back at him, unimpressed: it was the first genuine expression I’d seen on her face. “Is she in her office?”

April considered for a moment before she nodded, saying, “Currently.”

“Let her know we’ll be right there, okay?”

“You will come directly?” Her tone implied we’d get distracted and wander off, leaving her to take the blame.

“Yep.”

“Excellent.” She vanished. The air rushed into the place she’d been with a gentle popping sound, leaving the smell of ozone behind.

“Sounds like that’s our cue. Quentin, come on.” I stood, finishing my coffee. Grumbling, Quentin did the same, my half-eaten sandwich in one hand. I looked to Alex. “Come on, native guide. Lead the way.”

“My pleasure,” said Alex, and grinned as he led us out of the cafeteria.