“All right.” Sinclair gave me a reluctant smile. “If I’m going to face down my sister, I need all the friends I can get. But if you ever need to make another funky satyr booty call, girl, I’m your man.”

A sense of relief and gratitude suffused me. “You’re the first person I’d call,” I assured him.

We parted with a hug. There was regret in it, but there was genuine affection, too; and it occurred to me as I drove downtown to the police station that in a perverse way, Emmeline might have done us an unwitting favor. After taking a long, hard look at my own feelings, I doubted that any budding romance with Sinclair could have withstood the double-barreled assault of his sister’s surprise visit and her return to either collect on the ultimatum she’d issued or deliver on her threat.

But friendship? Hell, yeah. It was a lot easier to forgive a friend in trouble than it was a sort-of-boyfriend who’d been less than honest. I had experience with standing up for my friends.

And all dear Emmy’s prank with the charm had done in the end was warn me not to underestimate her.

Next time I wouldn’t.

It actually felt good to settle into a familiar routine at the station, reviewing the stack of incident reports that had accumulated over the holiday weekend. Nothing suspicious of an eldritch nature caught my eye, which meant Tuggle and his hobgoblin buddies had the last hurrah of the high season with their shell game.

Well, except for Emmeline Palmer. A part of me—the part that was embarrassed by the fact that I hadn’t exactly handled the encounter with aplomb—wanted to avoid documenting the incident. But it was my responsibility, and it was time I started acting more professional about it, so I wrote up a full report for the X-Files.

Chief Bryant came in just as I was finishing. After exchanging a few words with Patty Rogan at the front desk, he caught my eye. “Daisy. I’d like a word with you in my office when you’re done.”

A little knot of apprehension formed in the pit of my belly. “Be there in a few, sir.”