Amanda Brooks raised her brows at me. “Don’t be glib. I don’t expect you to control the weather. But a unicorn would be nice, yes. Do we have any?”

“No,” I said. “Not that I’m aware of. And a lot of those pretty, sparkly fairies have sharp teeth and bad tempers. I don’t think you understand what you’re asking. The eldritch community isn’t benign. They’re not here to serve as tourist attractions. They’re here because Pemkowet has a functioning underworld, which allows them to exist in the mortal world without the risk of fading.”

She tapped her letter opener on the desk. “Don’t you think it’s in their best interest to keep it that way?”

“Of course.”

Setting down her letter opener, she reached for a copy of the latest Appeldoorn Guardian and pushed it across the desk at me. “Look at the poll results.”

Reluctantly, I took a look. It seemed that fifty-three percent of respondents thought that it was time to explore the possibility of cutting down Yggdrasil II, razing Pemkowet’s underworld, and banishing the unholy eldritch influence from Michigan for good. My mouth felt dry. “It’s just a poll. It doesn’t mean they can act on it.”

“No.” Amanda Brooks adjusted her stylish glasses. “But it means we’re losing the battle of perception. We need to push back against it. Anything you could do to help would be . . . helpful.”

I nodded. “I understand. I can’t guarantee results, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” She rose. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Opening her office door, she called out to the cute guy. “Mr. Palmer? May we have a word?”

He sauntered into the office, hands in his pockets, and gave her another charming smile and a disarming shrug. “Any word you like, mother.”

“Ah . . . yes.” Again, she flushed. “Sinclair Palmer, Daisy Johanssen. Mr. Palmer, Ms. Johanssen has agreed to work with the eldritch community in an effort to . . . enhance . . . the tours you propose.”

Sinclair Palmer regarded me. “Is that so, sistah?”

“Yep.”

His lips twitched in an effort to suppress a smile. He had nice lips, full and juicy. “I an’ I look forward to it.”

“So do I and I,” I said in reply. “But I’m kind of busy right now. And I can’t make any promises.”

“Understood.” He tapped his chest with his fist. “Respect, eh? What will be will be. Jah bless.”

“Um . . . right.”