A man leaned against the far wall with a toothpick stuck to his bottom lip. I hadn’t noticed him at first, what with the rodent infestation, but I sure saw him now. Cord Graeson had followed me—us—to Texas. I would have recognized the scowl even if I hadn’t noticed the black ink forest sprouting from his wrists to spread up his forearms.

“We appreciate the offer,” Thierry drawled, “but looks can be deceiving.”

His casual lean, his serene expression, set me on edge. He had been more honest gripped by his anger and grief. This cool-headed Graeson seemed dangerous, like he was a spring wound too tight, ready to burst into motion at the least provocation.

“How long have you been standing there?” A purse of his lips confessed nothing, and I stepped around Thierry, approaching him with caution. “Were you going to let them roll away with her?”

Eyes the color of walnuts striated by the green of summer grasses shifted onto Harlow. “No.” The reluctance in the word didn’t convince me.

A buzzing noise spooked the hedgies, who curled into balls with a hiccup of sound. Thierry leapt into action, pulling a black stick—a marker?—from her pocket and drawing a circle around the stunned hedgies. “Harlow.” Thierry clasped forearms with her when she glanced up, and then hauled her to her feet. “Get out of the circle. Don’t smudge the line.” Harlow stepped over the black line and backed to my side. Thierry spoke a Word, and an invisible barrier rose, penning the hedgies. She pocketed the marker and dusted her hands. “Easy-peasy. I’ll call a cleanup crew.”

Harlow pulled a slim phone from the rear pocket of her shorts. Her cell’s vibrations must have been what startled the hedgies. Her mouth pinched at the corners when the screen illuminated. “I have to return this call.” She crossed the lobby, pushed a button and started pacing. “Magistrate Vause.” Her knees locked and complexion paled. “Y-yes, ma’am.” Her head swung toward me. “Camille is right here.” She extended the phone, careful not to let our fingers brush. “It’s for you.”

I held the phone to my right ear and then covered my left to better hear over the protesting hedgies. “Ellis speaking.”

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

Short and to the point is our Seelie Magistrate.

“I went out for coffee.” I braced against the snap in her voice. “I forgot my phone.”

“I’ve heard of twenty-four-hour coffee shops,” she mused in a frosty tone. “Here I thought it referenced their hours, not the number of hours customers are lost once crossing their threshold.”