The hallway confrontation between Harlow and Letitia, the marshal’s widow, loomed in my mind. “That’s what I heard.”

Vause resumed her lint-picking with gusto. “What else did you hear?”

A pulse of spellwork set my lips tingling as if I had been sucking on a habanero chili, a reminder to be careful how much I divulged. “Thierry and I mostly talked about our families and how we came to be employed by the conclave.”

Vause shifted her weight and crossed her legs, then uncrossed them as though unable to get comfortable on the hard seat. “Thierry could be a valuable asset to you in the future.” She caught me watching her squirm and froze. “The circumstances of your meeting were unfortunate, but perhaps the connection will prove fortuitous in time.”

Vause was being squirrelier than usual. When magistrates began acting peculiar, bad things happened. Usually to the person who noticed the odd behavior.

Without fanfare, Vause stood, signaling the meeting’s end. “I should return to my hotel.” Her nose crinkled at the state of my room. “I prefer not to be so…exposed…after dark.”

Magistrate sightings were rare outside their respective regions. If someone recognized her, then her Unseelie counterpart would start asking questions I got the feeling Vause didn’t want answered. Not yet. Not until she had finished leading me around by the nose.

I gripped the arms of my chair, ready to lever myself to my feet, but she lifted a hand. “I can show myself out.” Her gaze lingered on the crumpled menu by my hip. “I understand you left the safe house with the warg today.”

“We drove into Falco together.”

“Keep an eye on him.” She straightened her blouse. “Wargs run hot. We can’t risk him damaging this case in the heat of the moment.”

Her guard had escorted her into the hallway before I formulated a response. The door shut behind them, and I slumped in my chair, grateful to have avoided butting heads with her over fae law versus native species law for the second time in one day.

My phone rang, but I was out of energy for conversation. I ignored it until the twentieth chime, and yes, I counted, then I accepted the person wasn’t giving up until they spoke with me.

“Ellis.”

“My, aren’t we formal?” Throaty laughter spilled over the line.

“Aunt Dot. Hi.” A surge of homesickness swept me upright. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

When I had tried her this morning, I got her answering machine and left a quick message.

“It’s all right, pumpkin. I know how you get caught up in your work. Just next time don’t leave an old woman waiting on the porch in her jammies. Send one of those email things to Isaac or something.”