Ivy was behind me in her mom’s blue Buick as I pulled into the museum’s parking lot. Knowing it would be what Barbie would do, I parked in a spot where no one would scratch the paint, finding a place that would be in the shade come noon. Ivy slowly drove past, headed for a spot closer to the door. She was going in as a patron and had a sketch pad and folding chair. Once I got downstairs, Jenks would give her my ID and she’d come down in the far elevator, clearing our exit en route.

The coffees were cold when I picked up the bag and slid out, and after locking the car, I crouched to put the key on the front wheel where I had promised Barbie I would leave it. Not wanting to ruin my story with cold coffee, I reached for a ley line and warmed them up with a charm, my thoughts firmly on the dark, bitter brew so I didn’t warm up, say, the radiator of the car. Ceri had taught me this one, and thoroughly unhappy, I stomped to the main entrance, the unfamiliar heels making me trip on the curb.

I didn’t look up as Jenks rejoined me, having ridden to the museum with Ivy. Silent, he worked his way past my hair, now down like Barbie had hers. “She’ll be fine,” Jenks said as he resettled himself behind the curtain of my hair.

I didn’t like that I was telegraphing so much, and I said nothing. Barbie probably wouldn’t come to work in black slacks and a sweater that covered her cleavage, but I had an excuse for that, too. Late, I took the stairs at a mincing hurry, fumbling for my ID.

“These heels are killing me,” I muttered to Jenks when I got to the top and the security guy cracked open the door for me.

“Relax, Rache. You’re sweating.”

Yes, I was sweating. I didn’t like this. I had abducted a woman and was pretending to be her. It was daylight. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Nick was somewhere watching me.

“Hey! Hi! I’m late!” I said cheerfully, trying to match Barbie’s bouncy attitude when I reached the door. “Some witch spilled her coffee all over me and I had to go home and change.”

Larry—by his name tag—smiled and held the door as I slid in before him. “You got five minutes,” he said, and I hesitated just inside the echoing space. Crap, I’d forgotten which one he was supposed to get.

“You’d better hustle, though,” the man said, eyes alight as he took one of the tall, no-nonsense black coffees. “Bull is on the warpath.”