Conversation was formal and drastically limited after that, until Rico and I got back in the Spitfire. Then she made a U-turn in a spray of dust and gravel, and I said, “Now what?”

“Now a lot of boring flatfoot police work, unless another lead turns up.” She tapped the sheaf of papers tucked between her seat and the gear shift. “I go around and talk to all of these. Which means you’re out of the cop biz for a while.”

We shot past the bent tower. Ahead, through the heat haze, I could see the buildings on Dragon’s Tooth Hill, and past them, the suggestion of Faerie’s rolling meadows and forested slopes. The Ticker had assured me that the view was a glamour, part of the barrier of the Wall, but she’d never described what it really looked like. “Different,” she’d said, and we’d both changed the subject.

“Happy?” Rico’s voice cut across my thoughts.

“Um? About what?”

“About being out of the cop biz.”

“Oh.” I shrugged against the shoulder harness. “Neutral.”

“Well, that’s an improvement.”

“It’s a job.”

“Some people like their jobs. Especially people who get to be their own bosses.”

I thought about that. “I’m self-employed. I’m not exactly my own boss.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Putting this thing to work so that it feeds me, that’s good. It’s better than the reverse, which is when it feeds on me. But when I use it, it’s calling the shots.”

“Uh-huh. As in, ‘Yank, yank.’ You could quit.”

Except that I didn’t know any way to turn it off. Once I’d had a concussion, and my talent had gone away. It would have been a wonderful couple of days, if only the events surrounding the concussion hadn’t been such a nightmare. I shook my head. “If you’re already a geek, you’re better off joining the sideshow and biting the heads off chickens, because at least it’s a regular paycheck.”

“Don’t tell that to your pal Lobo. He might part your hair for you. Where’d you get the idea you’re a geek?”

“I grew up with it,” I said, looking at her profile. “Sort of like your teddy bear.”

We were back in town; I recognized the edge of the Scandal District. She said, “I didn’t mean to push your buttons.”

I don’t know what I would have answered, because that was when the big Norton, painted metalflake olive and cream and brilliant with original chrome, slewed out in the street next to us. Rico said something sharp and pulled over.

The motorcyclist yanked his helmet off to reveal Linn’s ascetic pale face. It was bloodless to the lips this time, lines drawn sharp between the eyebrows, eyes a little wide and mouth laid tight closed.

“Sunny! There’s another one,” he said.