“News to me,” I say. “My family and me, we weren’t all that tight.” I catch Letitia watching me out of the corner of my eye. She doesn’t say anything, though I’m sure she knows I’m lying.

Chu nods. “Sure. Of course. But it seems to me that if this collection did exist, it might have something like that in it.”

“And nobody knows where this place is?” I say.

“Not so far as I’m aware. Most people just write it off as a myth.” He leans forward. “Does it exist, Mister Carter? Might it have something like what we need in it?”

“My folks must have forgotten to tell me about it before they were murdered and I had to leave town for a decade and a half.”

There must be something in the tone of my voice that tells him to back off. He leans back in his chair and picks up his whiskey, swirling it in the glass before taking a sip, like nothing just happened.

“So where does that leave us?” Peter says.

“Can we do something about the assassin?” Letitia says. “If we can’t touch him, what about her?”

“Mister Carter?” Chu says after a moment. “Any ideas?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, that’s probably not gonna work. Tried that. Didn’t go so well. Q was protecting her.”

I’m barely paying attention to the conversation. Instead I’m thinking about what Chu just said about my family’s collection. I doubt he has any idea how big the thing is, though I don’t doubt for a second there are rumors. Considering how old it is, I’d be surprised if there weren’t any.

I wonder if he’s right. Maybe there is something in there. I recall seeing lots of spirit bottles listed in the ledger. Some of them even had some promising descriptions. I stand up, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt.

“Problem?” Chu says.

“I have to go,” I say. “Gonna take me a while, but I’ve got some ideas. I’ll swing by tomorrow when I know more.”

“Call ahead first,” he says. “I’m having a fundraiser here in the afternoon.”

“People are actually giving you money?”

“That is how one runs for office, yes,” he says. “Campaigns run on cash. Cash comes from donors. We can’t all be trust fund babies.”

I ignore the dig. I get it. My family had money, and apparently a hell of a lot more. But it’s a bullshit insult. Any mage worth a good goddamn can get money. He’s playing the self-made man angle for the normals. He doesn’t need cash, he needs influence.

“Sure,” I say. “Wouldn’t want to frighten away the bourgeoisie. I’ll show myself out.”

Letitia follows and catches up to me before I get through the door. “The hell are you doing?” she whispers.