“Probably not, but it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling.”

The door opens up to a young man in a blue pin-stripe suit. Blond, mid-twenties, one of those smiles always plastered on a politician’s face. He steps to the side, waving us in.

“Mister Carter,” he says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Peter.” He puts out his hand to shake and then notices the gun in mine. “Oh. I see. I imagine you must have some questions.”

“You could say that.” He might be an ADA, but everything about him screams mook. Whatever he is in this line-up, he’s expendable help. You can almost smell the redshirt on him.

“Hopefully we can give you satisfactory answers.”

“For your sake, I hope so, too.” He turns the smile up a couple thousand watts, but I’m not buying it. If Letitia and Chu are mages, I’m sure Peter is, too. Privilege, money, and power give people a confidence they don’t deserve. I should know.

I don’t know how powerful he is, or what his knack might be, but I’m pissed off enough not to care. If I have to beat the crap out of Chu and these two, I will and I won’t look back.

I follow Letitia and Peter into a cavernous foyer and on to a living room that looks like an old Victorian gentlemen’s club. Bar on one side, a group of thick, leather-upholstered chairs around a coffee table.

David Chu gets up from one of the chairs. Tall, Asian, a Mister Rogers sweater, and movie star good looks that I assume he intends to convey honesty and youthful energy. To me it makes me think of those deep-sea fish that are all teeth and a glowing lure to pull in other fish to eat them.

“Mister Carter,” he says. “I’m so glad you could make it. I hope your drive over was uneventful.” He doesn’t try to shake my hand, seeing the gun and taking it in stride.

“Some gunfire, some magic, some people dead. You know the drill.”

“Sadly, I do,” he says. “I was Downtown during the riots helping protect businesses from looting.” He raises the t-shirt under his sweater and I can see a couple of puckered scars from what look like bullets, a surgery scar up to his belly button, and one that looks like a bad burn.

“I lost about a foot of my large intestine and a kidney,” he says. “Some of our people took advantage of the chaos to try breaking into other mages’ homes, labs, and hiding places. There was a lot of fighting. And a lot of dying.”

“I remember,” I say. The riots sucked for everybody, and of course all the magic types decided it was the perfect time to act on old grudges, grab territory, remove rivals. “Shit happens.”

“Indeed, it does. Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”