“Whatever it is, it can’t be good.” I get off at Atlantic and cross the river. Between the dead fish smell of the bare trickle of the river, the stink of the factories and trucks, and air you can chew, Vernon is not what you’d call a nice place.

Vernon was built for business. Only about ninety people live in it, but thousands come in every day to work at one of the factories. Right now there should only be a percentage of those people around. Night workers, security guards, that sort of thing. It might as well be a cemetery.

The mirror points to a small, gated factory with three buildings behind the fence. We drive around it a block away a couple of times, watching the mirror tug to keep the lighter in its sight, until we’re sure that this is the place.

I park around a corner. So far I’ve kept the car as unobtrusive as possible. A dozen or so you-can’t-see-me charms are scribbled onto the car door in Sharpie, and I’ve kept our distance. If there are cameras, they shouldn’t even pick us up.

I pull a roll of HI, MY NAME IS stickers out of my messenger bag and write I’M NOT HERE on a couple, pumping them with as much magic as they’ll hold without bursting into flame. I hand one of them to Gabriela. She slaps it onto the front of her shirt. She’s got her own charms, but it doesn’t hurt to have extras.

“I thought you wanted this to be a stake-out,” she says.

“I do. But do you know which building she’s in? We have to get close enough to—”

I’m cut off by Gabriela throwing the door open and running toward the gate. Goddammit. I get out of the car and chase after her.

The parking lot gate is padlocked. I get there before Gabriela can pop the lock open with a spell, or more likely blow it off its hinges.

“The hell are you doing?” I don’t want to use any magic just yet. I don’t know if Sastre is a mage, but if she is, we’re close enough that she’d feel it. I don’t want to take any chances and warn her we’re coming.

“Shit that needs to get done,” Gabriela says. She spies a dumpster nearby that we can climb to get over the gate. She starts toward it.

“No, seriously,” I say. “What is your problem? I get it. Neither one of us wants what’s coming if we don’t do something, but running in and getting gunned down isn’t gonna do either of us a goddamn bit of good.”