“I meant to tell you that’s a pretty dress,” the captain said, not looking at me as he rocked from heel to toe with his hands behind his back. “The boots are a nice touch.”

I looked at them and sighed. “My foot hurts. They help.” My foot, my arm, my back—they all ached like crazy. I felt like I’d been in a fight, not sleeping in Ivy’s chair. God, I hope she’s okay. Edden chuckled at my dry sarcasm. “I thought you simply liked stomping around in them.” Turning away, he gestured for a thin officer who looked less harried than the rest. “I hope you can work something out for your boyfriend.”

Jenks’s wings fanned faster. “Thanks,” I said, carefully tucking away a strand of hair.

“Why don’t you find a nice witch?” Edden said, shifting back a step to make room for the approaching officer. “Take the opportunity to get some space between you and Mr. Felps. I care what happens to you, and I hate to see you getting involved in vampire politics. People die when they do that.”

I couldn’t help my smile. “Gee, thanks, Dad. Can I have my driving privileges back?”

His eyes glinted. “You’re grounded until you clean up your room, and you know it.”

From my shoulder came a tiny snort, but Jenks was too close to see. Clean my room? I suppose that was a suitable metaphor. I had certainly put the city in a mess.

The officer that Edden had pulled from the melee stopped expectantly before us, and Edden drew him close. “Where’s Kalamack? Ms. Morgan needs a room, and I don’t want her anywhere near him.”

I huffed in insult, and the man gave me an apologetic glance. “He’s in five, but three is available,” he said.

“No way,” I said tightly. “I am not getting in a little interview room with Piscary. I want a conference room. Big enough so that I can have a few witnesses.” And kick some vampire ass if I need to.

Edden crossed his arms over his chest to turn immovable. “Witnesses?”

“Witnesses.” I gripped the focus tighter. This wouldn’t work unless everyone knew I didn’t have it anymore. “I want Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong.” I turned to look over the open offices, each one occupied with a belligerent Inderlander and one or two nervous but doggedly determined FIB officers. “Quen,” I said, finding him standing alone and on the phone as if none of this was touching him. “And Al,” I finished, finding the demon flirting with the receptionist, now glowing from the attention of someone she thought was a wealthy eligible bachelor in a tux. Ellasbeth’s dad was behind him, the upright man looking like he was ready to whip out his checkbook right here if it would help get his daughter married.