“How’s your day been?”

“Ah.” His voice turned edgy again. “These God—er—fucking budget meetings. I swear to—I mean, this crap just drives me batshit.”

The Angel smiled to herself. She loved it when he was being sweet.

“Did you track him down?” Ray demanded before Angel could say anything.

She paused a moment to gather her thoughts. “No.” She could hear him growl in frustration. “Billy, how long will it take you to get here?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

“That bad?” he finally said.

“Yes.”

“Two hours.”

“Good. It’s complicated and I’m not totally sure what’s happening, but Jamal is in trouble. He—he seems to have gone to Kazakhstan with a detective from Fort Freak and the help of that teleporter who calls herself Tesseract.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What?”

“Yes—it’s about all the jokers who’ve gone missing lately. You’ve got to get here ASAP. As you see, it’s beyond complicated—the jurisdiction issues alone are a nightmare come true. Call me once you get on the plane and I’ll fill you in further. But get here fast—fast.” She checked the small clock on the nightstand. “If you can get here in two hours you’ll be just in time for the meet.”

“Meet?”

“Yes. An admirer has been slipping me secret notes.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ray said. There was more than a hint of menace in his voice. The softness of his tone told the Angel that he was angry and that anger, the Angel knew, was directed at her revelation about Jamal’s situation and not her banter about a secret admirer that she’d hoped would divert him, at least a bit. Both she and Ray had been worried about Jamal’s apparently deteriorating medical condition, partly because it paralleled what Ray had been going through himself lately. Partly because Jamal was under Ray’s command and responsibility. And partly because they both liked the cocky young agent. Though, of course, Ray wouldn’t come right out and tell him that.

“I hope so,” the Angel replied.

“How’s John?” Michelle asked. It was a touchy subject, but Michelle knew Peregrine’s son from her early days with the Committee.

Amare was undressing and handing her clothes to Jimmy’s assistant without an ounce of embarrassment. Michelle was doing the same. They’d both done enough runway shows that getting naked in front of assistants didn’t seem peculiar.

“He’s okay, I guess,” Peregrine said, pulling on a floral-print sundress designed to accommodate her wings. “He doesn’t call enough. But, well, he’s never in one place too long. I keep getting postcards from everywhere. Occasionally we Skype. But he’s not the same anymore. After … you know.”

Michelle did know. John Fortune had lost all of his powers. She couldn’t imagine living without her ability to bubble. The thought made her feel sick.

“You okay?” Peregrine asked. She reached out and laid a hand on Michelle’s shoulder.