dustup. I didn’t want to find out what would happen if Leon could make the redheaded granny lose

his temper.

“Milady.” Kir, in jeans and a white button-down, looked easy and classic. He didn’t glance over my

shoulder, but his entire body shouted that he was aware of Leon, glowering from behind me.

That was the Schola Prima. Love and happiness everywhere.

I hitched my bag up on my shoulder. “Let me guess. Council meeting.”

Kir shrugged. His eyelashes were coppery. For a moment he looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening and the lines of his face softening. Then he shut up, shook his head slightly, turned on his heel, and set off down the hall.

If Bruce came to pick me up I could look forward to some small talk. He was approachable in a way

the others weren’t. Hiro was generally the nicest and didn’t blink no matter how many questions I

asked—even if his answers were more like riddles. Kir, though, didn’t say a word. He spent the

meetings looking at me with a puzzled expression, like I was a dog sitting up and talking instead of

barking on the floor where I belonged.

He set a quick pace, too, and I struggled to keep up. Kept my head down and stretched my legs. At

least while he was clearing traffic and I was hurrying, I didn’t have to really think. It was like tagging along after Dad.

Not really.

Leon brought up the rear, drifting in my wake. He didn’t even look out of breath. We arrived at the

carved door in a shorter time than I’d thought possible. It opened, and Kir stepped aside. “Milady.”

I stepped on through, into the shabby sitting room. It wasn’t until the doors had clicked shut behind

me that I realized Kir hadn’t followed. I stood there for a second, my bag strap sliding down my

shoulder, and when the doors on the other side of the room ghosted open I was as ready as I was going to get.

Some part of me was expecting this. I smelled spice and perfume, and the flash of red jerked me up

short like a watchdog on a chain.

Anna, framed in the door, stared at me. I stared back.

She looked a bit thinner, but what would make someone else haggard was only glamorous on her. It

was the first time I’d seen her in anything other than an old-time dress. She was in fashionably

frayed designer jeans and a scrap of red silk that had to be a top more expensive than any sane person would pay for. She was pale, bare arms and cleavage in a peeping-out red lace bra. I’m no

bodybuilder, but Dad would have taken one look at Anna’s arms and pronounced them “weedy.” It

wasn’t his most damning adjective, but it was close.