Pari appeared in another whirlwind of dark hair. “He’s back. Just like—”

“Don’t say the Terminator.”

“—the French government returning to Paris in late 1944.”

Shaw blinked. “That doesn’t have quite the same ring.”

Matty’s golden head peeked around Pari’s dark one. “Umm, Shaw?”

“Come on in. It’s all right, Pari.”

She whirled, and Matty stepped back so quickly that he clunked into the wall. He stared after her until Pari said, “Take a picture,” and then he scrambled into the inner office. He shut the door. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, spun the deadbolt.

“Probably a good idea,” Shaw said.

“Is she—”

“Surprisingly good at every part of her job that doesn’t have to do with people. Or cleaning.” Shaw thought for a moment. “Or sharing.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Never mind.” Shaw took a breath, and at the same time, he took in Matty: the wave of unruly blond hair, those perfect schoolboy features, today complemented by a stretched out gray cardigan and a button-up shirt that had at least two buttons done wrong. Matty’s eyes were still that same glossy shade of amethyst, but today they had shadows under them. Looking at Matty, the whole picture, dark rings under his eyes and all, punched through Shaw’s chest like an industrial staple: his chest felt like it had been pinched shut, and he could almost feel the puncture wounds.

“Hi,” Matty said. “You’re staring at me. Should I have called first?”

“No. Umm. Maybe. I just didn’t—” Shaw could feel sweat on his forehead, sweat, like he was fifteen again and crushing on Rock Hefele in Lifetime Sports. “Let’s start over. I wanted to show you these pictures. Does this look like the man you met at Allure?”

“Yeah. That’s me. That’s him. That’s him, holy crap. You found him.”

“We found a picture of him. We’re still trying to track him down. Matty, do you recognize the name Regina Rex?”

Slowly, Matty shook his head.

“Never heard it before?”

“No.”

“She’s a drag queen. Get it?”

Another slow shake of the head from Matty.

“Oh. Sorry. I just thought—you’re a pastor, right, so I kind of figured they made you learn Latin and Greek and Hebrew in the seminary.”

Matty gave a soft smile. “I’m not really a pastor. My dad’s the pastor. I just do youth work. And it’s not really that kind of church, you know, with Latin and stuff.”

“Oh. Well, her name’s kind of a joke. Queen King. Feminine and masculine genders. Anyway, she’s African American and absolutely unforgettable. Very distinctive. She’s not trans, but when she’s in character, most people refer to her as she. Maybe you met her out of costume. His real name’s Tony. Does that sound familiar?”

“I don’t know anyone like that. I’ve never even seen a drag show, let alone been to a drag club. Allure was my first—” He froze, bit his lip, and shook his head.

“The man you met, Matty. His name was Mark Sevcik. Does that sound familiar?”