According to the information from Garth, Carmichael lived in a multimillion-dollar loft on the twenty-second floor of a tower on First Street, downtown. He probably had an insane view of the Puget Sound. A view like that would be wasted on a scumbag like him.

Sneaking up to Carmichael’s loft was easy enough. The building was part upscale hotel, part condominium, which meant it had maids and room service. I strolled into the employee area like I belonged there, nabbed a room service uniform that consisted of black trousers, a maroon chef’s coat, and a stupid little maroon hat off a rack of identical uniforms, and ducked into the employee locker room to slip everything on over my clothes. I ended up looking a little husky, but otherwise pretty nondescript.

I took the service elevator up, keeping my head down to keep my face off of any security cameras, and was on the twenty-second floor in no time. I knocked on Carmichael’s door, the last at the end of a windowless hall, hoping he wasn’t home, and waited for a minute. When nobody answered, I unbuttoned my chef’s coat and reached into the pocket of my leather jacket, pressing the switch that would activate the EMP generator. I counted down in my mind.

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .

The lights in the hallway flickered, then went out, leaving me in not complete darkness, but something that would seem so to human eyes. There was just enough light coming in through a window around the corner and sneaking out under the four other doorways along the hallway that I could see well enough. Barely.

The lights and security systems would be down for a couple minutes. I had to work fast.

I knelt before Carmichael’s door and pulled out the only other thing in that pocket—an invisible-ink marker, the kind that only shows up under a black light. I didn’t want to tip anyone off to the extent of the magic I could work. If I did that, I could say adios to my biggest advantage.

I uncapped the marker and wrote on the door, just below the handle: UNLOCK. It was a shot in the dark. Literally. BURN had worked on the Ouroboros scientist last week, but that had also been a basic matter of heat. This was another area of physics entirely, and I had no clue if my brand of magic held any power over movement or mechanics at all, let alone whether or not I had enough juice to accomplish something as small as unlocking a door.

I wrote “UNLOCK” all around the handle, over and over, and then I held my breath. “Come on,” I whispered. “Work, damn it!”

I twisted the door handle. It was still locked. I wasn’t surprised; there’d been no zing of primal electricity. No hint of that energy that could only be called magic.

With a faint groan, I rested my forehead against the door. I’d have to do this the old-fashioned way. Which I sucked at, because back in my Senate-condoned breaking-and-entering days, I’d always been able to rely on Mari to create a key out of anti-At.