Michigan’s Upper Peninsula would have been an ideal location, with plenty of open land away from populated areas. We also had a healthy werewolf pack, and I’d hoped we could hire some of them for security and other positions. I’d gone to Lansing to push the potential job creation and publicity benefits, but Governor Sullivan was firmly in the anti-magic camp, as was much of the state legislature. I’d hardly left the capitol building before they were passing bills prohibiting magical research in Michigan.

“There’s so much we could learn, so much to do. Medicine, engineering, archaeology, astronomy . . . I’m close to getting a meeting with NASA about a permanent magical portal to the moon!”

She laughed and kissed me. “Almost makes the politics worth it.”

The politics were the second worst part of my job, right below having to leave Lena for weeks at a time. She’d been out to visit, but Lena was a dryad. Her oak tree was still rooted in Michigan, as was her other lover. She carried part of that tree within herself, allowing her greater freedom, but she still had to return home at least once a week.

“Before you go to the moon, how about one of those portals between Vegas and Copper River, hm?”

“It’s at the top of my To Do List,” I promised.

She laughed again—I loved that sound—and took my hand as we walked into the restaurant. Tension knotted my muscles like Christmas lights after a year in storage, but being with Lena helped. She had a gift for finding joy and beauty, and for helping others to remember those things.

The Square Pie Pizzeria was one of the more upscale D.C. restaurants, complete with candles and white tablecloths and wait staff in black bow ties. More importantly, they provided privacy and damn good pizza. Lena, Nidhi, and I had come here at least once on each of our too-frequent trips. Nicola had reserved a small, private room near the back.

Representative Derek Vaughn looked to have arrived only moments before. He finished removing his jacket, then waited politely while the rest of us took our seats. Once the waiter jotted down our drink orders and left, shutting the door behind him, Vaughn leaned over to kiss Nicola hello.

“Hell of a day.” Weariness dulled his vote-winning smile. “I thought that hearing would never end.” Thanks to his New Orleans accent, it came out Ah thought dat hearin’ would nevuh end.

As I understood it, he and Nicola had met after a committee hearing in early August. A few weeks later, he’d taken her to one of the best jazz bars in D.C. It was love at first song. How he and Nicola had kept their relationship a secret from the media and the Joint Magical Committee these past two months was a whole other kind of magic.