“I understand now why a group of vultures is called a committee. I didn’t turn any of them into roaches, if that’s what you’re asking.” Though in several cases, it would have been an improvement. “Why drag us out here when they’ve already decided we’re the biggest threat to world peace since the atom bomb?”

“To show that they can.” Nidhi had been a psychiatrist for Die Zwelf Portenære, the magical—and until recently, secret—organization better known as the Porters, for as long as I’d known her. Of the four of us, she was the only one with no inherent magical abilities of her own. She got paid to keep the rest of us magic-users sane. Her job was far more challenging than my own.

She’d dressed conservatively for her testimony earlier today, in a simple black jacket and matching trousers, with a subdued blue shirt and a minimum of her usual jewelry. “And a few minds haven’t yet clamped shut. Senator Clarke supports the Porters and our work. Representatives Hays and Hoffman have spoken out against the overreactions from Homeland Security and the FBI, and Secretary McGinley at DHS has said he’d be willing to sit down with representatives from different inhuman communities.”

“Our job now is to demonstrate to the world that we’re not a threat.” A pair of white earbuds hung around Nicola’s neck like a pair of anorexic pet snakes humming a faint jazz tune. She reached into her jacket pocket, and the music died a moment later. “Be thankful it isn’t worse. The Chinese Central Military Commission charged Shin-Tsu Chang with treason last month.”

Shin-Tsu Chang and Nicola Pallas were two of the six Council Masters who had taken over the Porters after the death of Johannes Gutenberg last year. I didn’t know Nicola’s Chinese counterpart well, but I’d read and respected most of his magical research from the past two decades. “Is he safe?”

“For now,” said Nicola.

Lena took my hand as we walked down the hall. “Try to think positive. If they do decide to throw us all into internment camps, you could stop stressing about that IRS audit.”

“What’s the IRS going to do, take my house?” I snorted. My home had burned to the ground last year, and I’d been commuting between a little apartment in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and my quarters at New Millennium ever since.

“As of this morning, they’re also suing the Porters for centuries of back taxes,” said Nicola. “One of our lawyers will be in touch with you about your options.”

“Just let me know how much pirate gold to pull out of Treasure Island to get them off my back.”