“Don’t know that either. Everything was done by phone. I had three conversations totaling less than five minutes, all with the same woman. She never gave me her name.”

I swapped books, taking out The Goblin Wood, a middle-grade fantasy. Shadows vignetted my vision, and characters whispered of war and refugees. I squinted to read a scene with an enchanted bell. I didn’t need to create the actual bell; simply making the connection should be enough. “Lena, would you mind telling a lie for me?”

“Bacon-crust pizza was a brilliant invention.”

From within the magically active book, a bell rang, signaling a lie. I glanced at Lena. “Really? I thought that was your kind of culinary innovation.”

“Too greasy,” she said. “They’re trying too hard.”

I turned back to Deb. “You messed with their heads and helped them commit murder, and you didn’t bother to ask who you were working for?”

Deb spread her arms, a gesture that encompassed her crumbling home. “Do I look like I can afford to turn down paying work?”

“No evasions. Do you know who they or you were working for?”

“No.”

The book remained silent. “Senator Alexander Keeler,” I said, taking a shot in the dark. “He was one of the first out of the gate with a press conference following the attacks, and he’d have the connections to get his hands on Governor Sullivan’s schedule. Is he involved?”

“Could be. He’s a bigot and a jackass. Hey, do you mind?” Deb gestured to the groaning man with the bloody chin. She dropped to one knee. Her magic swept over the line of ants, who turned to march toward him. He scooped them into his mouth like a half-starved man at a Vegas buffet. “His whining was getting on my nerves, and he needs to feed to fix himself back up. Like I was saying, I don’t know anything.”

I watched her Renfield servant. Healing himself was one thing, but if he took one step toward me or Lena, I was going to end him. For the moment, he seemed fully occupied with devouring bugs. “Sandy Boyle and his two friends—there’s no way you’d pass up the chance to pick their brains. You can start by giving me their names. Then you’ll tell me everything else you learned from them, including whatever you know about Vanguard.”

“Vanguard’s as much a terrorist organization as the Girl Scouts. They’re a wannabe underground railroad that got started after the feds burned us out of the salt mines. They keep tabs on things and try to give people like me a head start when it’s time to run.”

“Maybe they got tired of playing defense,” I suggested. “Keep talking.”

Deb lifted a corner of the mattress. Lena raised her bokken, but Deb just cringed and froze.

“Go ahead,” I said.