“First of all, North Korea can’t do anything without a libriomancer,” I said. “The Porters number around five hundred people, very few of whom would be interested in helping North Korea develop a superweapon. Given their population, the odds of them having an undiscovered libriomancer on hand are slim.”

“Would you risk this planet for ‘slim’?”

I ignored him and kept talking. “Second, like I said before, we’re tracking their progress. The moment the book approaches any real magical potential, I intend to lock it.”

He ran a thumb over his mustache while he studied me. “That’s the equivalent of wiping the hard drive, right? I thought Gutenberg was the only one who knew how to do that.”

“Close enough, and yes. He was.” I shrugged. “He’s been teaching me. Ponce de Leon might be able to do it, too, I’m not sure. I’ll ask if I ever talk to him again.”

Potts’ face had been growing gradually redder throughout our conversation, and that last comment started him on the path to purple. He glared at me, like he was trying to discern whether or not I was playing with him. Which I was . . . but I was also telling the truth. “We were informed that Johannes Gutenberg was dead.”

“That’s right.” I returned the book, then folded my arms and waited for his response.

“I see.” He took a slow breath. “I expect you to keep me informed of North Korea’s progress. I’m holding you personally responsible for making sure that book is locked before it becomes a danger. You might prefer to hide away with your books and your animals and your magic portals, but there are a lot of very bad people beyond these walls. People who see magic as an opportunity to kill you, me, and everyone else in this country. Maybe they’re not as impressive as rogue libriomancers and ghosts and whatever else you’ve fought, but we cannot underestimate them. You might think yourself invincible, but what about everyone else? Think of your niece. You brought her here to heal her with magic, but all it takes is one radicalized magic-user, one creature with a grudge, and she’s another corpse. Just like the ones in Lansing.”

I stepped away to grab Smudge and return him to his cage. It was either that or punch a high-level DHS official in the mouth, and there was no way that would have ended well. I slung a bookbag over my shoulder and turned back to face him. “They’ll have to get past me, first.”

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Cc: [email protected]; [email protected]

Subject: Speaking Tour

Ms. Pallas,

You may not be aware, but several weeks ago I requested New Millennium send me and my wife on a speaking tour to promote our work. Mr. Vainio denied this request.