“You think I should stay in my lab? Let someone else worry about whoever orchestrated those attacks?”

“Not at all. I simply think you should stop lying to yourself about who you are.”

BABS PALMER’S OFFICE was on the fourth floor of the Reginald Scot Administrative Tower, along with offices for the NIH liaison and representatives from the FBI, Department of Homeland Security, and our human resources team.

In addition to working for the Porters, Babs had been a practicing lawyer until a year ago, when the State Bar of Texas discovered her “supplemental employment.” More than half her cases were now being appealed and retried on the grounds that she could have used magic to influence judge and jury. Which, knowing Babs, wasn’t a completely implausible idea.

Her receptionist, a young Japanese woman named Kiyoko Itô, guarded the path to Babs’ office like Cerberus protecting the gates of hell. Kiyoko also acted as the main receptionist for New Millennium during business hours, and coordinated the occasional birthday party for employees.

She looked up as I entered the small outer office. “How c-can I help you, Mister V-Vainio?”

“I need to talk to Doctor Palmer.”

She cocked her head to one side. Probably sending a message to Babs via her computer link.

I had no idea where Babs had found Kiyoko, but she was no libriomancer. Kiyoko was tall, slender, and looked to be in her late twenties. Her head was shaved, presumably to allow a better connection with the series of small electrodes stuck to her scalp. Thin gold wires linked the electrodes like a circlet before trailing down beneath the back of her black suit jacket.

As far as I could determine, there was nothing magical about those electrodes. They simply relayed the electrical impulses from Kiyoko’s brain through our network to one of the shielded computer servers. That was where the magic happened, translating her thoughts into commands that allowed Kiyoko to mentally manage her system without keyboard or mouse.

Her stuttering was part of a larger neurological problem that also affected her balance. I’d offered to try to get her into our medical trials, but she refused each time, saying others needed our help more than she did. She got around well enough, using forearm crutches for stability.

A black pearl pendant protected her from magical influence or assault. Babs wore a similar necklace, describing it as a necessary security precaution. The pearls came from a tank of oysters in the basement of the Rosalind Franklin Research Tower. One of Babs’ first acts as Director of Security had been to arrange the publication of a fantasy novel called Sea Change, specifically for a passage describing the magically resistant oysters.

“Doctor P-Palmer has a meeting scheduled in fifteen minutes,” said Kiyoko. “Could you c-come back this afternoon at two-thirty?”

“It’s important. I won’t be long.”