“I’d be happy to talk to her,” I said as Jenks chortled, his wings turning a bright red. Despite Captain Edden keeping my name out of the paper, the entirety of Cincinnati and the Hollows knew who had solved the witch hunter murders, made the tag, and summoned the demon into the courtroom. My phone was ringing off the hook with requests for help. Overnight, I had gone from struggling entrepreneur to bad-ass runner. What did I have to fear from the owner of the Howlers?

“I’m coming with you,” Glenn said.

“I can handle this,” I said, mildly affronted.

“I know, but I want to talk to you, and I think they’re going to kick you out of the park.”

Edden chuckled, shifting his squat bulk deeper into the hard seat. Taking a key chain from his front pocket, he handed it to Glenn.

“You think?” I said, waving ’bye to Jenks and telling him with a finger motion and a nod that I’d see him back at the church. The pixy nodded, settling himself back on Captain Edden’s shoulder, hooting and hollering, having too much fun to leave.

Glenn and I followed the ley line security guy to a waiting golf cart, and he drove us deeper into the stadium. It grew cool and quiet, the thrum of the unseen thousands around us a low, almost subliminal thunder. Far into the authorized personnel areas and amid black suits and champagne, Matt stopped the cart. Glenn helped me out, and I took my cap off, handing it to him as I fluffed my hair. I was dressed nice in jeans and white sweater, but everyone I’d seen in the last two minutes was wearing a tie or diamond earrings. Some had both.

Matt looked nervous as he took us up an elevator and left us in a long plush room that overlooked the field. It was comfortably full of talk and nicely dressed people. The faint smell of musk tickled my nose. Glenn tried to give me my hat back, and I motioned for him to keep it.

“Ms. Morgan,” a small woman said, excusing herself from a group of men. “I am so glad to meet you. I’m Mrs. Sarong,” she said as she approached, her hands extended.

She was shorter than me, and clearly a Were. Her dark hair was graying in wispy streaks that looked good on her, and her hands were small and powerful. She moved with a predatory grace that drew attention, her eyes seeing everything. Were men had to work hard to hide their rough edges. Were women got more dangerous-looking.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” I said as she briefly touched my shoulder in greeting since my right arm was in a sling. “This is Detective Glenn, of the FIB.”

“Ma’am,” he said shortly, and the small woman smiled to show flat, even teeth.