“Thanks,” I muttered to Jenks, feeling my ribs ache as I looped the strap over my shoulder. I looked at Nick’s wrecked truck as we passed. The artifact was still there, thanks to an excited FIB guy in a brown suit keeping everyone back.

“My pleasure,” he said, limping.

“I meant for hitting him.”

“So did I.”

The I.S. officer at my elbow frowned, but when he saw the covered body, he seemed to ease. Jenks had punched Nick, not done anything permanent. Like killing him. “Ma’am,” the officer said. “I’d ask you to stay away from the other party until we get this sorted out.”

Party. Yeah, this was one big joke. “Yes, sir,” I said, then stiffened when he slipped one of those plastic-coated charmed-silver wraps on my wrist and tightened it with a slick motion.

Damn it all to hell. “Hey!” I protested, feeling abused as Jenks and Ivy exchanged tired looks. “I’m fine! I’m not going to hurt anyone. I can’t even do ley line magic.” Not on this bridge anyway. The officer shook his head, and I felt trapped, the weight of Kisten’s bracelet caught between my skin and the restraint. “Can I sit with … with my boyfriend?” I managed a warble in my voice, and the beefy man put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice softening. “They’re taking him to the hospital to pronounce him. You can ride with him if you want. I’m sorry. He looked like a nice guy.”

Plan A for getting the wacko witch off the accident scene. Right out of the handbook. “Thank you,” I said, wiping my eyes.

“You were the driver, ma’am?” he asked as we walked, and when I nodded, he added, “May I see your license?”

Aw, shit. “Yes, sir,” I said, fumbling in my bag for it. In five minutes the Cincinnati branch of the I.S. would be telling him all about me. We halted at the back of a black I.S. blazer, the tailgate down to show an open kennel. There was a dog out here? Behind me, I heard Ivy and Jenks telling the officers with them that they were my roommates. Oh God. Ivy’s Brimstone. I probably smelled like an addict. Accident. Points. What if they took my license?

The officer before me squinted to see my license in the fading light, smiling when he looked up. “I’ll have this right back to you, Ms. Morgan. Then you can go with your boyfriend and get yourself looked at.” Eyebrows high, he glanced at my bandaged hands and ripped jeans before nodding to Jenks and Ivy and trotting away to leave us with two officers.

“Thank you,” I said to no one. Exhausted, I leaned against the truck. Jenks had been cuffed to the truck, and the two FIB guys moved a short distance, close enough to intervene if necessary but clearly waiting for more I.S. personnel to handle our interrogation. Holding my elbows with my scraped hands, I watched my life swirl down the crapper.