It was a stocky man in a white dress shirt and khakis, trim and carrying the polish of an ex-marine gone civilian. He wore plastic-framed glasses, the lenses looking too small against his round face. There was the smell of soap about him, and his close-cropped hair was damp and stuck up like a baby orangutan’s. My guess was he had been pixed and knew enough to wash before the blisters could start. His bandaged right wrist was in a sling identical to mine. Short black hair, short gray mustache. I hoped he had a long temper. “Ms. Morgan?” he said, and I straightened with a sigh. “I’m Captain Edden.”

Great, I thought, struggling to stand up. Nick helped. I found I could look Edden right in the eye, making him rather short for all his official presence. I would almost say he had some troll blood in him if such a thing were biologically possible. My eyes lingered on the weapon holstered on his hip, and I spared a wish for my I.S.-issue cuffs. Eyes scrunched from my too strong perfume, he stuck out his left hand instead of the usual right, seeing as we were both unable to use them.

My pulse quickened as we shook left hands; it felt wrong, and I would rather use my bruised right arm than do it again. “Good evening, Captain,” I said, trying to hide my nervousness. “This is Nick Sparagmos. He’s helping keep me upright today.”

Edden gave Nick a short nod, then hesitated. “Mr. Sparagmos? Have we met before?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

Nick’s words were a shade too fast, and I ran my gaze down his carefully casual stance. Nick had been here before, and I didn’t think it had been to pick up his tickets to the FIB’s yearly fund-raising dinner.

“You sure?” the man questioned, running a quick hand over his bristly hair.

“Yeah.”

The older man eyed him. “Yes,” he said abruptly. “I’m thinking of someone else.”

Nick’s posture eased almost imperceptibly, piquing my interest further.

Captain Edden’s gaze turned to my neck, and I wondered if I ought to try and cover my stitches with a scarf or something. “If you would come back with me?” the stocky man said. “I’d like to speak with you before I release the pixy to your custody.”

Nick stiffened. “His name is Jenks,” he muttered, just audible over the lobby noise.

“Yes. Mr. Jenks.” Edden paused. “If you would come back to my office?”

“What about Ivy?” I asked, reluctant to leave the public lobby behind. My pulse was racing with just the effort to stand here. If I had to move quickly, I’d pass out.

“Ms. Tamwood will remain where she is. She’s to be turned over to the I.S. for prosecution in the morning.”

Anger overpowered my caution. “You knew better than to touch an angry vamp,” I said. Nick’s grip tightened on my arm, and it was all I could do to not try to jerk away from him.