“No, really,” Jenks insisted. “What did he want?”

I stared at him. “No, really. Nothing. Now, drop it,” I said, thankful I was already under my disguise spell. I did not want Mr. Page Forty-nine recognizing me on the street at some future date.

“All right, all right,” he said, darting to land on my earring. He was humming “Strangers in the Night,” and I sighed, knowing the song would be running in my head for the rest of the day. I pulled out my hand mirror and pretended to primp my hair, careful to whack the earring Jenks was sitting on at least twice.

I was a brunette now, with a big nose. A rubber band held my now brown hair back in a ponytail. It was still long and frizzy. Some things are harder to spell than others. My jeans jacket was turned inside out to show a flowered paisley. I had a leather Harley-Davidson cap on. I’d be giving it back to Ivy with many apologies as soon as I saw her, and would never wear it again. With all the no-no’s I’d pulled last night, it was no wonder Ivy had lost it.

The bus entered the shadow of tall buildings. My stop was next, and I gathered my things and stood. “I’ve got to get some transportation,” I said to Jenks as my boots hit the sidewalk and I scanned the street. “Maybe a bike,” I grumbled, timing it so I didn’t have to touch the glass-paneled door to enter the lobby of the I.S. records building.

From my earring came a snort. “I wouldn’t,” he advised. “It’s too easy to tamper with a motorbike. Stick with public transport.”

“I could park it inside,” I protested, nervously eyeing the few people in the small foyer.

“Then you couldn’t ride it, Sherlock,” he said sarcastically. “Your boot is untied.”

I looked down. It wasn’t. “Very funny, Jenks.”

The pixy muttered something I couldn’t hear. “No,” he said impatiently. “I meant, pretend to tie your boot while I see if you’re passably safe.”

“Oh.” I obediently went to a corner chair and retied my boot. I could hardly track Jenks as he hovered over the few runners that were about, sniffing for spells aimed at me. My timing had been precise. It was Saturday. The vault was open only as a courtesy, and only for a few hours. Still, a few people were about: dropping off information, updating files, copying stuff, trying to make a good impression by working on the weekend.

“Smells okay,” Jinks said as he returned. “I don’t think they expected you to come here.”

“Good.” Feeling more confident than I had any right to, I strode to the front desk. I was in luck. Megan was working. I gave her a smile and her eyes widened. She quickly reached to adjust her glasses. The wood-framed spectacles were spelled to see through almost everything. Standard issue for I.S. receptionists. There was a blur of motion before me, and I jerked to a halt.