“’Course I can, woman. Sneaking around is what pixies do best. ‘Can I get past the cameras?’ she asks. Who do you think does the maintenance on them? I’ll tell you. Pixies. And do we ever get an ounce of credit? No-o-o-o-o. It’s the lunker of a repairman who sits on his lard-butt at the bottom of the ladder, who drives the truck, who opens the toolbox, who scarfs down the doughnuts. But does he ever do anything? No-o-o-o-o—”

“That’s great, Jenks. Shut up and listen.” I glanced at Megan. “Go see what records Francis looks at. I’ll wait for you as long as I can, but if there’s any sign of a threat, I’m leaving. You can get home from here all right, can’t you?”

Jenks’s wings made a breeze, shifting a strand of hair to tickle my neck. “Yeah, I can do that. You want I should pix him for you while I’m in there?”

My eyebrows rose. “Pix him? You can do that? I thought it was a—uh—fairy tale.”

He hovered before me, his small features smug. “I’ll give him the itch. It’s what pixies do second best.” He hesitated, grinning roguishly. “No, make that third.”

“Why not?” I said with a sigh, and he silently rose on his dragonfly wings, studying the cameras. He hung for a moment to time their sweep. Shooting straight up to the ceiling, he arched down the long hallway, past the offices and to the vault’s door. If I hadn’t been watching, I’d never have seen him go.

I pulled a pen out of my bag, tugged the tie closed, and strode to Megan. The massive mahogany desk completely separated the lobby from the unseen grunt offices behind it. It was the final bastion between the public and the nitty-gritty workforce that kept the records straight. The sound of a female voice raised in laughter filtered out through the open archway behind Megan. No one did much work on Saturday. “Hi, Meg,” I said as I drew closer.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Morgan,” she said overly loudly as she adjusted her glasses.

Her attention was fixed over my shoulder, and I fought the urge to turn around. Ms. Morgan? I thought. Since when was I Ms. Morgan? “What gives, Meg?” I said, glancing behind me to the empty lobby.

She held herself stiffly. “Thank God you’re still alive,” she whispered from between her teeth, her lips still curled in a smile. “What are you doing here? You should be hiding in a basement.” Before I could answer, she cocked her head like a spaniel, smiling like the blonde she wished she was. “What can I do for you today—Ms. Morgan?”

I made a quizzical face, and Megan sent her eyes meaningfully over my shoulder. A strained look came over her. “The camera, idiot,” she muttered. “The camera.”

My breath slipped from me in understanding. I was more worried about Francis’s phone call than the camera. No one looked at the tapes unless something happened. By then it would be too late.