“What did Haken want?”

“Oh, just being nosy,” Caldera said. “His guy went missing around the time we got that call-in, so he was checking to see if the cases might be connected.”

“You think they are?”

Caldera shrugged. “Suppose they could be.”

“You told him about the focus?”

“Uh-huh.”

Something was nagging at the back of my mind: a little seed of unease. It might be nothing, but . . . “Do you mind if I knock off? I’m still not a hundred percent.”

“Sure. Go get some rest.”

I headed for the door. “Oh,” Caldera said after me, “put that focus in storage before you go home, okay?”

“Okay.”

| | | | | | | | |

I took a train to Hampstead Heath and met up with an old friend. We talked a while, and I left the focus there before gating back to my shop. The focus was being stored somewhere safe, and I’d put it there before going home, so I’d done what Caldera had told me to do . . . technically.

I knew that I was playing with fire, doing this. Obeying the letter of Caldera’s orders but not the spirit was something I’d done a few too many times already, and I’d discovered from experience that it really pissed her off. But I had the feeling that it might be a good idea to be prepared. If things went well, what I’d just done would be irrelevant and no one would really care. But if things went badly . . . then I’d be glad I’d taken the precaution.

The gate closed behind me, leaving me in the darkness of my shop storeroom, and I sagged in sudden exhaustion, catching myself on a set of shelves. Operating a gate stone is difficult for me—my magic is very bad at affecting the physical world—and it had been a long day.

The doorbell rang.

I held still. The echoes died away, fading into silence, and the shop was dark and quiet again. It was nine o’clock on a Saturday night. Who was calling at this hour?

I looked ahead. The caller was a woman, and she was outside the door, waiting. I filtered the futures, searching for danger. Nothing that I could see. I changed my focus, looking to see how she would introduce herself . . .

. . . oh.

I forgot all about her, didn’t I?

I checked my one-shots, touched the hilt of the knife under my coat. I didn’t really want to answer the door. But I’d invited her—had it only been last night?—and it was too late for second thoughts. I walked out into my shop. Neon light glowed from the street outside, slits of it passing through the security shutters to cast strips of orange across the counters and shelves. Out in the road, a car rumbled by, making the shadows flicker. I opened the front door.

The woman outside was a little below average height, with light brown skin and dark eyes. Her hair was black and shoulder length, blending into her black coat so that only her face stood out in the darkness. “Mage Verus?”