“Nope. In a way smaller one, almost forty miles down the coast. But Agent Ellison, the drawings weren’t all that was in it . . .” The young man was unfolding something bulky with his pale, nervous hands, and there was a glow of obvious triumph on his face and a smirk twisting his chapped lips. “Look!” It was an olive wool parka, salt-stained and mildewed, with a bright orange lining. At first Ellison didn’t see what was remarkable about it until the pale hands waved it directly in his face and he saw the heavy black letters traveling down one sleeve.

“Dorian,” Ellison sighed. There was no way he could protect the boy now.

“Dorian! You see . . . Doesn’t that prove . . . It’s like Smitt kept saying: Dorian Hurst has been in collusion with them . . . maybe plotting . . .”

“It shows he’s under their influence at least.” Ellison kept his voice measured. He wanted to defend Dorian, but he couldn’t afford to sound like he cared too much. “Not surprising, considering what we know about the power they have. Those are Dorian’s drawings as well.”

“They . . . his drawings?”

“Yes. I found similar ones in his room. I noted that in my report at the time.” Ellison was disturbed to realize that his tone was audibly defensive. He had to be more careful, keep tighter control of himself if he didn’t want people to start suspecting him of sympathizing with their quarry. “Was that all you found? In the smaller cave?”

“There’s something else. I . . . Maybe you can make sense of this, because I sure can’t . . .” A stack of books was hauled from the duffle bag. From the white numbered tags on their spines it was immediately obvious that they were library books.

Puzzled as he was, Ellison couldn’t help smiling. “I imagine those are overdue?”

The young agent didn’t seem to think that was funny. “They’re way overdue, yeah. And get this . . .” The young agent assumed an air of great significance. “They’re all checked out in Dorian Hurst’s name!”

Ellison felt a rush of exhaustion so intense that it threatened to sweep him into unconsciousness, and he leaned his head on his hand and gazed through half-closed lids at his keyboard and the scattered papers crowding his desk. He strained to understand the implications of everything he was learning, but his thoughts bent with dreamlike illogic. Maybe the separate caves meant that Dorian’s girlfriend lived apart from the other mermaids, or maybe she just kept a secret stash. Maybe the books had been brought to the cave by seals.

“Agent Ellison?”

He shook himself. “Yes?”

“There is . . . I mean . . . You’d agree that there’s absolutely no possibility that one of these tails knows how to read, right?” The young agent almost tittered the last words, but there was a look of anxious uncertainty in his eyes.