He grunted. "Try to get a B this time so I can get reimbursed for tuition."

"Whoa!" Jenks shouted, his tiny voice pitched high. "Edden, you can just plant your sunflower seeds in someone else's garden. Rachel isn't going anywhere near Sara Jane. This is Kalamack trying to get his manicured fingers on her."

Edden pushed himself away from the wall, frowning. "Mr. Kalamack is not implicated in this whatsoever. And if you take this run gunning for him, Rachel, I'll sling your lily-white witch butt back across the river and into the Hollows. Dr. Anders is our suspect. If you want the run, you leave Mr. Kalamack out of this."

Jenks's wings buzzed an angry whine. "Did you all slip antifreeze in your coffee this morning?" he shrilled. "It's a setup! This has nothing to do with the witch hunter murders. Rachel, tell him this has nothing to do with the murders."

"This has nothing to do with the murders," I said blandly. "I'll take the run."

"Rachel!" Jenks protested.

I took a slow breath, knowing I would never be able to explain. Sara Jane was more honest than half the I.S. agents I had once worked with: a farm girl struggling to find her way in the city and help her indentured-servant family. Though she wouldn't know me from Jack, I owed her. She was the sole person who had shown me any kindness during my three days of purgatory trapped as a mink in Trent Kalamack's office last spring.

Physically, we were as unalike as two people could possibly be. Where Sara Jane sat stiffly upright at the table in her crisp business dress with every blond hair in place and makeup applied so well it was almost invisible, I stood in scraped-up leather pants with my frizzy red hair wild and untamed. Where she was petite, having a china-doll look with her clear skin and delicate features, I was tall with an athletic build that had saved my life more times than I have freckles on my nose. Where she was amply curved and padded in all the right places, I stopped at the curves, my chest not much more than a suggestion. But I felt a kinship with her. We were both trapped by Trent Kalamack. And by now she probably knew it.

Jenks hovered beside me. "No," he said. "Trent is using her to reach you."

Irritated, I waved him away. "Trent can't touch me. Edden, do you still have that pink folder I gave you last spring?"

"The one with the disc and datebook containing evidence that Trent Kalamack is a manufacturer and distributor of illegal genetic products?" The squat man grinned. "Yeah. I keep it by my bed for when I can't sleep at night."

My jaw dropped. "You weren't supposed to open it unless I went missing!"

"I peek at my Christmas presents, too," he said. "Relax. I won't do anything unless Kalamack kills you. I still say blackmailing Kalamack is risky—"

"It's the only thing keeping me alive!" I said hotly, then winced as I wondered if Sara Jane might have heard me through the glass.

"—but probably safer than trying to bring him to justice—at the present time. This, though?" He gestured to Sara Jane. "He's too smart for this."

If it had been anyone but Trent, I'd have to agree. Trent Kalamack was pristine on paper, as charming and attractive in public as he was ruthless and cold behind closed doors. I had watched him kill a man in his office, making it look like an accident with a swiftly implemented set of preparations. But as long as Edden didn't act on my blackmail, the untouchable man would leave me alone.

Jenks darted between me and the mirror. He came to a hovering standstill, worry creasing his tiny features. "This stinks worse than that fish. Walk away. You gotta walk away."

My gaze focused past Jenks, upon Sara Jane. She had been crying. "I owe her, Jenks," I whispered. "Whether she knows it or not."

Edden shifted to stand beside me, and together we watched Sara Jane. "Morgan?"

Jenks was right. There was no such thing as luck—unless you bought it—and nothing happened around Trent without reason. My eyes were fixed upon Sara Jane. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."

My gaze was drawn to Sara Jane's nails as she fidgeted across from me. Last time I had seen her, they were clean but worn down to the quick. Now they were long and shapely, polished a tasteful shade of red. "So," I said, looking from the fitfully flashing enamel to her eyes. They were blue. I hadn't known for sure. "You last heard from Dan on Saturday?"

From across the table, Sara Jane nodded. There hadn't been a flicker of recognition when Edden introduced us. Part of me was relieved, part disappointed. Her lilac scent pulled the unwelcome memory of helplessness I had felt while a mink caged in Trent's office.

The tissue in Sara Jane's hand was about the size of a walnut, clenched into a ball with her trembling fingers. "Dan called me as he was coming off of work," she said, the tremor reflected in her voice. She glanced at Edden, standing beside the closed door with his arms crossed and his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Well, he left a message on my machine—it was four in the morning. He said he wanted to have dinner together, that he wanted to talk to me. He never showed up. That's why I know something's wrong, Officer Morgan." Her eyes went wide and her jaw clenched as she struggled not to cry.

"It's Ms. Morgan," I said uncomfortably. "I don't work for the FIB on a regular basis."

Jenks's wings shifted into motion as he remained perched on my foam cup. "She doesn't really work regularly at all," he said snidely.

"Ms. Morgan is our Inderland consultant," Edden said, frowning at Jenks.

Sara Jane dabbed at her eyes. The tissue still in her grip, she nudged her hair back. She had cut it, and it made her look even more professional as it bumped about her shoulders in a straight yellow sheet. "I brought a picture of him," she said, digging in her purse to pull out a snapshot and push it at me. I looked down to see her and a young man on the deck of one of the steamers that take tourists out on the Ohio River. They were both smiling. His arm was around her, and she was leaning into him. She looked happy and relaxed in blue jeans and a blouse.

I took a moment to study Dan's picture. He was clean-cut, sturdy looking, and wearing a plaid shirt. Just the kind of man one would expect a farm girl to bring home to Mom and Dad.

"Can I keep this?" I asked, and she nodded. "Thanks." I tucked it in my bag, not comfortable with how her eyes were fixed upon the picture as if she could bring him back by her will alone. "Do you know how we can get in touch with his relatives? He may have had a family emergency and needed to leave without notice."

"Dan is an only child," she said, dabbing at her nose with the crumpled tissue. "Both his parents are gone. They were serfed on a farm up north. Life expectancy isn't high for a farmer."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say. "Technically, we can't enter his apartment until he's declared missing. You don't happen to have a key, do you?"

"Yes. I—" She blushed through her makeup. "I let his cat in when he works late."

I glanced down at the lie-detecting amulet in my lap as it briefly shifted from green to red. She was lying, but I didn't need an amulet to figure that out. I said nothing, not wanting to embarrass her further by making her admit she had the key for other, more romantic reasons.

"I was there today about seven," she said, eyes downcast. "Everything looked fine."

"Seven in the morning?" Edden uncrossed his arms and levered himself upright. "Isn't that when you—you witches, I mean—are tucked in bed?"

She gazed up at him and nodded. "I'm Mr. Kalamack's personal secretary. He works in the mornings and evenings, so my schedule is split. Eight to noon in the morning and four to eight in the afternoon. It took a while to become accustomed to it, but with four hours for myself in the afternoon, I was able to spend more time with… Dan," she finished.