Tugging my bag back up my shoulder, I waved to the edgy Iceman and headed out with Glenn. Jenks was silent. Glenn had my coffee in one hand, my elbow in the other. My thoughts were on Vanessa while he guided me unseeing through the upper levels of the building and back into the sun. I didn't say a word all the way home, and the conversation between Jenks and Glenn lagged. In their silence I thought I heard agreement that I might have been responsible in some way for the woman's death. But I couldn't. I just couldn't have been.

I didn't look up from the dash until I felt the soothing shade of my street. Jenks muttered something and slipped out the open window before Glenn brought the car to a stop. I glanced up then, finding the hazy morning slipping into the time of day I was usually just waking.

"Thanks for coming out with me," Glenn said, and I turned to him, surprised at the honest relief in his eyes. "Officer Denon gives me the creeps," he added, and I managed a smile.

"He's a pushover," I said, gathering my bag onto my lap.

Glenn pulled his eyebrows up. "If you say so. At least Vanessa's body won't be destroyed. And now I'll have access to any record I want until human involvement is ruled out. I think I can take it from here."

I huffed. "Then why did you have me come out, Mr. FIB Agent?"

He grinned to show his teeth. "Jenks found the needle marks, and you distracted Denon and got him to back down. A court order?" he said, chuckling. I shrugged, and Glenn added, "He's afraid of you, you know."

"Me? I don't think so." I fumbled for the door handle. Crap, I was tired. "I'm still sending you a bill," I said, checking the time on the dash's clock.

"Uh, Rachel," Glenn said before I got out, "I've another reason I came over."

My motion to leave hesitated, and, looking unhappy, he reached under the seat and handed me a thick folder held closed with a rubber band.

"What is it?" I questioned, and he gestured at me to open it. Setting it atop my lap, I rolled the rubber band off and leafed through the file. It was mostly photocopied newspaper clippings and reports from the FIB and I.S. concerning theft crimes spanning the entire North American continent and a few overseas in the UK and Germany: rare books, magical artifacts, jewelry with historical significance… I felt myself go cold despite the July heat as I realized that this was Nick's file.

"Call me if he contacts you," Glenn said, his voice with a curious tightness to it. He didn't like asking me, but he was.

I swallowed, unable to look at him. "He went off the Mackinac Bridge," I said, feeling unreal. "You think he survived that?" I knew he had. He had called me when he realized he'd swiped the fake Were artifact from me and I had the real one.

A band fixed around my chest and squeezed. Crap. That's what Newt was looking for. Shit, shit, shit—this was why Vanessa was murdered? The I.S. knew I'd possessed the focus once, but they and everyone else thought it had gone over the bridge with Nick Sparagmos. Did the someone know that it had survived and was now killing Weres to find out who had it? Oh, God. David.

"I want this one, Rachel," Glenn said, jerking me back to reality. "I know it's Nick."

I felt like I was wrapped in cotton, and I knew my eyes were too wide when I turned to him. "I guessed he was a thief. I didn't know until he left. I didn't want to believe it," I said.

Soft pity was in his eyes. "I know you didn't."

My pulse leapt, and I took a fast breath. Glenn touched my shoulder, probably thinking it was the shock of finding out for sure that Nick was a thief that had my hands shaking, not that I knew what Newt wanted and why Vanessa had been murdered. Damn it, she'd been drugged and then murdered because she hadn't known anything about it. Telling Glenn wouldn't do any good. This was an Inderland concern, and he would only get himself killed. I had to call David. Take it back before Newt tracked it to him. He couldn't fight a demon.

Like I can?

I reached for the door latch, my mind whirling. "Thanks for the ride, Glenn," I said, my manners on autopilot.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, putting a dark hand on my arm. "Are you going to be okay?"

I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Yeah, I'll be fine," I lied. "This threw me, is all."

His hand slipped away, and I slid the folder onto the seat between us and got out to stand unsteadily on the sidewalk. My eyes went to the house where Ceri lived. She was probably asleep, but as soon as she woke up, I was going to talk to her.

"Rachel…"

Maybe she knew a way to destroy the focus.

"Rachel?"

Sighing, I leaned to look back into the car. Glenn was extending the folder to me, shoulder muscles bunched from the weight of it. "Keep it," he said, and when I moved to protest, he added, "They're copies. You should know what he's done… in any case."

Hesitating, I took them, feeling its heavy bulk pulling me down into the sidewalk. "Thanks," I said, not caring. I shut the door and headed for the church.

"Rachel!" he called, and I jerked to a stop and turned. "The visitor tags?" he prompted.

Oh, yeah. I came back and set the file on the roof of the car while I removed the tags and handed them to him through the window.

"Promise me you won't drive until you finish your driver's ed," he said in parting.

"Sure thing," I muttered, walking away. It was out again. The world knew the focus hadn't been lost, and as soon as someone realized I still had it, I was going to be in seriously deep shit.

The hot morning had turned to rain by the time I'd gotten up again, and it felt odd rising so close to sunset. I'd gone to bed in a bad mood, and I awoke with the same, having been startled into consciousness by Skimmer ringing the front bell at about four in the afternoon. I'm sure Ivy had answered it as fast as she could, but going back to sleep was too much an effort. Besides, Ceri was coming over tonight, and she wasn't going to find me in my underwear again.

My arm ached as I stood at the sink in my shorts and camisole and polished the copper teakettle; Ceri's silent disgust at my kettle this morning had galvanized me into cleaning it. She was going to help me sketch out another calling circle. Maybe in chalk this time, so it wasn't as gross. I was starting to look forward to Minias's visit. He might destroy the focus in exchange for my finding Newt for him, and after watching Ceri bargain with Al, I wanted her help with Minias. That woman was more devious with her turns of phrase than Trent.

I had called David before falling asleep, and after a heated discussion that had emptied the church of every last pixy, he flatly told me that if the murderer hadn't tracked the focus to him by now, whoever it was probably wouldn't, and moving it out of his freezer would only draw attention to it. I wasn't convinced, but if he wouldn't bring it to me, I'd have to go get it. Meaning I'd be bringing it home on the bus or the back of Ivy's cycle. Neither of which was a good idea.

Blowing a red curl out of the way, I rinsed the kettle, dried it, and set it on the back burner. It wasn't gleaming, but it was better. The cloying scent of polish was thick in the close air, and since the rain had stopped, I shoved the window open with two gritty fingers.

Cool damp drifted in, and I looked out onto the dark, soggy garden as I washed my hands. A frown settled as I saw my nails, the polish ruined and green in the cuticles. Crap. I just did them, too.

Sighing, I set the dish towel aside and turned to the pantry. I was starved, and if I didn't eat something before Ceri got here, I'd look like a pig when I ate the entire bag of cookies intended for the occasion. I stood in the walk-in pantry, staring at the cans of fruit, bottles of ketchup, and cake mixes in the tidy rows into which Ivy organized our groceries. She'd probably label them if I let her. I reached for the elbow macaroni and an envelope of powdered sauce—quick, fast, full of carbs. Just what the witch doctor ordered.