I sighed and picked it up. "Luna Wilder's desk."

"That was quite a display today, Miss Swann." The voice was high, cultured, like a dapper butler from an old movie.

I blinked at the phone. "Excuse me?"

"This is Rhoda Sunflower Swann, of 213 Battery Cliff Road, yes?"

Damn it, I really hated when people figured out my full name. It was embarrassing. "Who is this?"

"A party most overcome by your skills, Miss Swann."

"Uh… you can just call me Sunny."

"As you wish. Sunny, you are wasting your talents. If you wish to remedy that, I am authorized to extend an invitation to meet with our little group and see if you find it more to your liking."

"That's really nice of you, but I don't—"

The prissy voice cut me off. "Eighty-nine Old Nocturne Way, at seven p.m. this evening. Be there, or we will consider you an uninterested party and have no further contact." A pause. "But I do hope you come, Miss Swann."

The connection cut off. I put the phone back slowly and looked all around Luna's squad room. She'd warned me about police pranks, but no one was looking at me with any amount of curiosity.

"Sunny. You okay?"

I jumped, rolling my chair over Troy McAllister's foot. He yelped and started hopping around.

"Oh, gods," I cried, jumping up. "I'm so sorry, Lieutenant."

"I told you," he gritted, clutching his mangled loafer. "Call me Troy."

"Right. Yes. Dear gods. I'm so clumsy…"

Troy slumped into the seat I'd just vacated, and took off his shoe and sock. His big toe was turning purple. I clapped a hand over my mouth, hoping it would hide the mortified shade of red on my face. "I'll get ice."

"Forget it." Troy waved a hand. "It beats a poke in the eye with a stick. Now. What's the matter with you? Usually it's your cousin who's causing me bodily harm."

"I got a weird phone call," I said, hoping that I didn't sound insane to Troy's ears. "Someone who heard what happened in court."

Troy narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? Tell me details."

Having him turn the full force of his gaze on me was like being trapped in oncoming headlights. Luna had told me stories about Mac, but this was different. I'd always thought of him as nice, slightly scattered, overworked. Right now, he was glaring at me with his ocean-colored eyes like he could look into my soul.

"It was just… It was silly," I murmured, looking at my feet. "They said they saw what happened in court today, and, um. Wanted me to meet them."

Troy stood up and put his shoe back on, then grabbed me by the elbow. "Come with me." We walked—well, he walked and I got dragged—into one of the interrogation rooms.

Luna was in there, filling out paperwork along with a woman I didn't recognize. She was very polished. If I were catty, I might even go to plastic, but I'm not. Red hair with perfect highlights, even under fluorescents. Green eyes, suit to match, an emerald set in silver at her throat and black high heels that could kill somebody, like Oddjob's bowler could lop off heads.

"Sunny, this is ASA Nielsen," Mac said. "She's the state's attorney working the federal case against the O'Halloran group. Nielsen, I think you should hear what just happened to Sunny."

She turned those high-powered cat eyes on me. I looked at my feet and murmured out the story of the strange call. Nielsen tapped a finger against her chin, a studied gesture.

"And after the state's trial, Trotter belongs to us," she said. "We want to thank you for your timely action today, Ms. Swann. Trotter can't fulfill his deal with us if he's dead."

Luna mouthed Told you at her paperwork.

"Unfortunately," Nielsen went on, "this isn't an isolated incident. Trotter has been moved to ad-sec at Los Altos after two attempts on his life."

"Advanced security," Mac whispered. "Where the snitches live."

"And there's this." Nielsen produced a digital recorder and hit playback.

"This is a warning," a solemn voice ground out. "If Mr. Trotter continues to divulge secrets of the craft to those not of the blood, there will be consequences. Grave ones. Deliver my message. We want him to know death is coming."

"Spooky," Luna commented. "Mac, I'm gonna go file my shooting report to Internal Affairs. Copy on your desk?"

"Stay for a minute," he urged, and ushered me into a chair.

"Considering the sudden interest in you, Ms. Swann…" Nielsen smiled at me. I felt a little bit like a mouse looking at a cobra. "We were hoping you could enlighten us as to the nature of this message."

"Well…" I was very hot. The room was hot. They were all staring at me. Did I have sweat marks? Or worse, blood on my shirt? I'd been awfully close to Abrams when Luna shot him…

"Sunny's strictly white-magick," Luna said. "She doesn't know anything. Why don't you ask Trotter?"

"Trotter was a minion in the witchcraft aspect of all this," said Nielsen. "He's told us what he knows. Doesn't look like she's of any more use. Sorry to waste your time, Mac."

"Seamus O'Halloran was the most powerful caster witch on the Pacific Coast," I blurted. Now I was hot for entirely different reasons. I was used to Luna dismissing me, but ASA Barbie? Uh-uh.

"We're all aware of that," she snipped coolly. I suddenly understood why Luna was angry at her job 90 percent of the time.

"He's dead now," I pressed, "and obviously, it's created a power vacuum. Trotter is the last power player in O'Halloran's little coven. You get rid of him and you pave the way for a new witch to take on O'Halloran's position, and that comes with a lot of perks. Influence, money, sacrificial rites…"

"I thought caster witches didn't sacrifice," Luna reminded me.

"It's for dramatic effect." I gritted at her, flushing. Nielsen was regarding me like we were playing poker and she'd just learned my tell.

"Well, then, Ms. Swann. We think you should go to this meeting."

I blinked at her stupidly. Luna was out of her seat. We said "What?" at the same time, with different levels of You've gotta be kidding me.

"No offense, ASA, but there's no we about this. Sunny isn't a police officer, and she's not used to this sort of magick," said Mac. "I won't authorize it."

"Oh, yes. If you want bombs and death threats to continue to be a part of your precinct, be my guest," Nielsen purred. "Or maybe you want to actually stop witches committing crimes, in which case, Ms. Swann is our only in."

"Well, she's not doing it," Luna snarled, and I saw the gold creep into her eyes. The were was always there, watching from under my cousin's skin. "Sunny's not built for this. Forget it."

"Since when do you give orders?" Nielsen asked.

"Since you want to get my cousin involved in something that's way over her head!"

"Excuse me!" I hissed at Luna. She blinked, and her eyes were their usual gray. "Would you step outside with me, please?" My tone must have conveyed my mighty annoyance, because she nodded meekly and we went into the hall.

"Will you stop doing that?" I demanded. Luna spread her hands, a gesture that hadn't changed since my mother, her aunt Delia, had found pot in her bookbag.

"What?"

"Acting like I'm some frail thing that needs protecting! Maybe I want to do this."

"Sunny, undercover work is dangerous. Hell, I wouldn't do this, and I'm trained."

"You're not a witch," I said plainly. "They'd probably pull your skin off in the first five minutes."

"Charming. You're still not doing it." She crossed her arms. I glared.

"I hate to tell you this, Luna, but it's not up to you. If someone is willing to kill to be on top of the caster witch circuit, do you have any idea what will ripple out? Bad magick in this city is already thicker than coke dealers, and you're willing to exacerbate that when we can stop it?"