The centerpiece of the Archives exhibit was the 1914 Treaty of London that recognized Maeve as High Queen of the Celtic fey and Tara as a sovereign territory within Ireland. Over a century later, the document, signed by Prime Minister H. H. Asquith of the United Kingdom, President Woodrow Wilson, and Maeve, continued to generate controversy. The National Archives was going to display it for the first time as part of its major fey exhibition, along with never-before-seen letters, documents, and film footage from the early days of the Guild. Threats against the exhibit had been made by militia groups that believed the Treaty was the first step in world domination by the fey over humans. It was an old story in the U.S. and Europe. The U.S. government responded with security improvements on the documents and the ceremony.

“No more changes today. It’s still early,” said Saffin.

Laura nodded understanding. “Can you check with the Guildmaster’s Office and see if Rhys wants me to review his speech again?”

“I did. He does. They’ll have something for you to look at tonight,” she said.

Laura reached the bottom of the messages. The last two were from reporters. She recognized the names and knew they weren’t calling about the ceremony. She sighed as she realized the raid was going to complicate more than one of her lives. “What are you hearing about this police raid in Anacostia, Saf? Anything I need to handle?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t think so. The District’s SWAT team is being blamed for now. They took out a brownie, and the only other fey involved was a druid team member named Janice Crawford. She got hit by a bullet, but she’s okay apparently. InterSec is stalling. Maybe you could call Terryn to see what’s going on.”

Laura did not raise her head but stayed focused on the messages. “Terryn macCullen? Why would I call him?”

Saffin shrugged. “You guys are friends, aren’t you? He might return your call.”

Her mind raced as she tried to recall mentioning Terryn at the office. They had routine Guild/InterSec interactions, but that was expected. Laura wondered what she had done to imply she knew Terryn as more than a colleague at another agency. Saffin was observant, and she had been with Laura a long, long time. She must have picked up on a pattern Laura hadn’t noticed she was creating.

“I was thinking,” said Saffin into Laura’s silence. “This might be a good angle for the ceremony, a fey person getting wounded during a joint human-fey exercise. I can do a preliminary interview with this Janice Crawford if you like.”

It’s a great idea, Laura thought. It was why she valued Saffin so much. No one else could cover for her like Saf did, run things in a pinch, and have the intuition for the big picture all at the same time. “Let’s wait and see what develops. We don’t want egg on our faces if something screwy was going on there. Good thinking, though. Anything else?”

“There’s a sale at Talbots,” she said.

“I don’t have time, Saf.”

Saffin smirked over her shoulder as she left the office. “Oh, I know. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. Don’t forget to eat lunch.”

“I won’t be here when you get back. Text me if you need anything,” Laura called after her.

Laura did a mental inventory as she stared out the window. The ceremony was under control. Hornbeck was a problem. She debated bringing in Guildmaster Rhys to get the senator to back off, but the idea didn’t sit well. It felt like conceding she couldn’t handle him. On the other hand, she couldn’t avoid Aaron Foyle much longer, and she had no idea how much time she would need to deal with the SWAT-team investigation. She considered tossing Hornbeck on Resha Dunne’s lap. But the way the two of them liked to hear their own voices, the ceremony would be over before a decision had been made. She shook her head. She liked the Archives project and didn’t want to see it ruined. She sighed and picked up the phone to call Hornbeck.

IN THE PARKING garage beneath the Guildhouse, a new SUV was parked in Janice Crawford’s spot. Laura opened the unlocked door, slid into the driver’s seat, and popped the glove carpet. Keys, registration, insurance information-all in Janice Crawford’s name-stacked in a neat pile. She started the engine, and the radio came on to Janice’s favorite station-heavy metal. Whoever had taken care of the car had set all the radio selections for her. She adjusted the rearview mirror, barely noticing that the face that looked back was Janice’s. When she wore a glamour, she was the glamour.

Exiting the garage, she turned in to light traffic, scanning back and forth from the side mirrors to the rearview for a full city block. She had been followed so many times, the behavior was automatic. No cars stood out, although several were black with tinted windows. In D.C., that was like saying a car had wheels.

The District police station house for Anacostia was a large and modern building, implying on the one hand that the neighborhood needed a heavy police presence while on the other hand indicating that the city cared enough about it to construct a forward-looking building. Laura skipped the parking lot and parked on the Irving Street side of the building in a space reserved for police vehicles.

She pulled her PDA out of her duffel bag and gave her email a quick check. Saffin was fielding press inquiries for both the drug raid and the Archives ceremony. Nothing she couldn’t handle on her own. Saffin also sent a personal note that she had bought a sweater at the Talbots sale. A quick message from Resha thanking her for the advice. She shut the PDA down and slipped it in one of the larger cargo pockets on her pants. The duffel contained her handbag with her Laura identification and a pair of black dress slacks and a cream-colored blouse in case she had to go back to the Guildhouse before the end of the business day. Even though she doubted anyone would be audacious enough to rob a car in front of a police station, she slung the bag over her shoulder and entered the station house. No sense taking chances.

She had been in the District 7 house a couple of times and knew where Foyle’s office was. After showing her badge, she skipped through security. Jonathan Sinclair was on the phone at a desk in the SWAT-team section. He flashed a pleasant smile and waved her to a vacant desk. Next to his. If he hadn’t smiled, she wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but given the tension they were all under, she couldn’t help being suspicious. Despite years of gender integration on the force, it was still a male-dominated operation and women were tolerated only after they had spent twice as long as men gaining respect. If another desk had been open, she might have ignored him and taken it, but there was none. She gave him a tight smile and dropped the bag.

“Crawford,” Foyle barked.

She looked over her shoulder at the open door to his office. Foyle sat at his desk reading, not looking at her. She went to the door. “Reporting for duty, boss.”

He continued reading a file. “Sit.”

She sat. And sat. So much anger surrounded Foyle, she didn’t need her empathic ability to feel it. He went through four more pages, then pulled another file to the center of his desk. It was her report, delivered that morning as promised. He stared at her. “There’s nothing in here I don’t already know.” She didn’t answer. “Why does that bother me?”

“It bothers me, too, sir. I’m told my memory will return.”

He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, staring again. The casual pose tightened Foyle’s shirt, showing off his biceps and chest. The regulation short haircut, sharp uniform, and piercing blue eyes were all meant to intimidate. Posturing was an old game, and Laura knew it. She played it herself, even now as she made a point of sitting upright and attentive.