CRESS PEERED INTO Laura’s mouth. The leanansidhe ’s dark orbs shifted back and forth, her unique vision affording her more than simple sight. She didn’t need a flashlight.

Glass cases lined a wall of her office, jars and canisters filling every available space. Protection wards hummed at various levels of intensity, warding against herbs and spells interacting or activating. As a fey healer, she combined traditional medicine with the esoteric needs of the fey. She dropped her hand from Laura’s chin and rested it on her shoulder. “There’s some mild inflammation, but no essence implications. You’re fine.”

“That was risky,” said Terryn.

Laura let Cress lift her hair to examine the faint remains of the concussion bruise. The physical aspect of the injury had healed so quickly that Laura had not thought about it for a day or two. “I was careful,” she said.

Terryn leaned against the open door. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You forget you’re not immortal sometimes.”

Laura dangled her feet off the short examining table. There was no denying she was tired, and Terryn wouldn’t believe her if she said she wasn’t. You don’t get almost blown up by a bomb, escape from one burning building then run into another one without getting winded. He was right. As a druid, she had a stronger constitution than humans, but it didn’t come close to the strength of other fey. She didn’t bother hiding the exhaustion in her voice. “I didn’t ask for this, Terryn.”

“I want to sideline Janice. You don’t have to do two glamours,” he said.

She hopped off the table. “You mean three. Just because I don’t change my appearance as Laura Blackstone doesn’t mean it isn’t a job. I still have the Archives ceremony to work on. At least no one’s trying to kill me there.”

Terryn shook his head. “That doesn’t help your case, you know. Let Sinclair prove himself. Put him to work with Foyle instead of Janice.”

She rubbed her eyes. The tender skin felt raw and dry. “Okay.”

He didn’t try to hide the surprise on his face. “Okay? That was easy.”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “Because you’re right. I’m stretching myself thin. If I lose my edge, I start missing things. We put Crawford on sick leave and Sinclair on Foyle. That will free up time for me to work on Blume.”

Cress paused at her work space. “You need to rest, Laura. The physical aspect of the concussion is healed, but your body essence is working at near capacity to heal the rest.”

“I’ll deal with Blume in the evening. I can swing that. I don’t sleep much anyway,” she replied.

Cress stared with those inscrutable black pools she called eyes. She glanced at Terryn, and Laura felt the light flutter of a sending pass between them. They were worried about her. It was comforting-she was worried about herself-but she had continued working with worse injuries before.

“Have you remembered anything more?” Cress asked.

“Nothing helpful. You were right, though. It’s coming back,” Laura said.

Cress nodded. She picked up two sealed jars from the counter. She held up one with a thick solution in it, vibrant green. “Drink this when you get home. It’ll fortify your body essence and soothe the throat burn.” She handed Laura a smaller, opaque jar. “You have burn patches that aren’t much worse than a sunburn, but they’re still draining essence from you. Draw a bath when you get home and dissolve this in it. Your skin will heal faster.”

Laura held both jars, thinking she’d rather eat the paste than drink the vibrant green sludge. “You’re ordering me to take a bath?”

Cress smiled. “Exactly. You’ll smell better, too.”

Laura slipped the jars into her bag. “I have had a couple of stinky days.”

“Can we talk about Blume before you leave?” asked Terryn.

Cress pushed Laura toward the door. “No, she can’t. She needs to go home and take a bath and go to bed. Now.”

Laura made a show of resisting, but it was obvious she wanted to leave. She stopped by her InterSec office to pick up the rest of her things and took the elevator down to the garage as Laura Blackstone, working-late public-relations director. If Cress was so concerned about her comfort and health, the least Laura could do was drive her Mercedes home.

Realization hit her when she started the car. She couldn’t go home. She rested her head against the steering wheel listening to music, trying to drown out thoughts of anything else. At the end of the third song, she turned off the car and went back to the elevator lobby. In the blind spot of the security camera, she resumed the Crawford glamour.

She jumped in the SUV. Cress might have thought it best that Laura go home, but Janice still existed and now had the seeds of a private life. Under the circumstances, Janice couldn’t disappear for no established reason. Someone would notice. Whoever wanted her dead would notice and find it curious. Inspiring curiosity was something Laura avoided when it came to her glamours. It was how she had gotten into her newest persona tangle. She pulled out of the garage and drove to Sinclair’s apartment.

SINCLAIR OPENED THE door the moment she knocked, his relief obvious. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Everything okay?”

Her first reaction was irritation. She barely answered to Terryn, never mind Sinclair. But she quickly bit back a barbed comment. His concern was genuine. She wasn’t used to that from someone she barely knew. Terryn and Cress often expressed concern for her welfare, but it always felt professional, never intimate. Emotional expression was something she avoided. She dropped her duffel on the floor by the door. “Sorry. I had an errand. You should give me a spare key.”

He stepped back, as if embarrassed by his concern, and she regretted not being as responsive. He glanced pointedly at the listening ward on the bookshelf. “Isn’t that rushing things a bit?”

She closed her eyes and examined the essence on the obelisk to confirm that the dampening field remained active. “It’s okay, Jono. The obelisk is jamming. We can talk freely.”

He looked innocent. “Oh. I was.”

She fished in her bag for the two jars from Cress. “You never let up, do you? Even if I was interested, I don’t date colleagues.”

“You went out with me for drinks twice already,” he said.

Laura put the jars on the coffee table and dropped into the armchair. “That was work.”

He grunted. “Really? I didn’t notice you breaking a sweat.”

She chuckled. “Speaking of drinks, do you have any vodka? I need to drink this thing from Cress, and I have a feeling I’m going to need a chaser.”

“Sure. Are you hungry? I can throw something in the microwave,” he asked.

She unscrewed the lid to the jar with the vibrant green liquid. “Not yet, thanks. I’m tired and need to take a bath.”

Sinclair wandered into the kitchen. Jeans and tight T-shirts must be his civilian uniform. Not that I’m complaining, she thought.

As she leaned forward to examine the open jar, she heard the bathwater go on. She sniffed the liquid and decided it might be palatable. Cress made an effort to make her potions inoffensive. Laura sipped it. Not bad, a bit grassy with some mint and menthol. Taking a deep breath, she downed it. It went down thick and slow, but it went down. She smacked her lips at the pasty aftertaste.

Sinclair returned with a beer for himself, handed her a mixed drink. He slid a key across the coffee table. Laura pocketed it without a word and nodded at her glass. “I put some lemonade in it,” he said.

She leaned back in the chair. “Thanks. How are you? Do you need Cress to do anything?”

He sat sideways, dangling his legs over the arm of the other armchair. “I’ve taken harder falls. I think I’ll pass on any more healing.”