Edden arched his eyebrows at my leather pants and less-than-professional halter top. “It’s good to see you, Morgan,” he said. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
I shifted my canister and extended my hand. His stubby thick fingers engulfed mine, familiar and welcoming. “No, not at all,” I said dryly, and Edden put a heavy hand on my shoulder, directing me down a short hallway.
Normally I would have reacted to such a show of familiarity with a delicate elbow in a gut. Edden, though, was a kindred spirit, hating injustice as much as I did. Though he looked nothing like him, he reminded me of my dad, having gained my respect by accepting me as a witch and treating me with equality instead of mistrust. I was a sucker for flattery.
We headed down the hallway shoulder-to-shoulder, Glenn lagging behind. “Good to see you flying again, Mr. Jenks,” Edden said, giving the pixy a nod.
Jenks left my earring, his wings clattering harshly. Edden had once snapped Jenks’s wing off while stuffing him into a water cooler, and pixy grudges went deep. “It’s Jenks,” he said coldly. “Just Jenks.”
“Jenks, then. Can we get you anything? Sugar water, peanut butter…” He turned, smiling from behind his mustache. “Coffee, Ms. Morgan?” he drawled. “You look tired.”
His grin banished the last of my bad mood. “That’d be great,” I said, and Edden gave Glenn a directive look. The detective’s jaw was clenched, and several new welts ran down his jawline. Edden grasped his forearm as the frustrated man turned away. Pulling Glenn down, Edden whispered, “It’s too late to wash the pixy dust off. Try cortisone.”
Glenn gave me a closed stare as he straightened and walked back the way we had come.
“I appreciate you dropping in,” Edden continued. “I got a break this morning, and you’re the only one I could call to capitalize on it.”
Jenks made a scoffing laugh. “Whatsa matter, got a Were with a thorn in his paw?”
“Shut up, Jenks,” I said, more from habit than anything else. Glenn had mentioned Trent Kalamack, and that had me itchy. The captain of the FIB drew to a stop before a plain door. Another equally plain door was a foot away. Interrogation rooms. He opened his mouth to explain, then shrugged and pushed the door open to show a bare room at half-light. He ushered me in, waiting until the door shut before turning to the two-way mirror and silently shifting the blinds.
I stared into the other room. “Sara Jane!” I whispered, my face going slack.
“You know her?” Edden crossed his short, thick arms on his chest. “That’s lucky.”
“There’s no such thing as luck,” Jenks snapped, the breeze from his wings brushing my cheek as he hovered at eye level. His hands were on his hips and his wings had gone from their usual translucence to a faint pink. “It’s a setup.”
I drew closer to the glass. “She’s Trent Kalamack’s secretary. What is she doing here?”
Edden stood beside me, his feet spread wide. “Looking for her boyfriend.”
I turned, surprised at the tight expression on his round face. “Warlock named Dan Smather,” Edden said. “Went missing Sunday. The I.S. won’t act until he’s gone for thirty days. She’s convinced his disappearance is tied to the witch hunter murders. I think she’s right.”
My stomach tightened. Cincinnati was not known for its serial killers, but we had endured more unexplained murders in the last six weeks than the last three years combined. The recent violence had everyone upset, Inderlander and human alike. The one-way glass fogged under my breath and I backed up. “Does he fit the profile?” I asked, already knowing the I.S. wouldn’t have brushed her off if he had.
“If he were dead he would. So far he’s only missing.”
The dry rasp of Jenks’s wings broke the silence. “So why bring Rache into it?”
“Two reasons. The first being Ms. Gradenko is a witch.” He nodded to the pretty woman past the glass, frustration thick in his voice. “My officers can’t question her properly.”
I watched Sara Jane look at the clock and wipe her eye. “She doesn’t know how to stir a spell,” I said softly. “She can only invoke them. Technically, she’s a warlock. I wish you people would get it straight that it’s your level of skill, not your sex, that makes you a witch or warlock.”
“Either way, my officers don’t know how to interpret her answers.”
A flicker of anger stirred. I turned to him, my lips pressed. “You can’t tell if she’s lying.”
The captain shrugged, his thick shoulders bunching. “If you like.”
Jenks hovered between us, his hands on his hips in his best Peter Pan pose. “Okay, so you want Rache to question her. What’s the second reason?”
Edden leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I need someone to go back to school, and as I don’t have a witch on my payroll, that’s you, Rachel.”
For a moment I could only stare. “Beg pardon?”
The man’s smile made him look even more like a contriving troll. “You’ve been following the papers?” he needlessly asked, and I nodded.
“The victims were all witches,” I said. “All single except for the first two, and all experienced in ley line magic.” I stifled a grimace. I didn’t like ley lines, and I avoided using them whenever I could. They were gateways to the ever-after and demons. One of the more popular theories was that the victims had been dabbling in the black arts and simply lost control. I didn’t buy that. No one was stupid enough to bind a demon—except Nick, my boyfriend. And that had been only to save my life.
Edden nodded, showing me the top of his head of thick black hair. “What has been kept quiet is that all of them, at one point or another, have been taught by a Dr. Anders.”
I rubbed my scraped palms. “Anders,” I murmured, searching my memory and coming up with a thin-faced, sour-looking woman with her hair too short and her voice too shrill. “I had a class with her.” I glanced at Edden and turned to the one-way glass, embarrassed. “She was a visiting professor from the university while one of our instructors was on sabbatical. Taught Ley Lines for the Earth Witch. She’s a condescending toad. Flunked me out on the third class because I wouldn’t get a familiar.”
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,