“Why do you want it?” he asked.

   I tried to choose my words carefully. “I’d like to look through your pictures again when I have more time. Think about them, I guess. Just in case they give us some clue about what’s happening.”

   “Okay,” he said. “But I would appreciate getting a replacement.”

   “I’ll take care of it personally,” Ethan said.

   I tucked the notebook carefully inside my jacket, to keep it dry in the snow.

   “Winston, do you remember the night of the attack at Towerline?” Ethan asked. “When Sorcha used her magic?”

   He nodded gravely. “I do. Matter of fact, I wasn’t far from there when it went down. I was laid off earlier this year, been working temp and contracts since then, taking what work I could find. I was working about a block from there—helping unload boxes of materials at the Wellworth Hotel for a convention of some sort—when it happened.” He shook his head. “Quite a night that was. Never seen anything like it.”

   Bingo, I thought. Another connection to the magic that had gone down at Towerline. “That might be one of the reasons you’re hearing the voice,” I said. “We’re looking into it.”

   His eyes widened. “You think I caught something because of that magic?”

   “Not a virus,” Ethan said. “But there may have been some effects. We’ll let you know if we figure out that’s what happened.”

   He nodded, ran a hand over his head as he seemed to consider. “That’s why I came to Cadogan House in the first place. Not Towerline,” he added at our surprised expressions. “Employment. It’s been hard—not having permanent work—and not easy to find work as a vampire. I was hoping to speak to you about a job.” He shook his head. “It seems selfish now, to have caused all this trouble.”

   “It isn’t selfish at all,” Ethan said. “That’s why we offer the assistance—to help vampires in unusual situations.”

   Winston sighed. “I don’t suppose this will help me in the job market.”

   “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ethan said. “You won’t be here forever. And when we figure out what’s causing the delusions, and we put a stop to it, you’ll still need that help.”

   Very deliberately, his gaze on Winston’s, Ethan stepped over the yellow line, extended his hand through the bars of Winston’s cell.

   Winston took a step closer. The movement was tentative, but the handshake wasn’t.

   “Thank you for listening,” he said. “Sometimes you just need someone to listen. Think that you aren’t crazy.”

   No argument there. The question was—which someone had needed Winston to listen?

   • • •

   Before we walked back to the guard, I stopped Ethan with a hand on his arm.

   “There’s someone else we could talk to. Someone who might have an idea what’s happening.”

   Ethan considered for a moment. “You’re thinking about Tate.”

   Former mayor Seth Tate was the “good” of the magical twin beings created millennia ago, compressed together by magic, and split again due to Mallory’s dark magic. He’d confessed to a crime he hadn’t committed in order to atone for those he had, and to stay close to Regan, his magically enhanced niece, in order to help in her rehabilitation in prison.

   We’d known each other for a very long time, and I think we’d come out as friends. Or some supernatural version of friends.

   “Other than talking to Claudia, he’s our best—and oldest—source for information about magic.”

   Claudia was the queen of the fairies. She’d been separated from her homeland in Britain, and had been living in a tower in Chicago for hundreds of years. She led the fairies who’d guarded Cadogan House before they betrayed us. She—and the rest of them—were dangerous.

   Ethan considered for a moment. “Okay. And it might be good to show him the ring. Remind him that you’re taken.”

   “Seth isn’t interested in me,” I said. “Not like that.” I’d known him since I was a child; my father had supported his campaigns since he’d been a young alderman.

   “Just so,” Ethan said, taking my hand. “I’ve no qualms about a reminder.”

   I looked back at him, this man with broad shoulders and golden hair, a brilliant mind and rapier wit, and green eyes that were focused on me. No one had ever looked at me the way he did—as if he could see who I was and what I might be simultaneously. And I knew he didn’t want to give the reminder because he feared I’d stray or others might have an interest, but because of who and what I was to him.

   Because just as he was mine, I was his.

   • • •

   We waited ten minutes while inquiries were made, while our request to talk to Tate was considered by the appropriate parties.

   “This way,” the guard said. He led the way back to the front row of cubes, where Seth’s box was positioned.

   Seth Tate might have been an angel, but he had the look of the fallen variety. Hair as dark as midnight around bright blue eyes, generous lips, and a square jaw. He wore a floor-length black cassock, even if there was little that was angelic about his past.

   Where Winston’s cube had been fronted by bars, Seth’s was fronted by a long sheet of glass. There’d be no contact between us.

   “Merit,” Seth said, rising from his seat at a small table, his robe swirling around his feet as he moved. “Ethan. It’s good to see you. Congratulations on your wedding. Although I’m sorry it took a turn for the worse.” He gestured to the newspaper spread on the table. “I was reading about the attack.”

   “That’s why we’re here,” I said. “Something’s happening, Seth.”