“It’s an insidious practice,” Augustine continued, disgust plain in his voice. “And much more rare than the movies will lead you to believe. It requires a huge sacrifice on the part of the dark horse. They can never admit their Prime status or reap any of the benefits it affords. They are always viewed as lesser by their peers. I’ve known only two dark horses in my life and in both cases, it didn’t end well for them or their families.”

I kept thinking back to Baranovsky drinking. I could picture it in my head, him standing there with a champagne flute, watching . . . watching Rogan and Olivia Charles. Olivia Charles, who’d given me a mental push to flee. What was it Rogan said about manipulators? They were often registered as other specialties, a psionic being a favorite.

“Rogan, how is Olivia Charles registered?”

“A psionic Prime.” He clamped his mouth shut. His gaze gained a dangerous edge.

“What is it?” Augustine looked at him and at me.

“We’ve been played,” I said. “Olivia Charles created a diversion and while everyone focused on Rogan and her drama, David Howling cruised by Baranovsky and turned the champagne in his throat into a solid block of ice. They used us.”

“That’s a heavy accusation, Ms. Baylor,” Augustine said.

Funny how I was Nevada until I dared to accuse one of their own. “Nari and the other lawyers were killed by an ice mage and a manipulator working together. Rogan, if Olivia was a manipulator, would anyone know?”

“Olivia Charles is a fourth generation Prime.” Augustine leaned forward. “She is mean as a snake if she doesn’t like you, but her reputation is beyond any contestation.”

“Would anyone know?” I repeated, searching Rogan’s face for an answer.

“No,” he said, his voice grim. His face told me he was contemplating violence, and a lot of it.

“Whoa.” Augustine raised both hands. “Let’s back way, way up, past the line of insanity. We’re not talking about some loose cannon spoiled child like Pierce or a dark horse from a second marriage who is barely known in society. We’re talking about someone with a spotless record and vast connections in our community. My mother hates Olivia Charles, but when Olivia invites her to a luncheon, my mother makes an effort to attend. Before you even consider going after Olivia, you have to have bulletproof evidence of her guilt. If you videotape her stabbing someone with a butcher knife and then play it before the Assembly, half of the people will swear it was a fabrication and a quarter would claim she was drinking tea with them when the stabbing occurred. If you accuse her of anything without evidence, you will be crucified. I’ll have to disavow any connection with you. You will never land another client of any prominence.” He turned to Rogan. “And you will lose the last shreds of your standing.”

“I don’t care,” Rogan said.

“You should care.” Augustine slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “You have nothing. You have hypothesis and conjecture. This course of action won’t just affect you.”

Bug cleared his throat.

“This will affect me, our families, and even Rynda. This is the kind of accusation that must be made with exceptional care. Not only that, but it makes no sense for Olivia to be involved in this mess. She is at the pinnacle of her life. She has power, wealth, and influence. Why would she jeopardize it?”

Bug cleared his throat louder.

“What?” Rogan asked.

“Voilà.” Bug tapped the key. The front of Baranovsky’s mansion filled the middle screens, filmed through the haze of rain and bordered in dark wet leaves.

David Howling stood to the side, smoking, that familiar smile on his face. He seemed to be perpetually calm and happy.

A limo slid into place before the front staircase. The driver dashed to the passenger door, opened an umbrella, and swung the door open, holding the black umbrella above it. Olivia Charles stepped out, walked up the staircase, paused for a moment before security and went inside. Fifteen seconds later David flicked his half-finished cigarette aside and followed her in.

Augustine’s face turned white. “Dear God.”

And it proved nothing. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t say anything to each other. Everyone in the room knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Howling had waited outside to make sure she arrived. And we could do exactly nothing with that knowledge.

“He’s right,” I told Rogan. “We have no direct evidence.”

“Then we should get some,” he said. “We need that USB drive.”

He looked at Bug.

“How?” Bug asked. “Baranovsky has a DaemonEye security lock on his network. I would have to get the kid to crack it, but even if Bern opens all the cyber doors, it won’t do us any good. You can’t hack something that’s not connected to the Internet. You have to physically access the computer. Someone has to walk in, get the computer, or at least the hard drive, and walk out with it. Every security person Baranovsky employed is likely at that mansion right now, not to mention cops who are swarming within the place. That house is locked up tighter than a clam with lockjaw. By now the gap in the wall is probably repaired and if it isn’t, it’s guarded like Fort Knox.”

“How did you film that footage?” Cornelius said behind me.

I almost jumped. He’d been so quiet I’d forgotten he was there.

“A drone transmitting the feed from its camera.” Bug waved his arm. “A fifty-thousand-dollar drone, which, by the way, I lost because some asshole wind mage knocked it out of the sky just as I tried to recover it. The last thing it transmitted was a tree, up very close.”

“If I understand correctly, you don’t need the entire computer.” Cornelius rested his elbow on his bent knee and leaned his cheek on his fingers. “You just need the hard drive.”

“Yes.” Bug spread his arms. Napoleon decided that things had gotten exciting enough to warrant his input and barked once to underscore the point.

Rogan glanced at Augustine.

“I suppose I could try to impersonate one of the security personnel,” the illusion mage said. “Assuming we kidnap someone with access to Baranovsky’s inner sanctum. That will take time and research.”

“What about a short-range teleporter?” I asked. Teleportation was a last resort. It usually didn’t go well, but among the three of them they had to know at least one mage capable of it.

“Too risky,” Augustine said. “The place is crawling with security. And two-thirds of human teleportations, unless the teleporter is a Prime, end up with the teleported party resembling an undercooked meat loaf.”

“Find out who is securing the mansion,” Rogan said to Bug. “Let’s see if we can throw money at them.”

“I’ll need another drone,” Bug said.

“Ferrets,” Cornelius said.

All of us looked at him.

“Ferrets?” Augustine asked.

“It’s a domesticated form of European polecat,” Cornelius said. “Closely related to weasels, minks, and stoats.”

“I know what a ferret is,” Augustine said, obviously making a heroic effort to be patient. “I’m asking how ferrets would help us retrieve the computer.”

“I assume the mansion has laundry facilities?” Cornelius asked, a mild expression on his face.

“Yes,” Bug reported.

“Industrial dryers?”

“Most likely.”

“And you only require a hard drive from the computer?”

“Yes,” Bug said.

“In that case, I can extract those things for you provided you can attach a very small camera and a radio receiver to a ferret harness. I have to be able to talk to them and I must see what they see. I have several harnesses at Nevada’s warehouse, but my camera needs to be replaced and I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“You want to send in harnessed ferrets through a laundry vent?” Augustine clearly had difficulty coming to terms with that idea.

“Yes,” Cornelius said.

I blinked. “Wouldn’t the vent be secured by an alarm?”