Cynthia leaned forward and said, "Look-"

"Is there someplace we can wait?" I interrupted. The receptionist called a volunteer, who led us to a waiting room on the third floor. We sat on a plastic couch beside a stack of bland supermarket magazines.

"His wife hates me," Cynthia said. "She hates me already. I just hope she doesn't take another swing at me. I wouldn't be surprised if she brought a hatchet. Good thing we're already in a hospital."

She went on and on like that. Cynthia rambled, mostly about how much Farleton's wife hated her. She didn't mention Cabot at all, and I didn't bring him up. Misery was pouring out of her, and I didn't want her to shut me out. Not when I needed her to point me toward her brother.

The door at the end of the hall opened, and Emmett Dubois entered. Trailing along behind him was a tall blond woman, probably just a year or two older than Cynthia. She was long-legged and wore way too much makeup on her lovely face. She looked utterly distraught.

Cynthia jumped up. "Miriam, I'm so sorry."

"I don't want to hear it," Miriam snapped. "I just want to see my husband."

Emmett stepped between them. "Let's find Frank's doctor. Would you come with me?"

Miriam shot a withering look at Cynthia, then followed the chief down the hall.

Peter Lemly rushed in. He was red-faced and sweating, and I could hear him panting from down the hall. He followed the chief and Miriam Farleton.

"Did you see that?" Cynthia said. "She hates me." I didn't say anything. "She's always hated me. Ever since high school. She was three years ahead and she dated Charles for a couple of weeks. He wouldn't turn his life over to Jesus, though, and he got tired of hearing her talk about it. He broke it off with her, and for some reason she blamed me. She thought I was making fun of her behind her back."

"Were you?" I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer already.

"h.e.l.l, yeah. But Charles didn't care what I said. He never cared. He always had to do things his own way."

"Your brother sounds like an interesting guy."

She didn't take the bait. "I saw the way you were looking at her," she said.

I shrugged. "She and the mayor don't exactly look like a couple, do they?"

She laughed. "The whole town, men and women, felt the same way when they started going together. Frank was ten years older and even fatter than he is now-she's worked on his weight over the years. He's a good man, even if he's kind of a wimp." I didn't mention that a real wimp wouldn't have taken a bullet for her. "I think he'd be scooping ice cream in the back of a truck if he hadn't married her. She's the ambitious one. But they sure do seem to love each other," she said. "No one really understands it."

"Maybe he cast a spell on her."

She turned and looked at me. She was measuring me, trying to see if I had dropped the word spell casually or if I was hinting at something. The way she looked at me told me what I needed to know. I wondered what would happen if I laid Annalise's magic-detecting sc.r.a.p of wood against her skin.

I shrugged. I wasn't ready to show my hand yet. She blinked and then shrugged, too. I wondered how much she knew about what was happening to the kids in town.

"Where's your brother?" I asked her. "I'd like to meet him."

She leaned back in her chair and looked at me sideways. "I'm supposed to be asking you questions, remember?" She had a half smile on her lovely face. It looked good on her, but it was too practiced. "I asked you to come to my house so I could s.h.i.+ne a bright light in your face and pepper you with questions."

"Okay, but let's leave out the badge-wearing goons."

"I think we can go goonless for now."

We smiled at each other.

She asked me a couple of questions about Annalise's meeting with Able Katz. I answered with harmless lies. The questions she asked told me more about her than she realized. I figured she must not have friends in the company or any pull with her brother or she would already know the basics.

Emmett Dubois arrived. He told us that he would need statements from both of us. Strictly routine, he a.s.sured us. Cabot had already confessed.

This time, I wanted to put him off until I could talk to a lawyer. Maybe Annalise would hire one for me, but Cynthia turned to me and said: "Why don't you go first? I want to wait and explain things to... you know. Be nice to him, Emmett. He saved my life. Frank's, too."

"Of course I will, Cynthia," Emmett said.

We left the waiting area and walked into an empty room. Emmett set his folder and his hat on the bed, then took a tape recorder from his pocket.

"Do you mind if I tape this?"

"I guess that'll be all right."

He turned on the machine and recited his name, my name, the date, and other information. Then he asked me what happened.

I told him, with a couple of modifications. I didn't tell him about the fire on the basketball court. I didn't tell him that I had gone there looking for Charles with the intent to kill him. I didn't tell him that I chunked into the toilet, and I didn't tell him that I'd cut the gun with the ghost knife.

I did say that the gun fell apart after it fired that first time. I said I felt lucky that I hadn't been killed, and that I personally didn't think I'd saved anyone's life. Cabot's gun was defective, and I coldc.o.c.ked him. Even if I hadn't been there, I said, he couldn't have done more than he did.

We went over it again, this time focusing on why I was there, why Cynthia had invited me, and why I had gone. I had sensible answers for everything, and he didn't seem concerned.

It was the friendliest conversation I'd ever had with a cop. It made me a little nervous, but I did my best to smile and act friendly in return.

Finally, he shut the recorder off. "That jibes with what Cabot told me, although he claims that you broke the gun with your bare hands."

"Heh! Really? Weird. Someone should tell him guns are made of metal."

Emmett chuckled. "That's what I figured. We did take the gun into evidence, though. It was in a strange condition."

"How so?"

"It didn't explode, the way guns do when the barrel is jammed. It was sheared apart. Like it was cut."

"Is that unusual?" I asked, being careful to look him in the eyes-but not too closely-and not to touch my face.

"I've never seen a weapon fail that way. Never heard of it, either."

"Weird. And lucky."

He looked at me for a moment, then smiled. He was a friendly guy today. "It sure was lucky." He began to gather his stuff. Then he stopped and looked at me again. He knew something he wasn't saying.

There was something else going on here. There was something I wasn't seeing.

And honestly, I didn't like being on such friendly terms with Emmett Dubois.

"Excuse me, Chief," I said. "Can I ask your opinion on something?"

"Okay. What is it?"

I opened my jacket wide, so that when I reached into it he would see there was no gun. I drew out the sc.r.a.p of wood.

"This is a little something that I'm trying to sell to Hammer Bay Toys. I think it's a neat little trick."

I set the sc.r.a.p of wood on the bed beside his folder. The design on the front continued its slow, implacable churning.

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned," he said. He looked down at the moving paint, obviously intrigued. Then he looked up at me. "May I?"

"By all means," I said.

Emmett picked up the sc.r.a.p of wood. As soon as he touched it, the design went dark. A tiny flare appeared on the wood, and then a jet of black steam and iron-colored sparks erupted from the design.

The chief had a predator inside him.

Emmett dropped it and jumped back. He laid his hand on his weapon. "What the h.e.l.l was that?"

"This," I said, "is a Geiger counter for magic." I picked it up. My tattoos and ghost knife made the design flare silver for a second. "You have some kind of nasty spell on you, Chief. What is it?"

He stared at me, his eyes wide. I stared back. Was he involved in the deaths of those children? Did he even know about them?

"Come on, Chief. Tell me what's going on here. What's happened to you? What's happened to your town?"

"Who are you? What are you doing in this town?"

"You already know who I am. You read all about what I did last fall. As for what I'm doing here, there's something wrong in this town. I'm here to fix it. Party's over, Chief. We know about you now."

He sniffled. I had spooked him. He wasn't used to that. "Maybe I should take you in-"

I laughed. "You don't have any idea what I am, do you? I'm not going anywhere with you this time. You're going to have to tread carefully."

It was a bluff, but I wasn't going to put myself at his mercy. He was infected and had to be destroyed. Once Annalise found out, she'd pinch his fat head off.

But was Emmett an underling? The secret source of Charlie Three's seizures? Or was he another victim?

Emmett glared at me and backed toward the door, his hand on his weapon. I just smiled at him. He left.

I sat for a moment, thinking about Cynthia, the mayor, and Cabot. Was Cynthia in on it with her brother and Emmett? Was Farleton in on it, too? Maybe Cabot was trying to put a stop to the deaths. It was something to think about.

I walked back to the waiting room. Cynthia was still sitting on the plastic couch. I was startled to see Annalise on the other side of the room, incongruous in her oversized fireman's jacket, steel-toed boots, and tattered pants. For one absurd moment, I thought she'd come to be treated for her burned hands.

Cynthia stood when she saw me. "Was he decent to you?"

"He was fine."

She rubbed her hands on her pants, looking uncomfortable. She wanted me to keep her company, but Annalise was already moving toward me. Cynthia sat again. Annalise took my elbow and led me down the hall out of earshot.

"What have you been doing?" she asked.

"Making enemies. Friends, too. The chief of-"

"That girl said you saved her life," Annalise interrupted. "Is that true? Who is she?"

It seemed funny that Annalise was calling Cynthia a girl. Cynthia looked to be six or eight years older, but looks can be deceiving. "Sure, it's true. And she's Cynthia Hammer, sister to Charles Hammer the Third. She's the one who was following us in the SUV."

Annalise glanced back at Cynthia, making sure she was still on the couch. "I want you to f.u.c.k her," she said. "Then find out everything you can, especially where her brother is. I can't track him down."

"You're a real cla.s.s act, boss."

"Just do it. I have work to do in the morgue."

She turned on her heel and stalked away. I wondered again how many dead bodies she had seen, and how long it had taken her to become what she was.

And she hadn't even given me a chance to tell her about the predator in Emmett.

I ran into the hall, calling her name. She stopped and turned toward me. A pa.s.sing nurse shushed me forcefully.

"What is it?" Annalise asked.

"Predator," I said, my voice low. She tensed and leaned toward me. I had her attention. "Inside Emmett Dubois. I don't know what it is, but I'd guess his brothers are infected, too."

"How do you know this?"

I removed the sc.r.a.p of wood from the inside of my jacket. She frowned and took it from me.

"Did he see this?" she asked, holding up the slowly moving design.

"Yep."

Annalise nodded and pocketed the sc.r.a.p of wood.

"You have your next a.s.signment," she said, and walked toward the elevators.

I went back to Cynthia. She was, apparently, my next a.s.signment. Spending the night with her wasn't the worst thing that could happen, but I didn't like that Annalise had ordered me to do it. I didn't even like the idea that she would know. It was creepy. I sat a little farther away from Cynthia than I had before.

"Is that your wife?" Cynthia asked. "Your girlfriend?"

I was honestly confused for a moment. "Who?"

"That redhead. The one you were just talking to."

I laughed. "Sorry," I said. "But that's funny. She's actually my boss, and she hates my guts."

"Oh."

"It's complicated."

"Well," she said, "I'm glad she's not your girlfriend."

That was my cue to say something smooth. Before I could think of something, the door to Frank's room opened and Miriam stepped out.