I scooted to the edge of my seat, intrigued again despite my disbelief. “What do you mean?”

Brackenberry brushed a hand through his long, shaggy brown hair, a strange look on his face. I couldn’t decide if it was worry or skepticism. Maybe both. “It seems that somebody has been pulling strings concerning Paul. There are some worrisome signs that someone inside the senate has orchestrated his release.”

“Yes,” Lady Elaine said. “Not only is Paul being released after providing such a small amount of information, but it appears that no plans are being made to have him regularly monitored beyond the absolute minimum. All we’ve been able to confirm they’ve done is to confiscate his personal computers and place heavy restrictions on his student account.”

A sound close to a growl escaped the sheriff’s throat. “That’s right. My department hasn’t received any orders, and every time I try to figure out which department is taking responsibility for it, I’m given the runaround.”

I frowned, a little intimidated by the scope of this thing. My dealings with magickind law enforcement had only been with the sheriff’s department, but there were others out there, including the magickind equivalent of the CIA and the Secret Service.

“Given that,” said Brackenberry, “we’ve decided to take matters into our own hands until we can uncover who’s behind Paul’s release and what that person hopes to gain from it. The answers lie with Paul, but he’s clever. We believe that you are the best way to get the truth from him.”

I once again considered the idea of running out of here, but a new possibility occurred to me. “Paul’s uncle is a senator. Couldn’t he be pulling the strings?”

“Doubtful,” said Lady Elaine. “Titus Kirkwood has been the biggest roadblock to Paul’s plea deal.”

That made sense. Magistrate Kirkwood had always despised his nephew. I gulped, suddenly emotional again. Half the reason why I couldn’t truly hate Paul was because of the abuse he’d suffered at his uncle’s hands.

“So are you going to help us or not?” said Brackenberry, suddenly impatient. His sharp gaze seemed to pin me in place.

I looked away, drawing a ragged breath.

“This is very important, Dusty,” Lady Elaine said.

I swallowed, searching for my voice, which seemed to have gotten lodged in my throat. “Why? Marrow is…” I searched for the right word. He wasn’t dead. As far as anyone knew he couldn’t die—not with an immortal phoenix as a familiar, one capable of resurrecting him time and time again. “He’s gone, right? I mean, he hasn’t come back yet, has he?”

“No,” Lady Elaine said, firmly. “We don’t believe he’s back. But he has his supporters. Surely you’ve seen how quickly animosity is spreading among the different kinds. Not all of the unrest can be attributed to the loss of The Will. We believe Marrow’s followers are behind most of it. Including what happened to Britney last night.”

I resisted the urge to fidget. Now would be a good time to come clean about Eli, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “Why do you think that?”

Brackenberry scowled. “Because we were finally able to analyze the curse used on her. It’s black magic, of the sort that hasn’t been seen in centuries. Only someone like Marrow could’ve known the spell. We believe he passed it on to some of his chief followers who are now acting on their own to continue his work.”

I shuddered. This kept getting worse and worse.

“This also means,” Lady Elaine continued, “that you and Eli should focus your dream sessions on Britney’s attack. In light of this new evidence.”

I sighed, the last of my resolve giving way. I might hate every minute of my time with Paul, and I was nearly as frightened by the idea of facing him as Marrow returning. But I knew I had to.

“Okay,” I said, meeting both of their gazes and somehow managing not to flinch. “I’ll do it.”

7

The Client

I left the conference room a few minutes later and nearly bumped into the principal lurking beyond the door.

“What are you—” I broke off at the dangerous flash in Dr. Hendershaw’s eyes, the look magnified to an absurd level by her Coke-bottle glasses. Considering how long it had taken me to complete the heinous restroom-cleaning detention she’d given me last semester, the last thing I wanted was to get in trouble again. Besides, the loud, annoyed huff I heard from behind let me know Lady Elaine would be all over the principal’s nosiness.

I made my way to my history class, walking faster than I meant to, the frenzy of my thoughts having a direct effect on my feet, it seemed. I walked through the door into the classroom, not bothering to announce myself. Mrs. Rosencrantz probably wouldn’t notice.

“Excuse me,” a deep, raspy voice said.

I jerked my head to the front of the room. With a jolt of shock, I realized it wasn’t Mrs. Rosencrantz sitting behind the teacher’s desk, but an old and rather horrible-looking man. His bald head gleamed in the overhead lights. Two narrow strips of steel-gray hair fanned the tops of his lips in a severe mustache. The same gray color formed the bushy eyebrow hanging over his right eye. There wasn’t a left eyebrow at all. Where it should’ve been perched the top of a black eye patch that seemed to be affixed directly to the man’s skull.

I froze halfway into my seat, gaping in surprise. “Woah, you’re not Mrs. Rosencrantz.”