“Father?”

“This is my daughter, Sophia,” Barabas said.

Barabas had a daughter? And Conlan hadn’t told me?

“Pleased to meet you,” Sophia said.

“She is a member of my family and she is uniquely qualified for this assignment.”

A red sheen rolled over Sophia’s eyes, and for a second, I saw the outline of a long horizontal pupil before it contracted into a human round shape. A weremongoose. Like Barabas.

Albinism in humans was rare, roughly one in seventeen thousand. In mammals it occurred slightly more often, about one in ten thousand. Albinism in shapeshifters didn’t exist. Albinos carried a higher risk of sunburn and skin cancer, and the lack of eye pigmentation sometimes caused vision problems that required corrective surgery. It was theorized that Lyc-V removed albinism in the womb, though there was no consensus on how exactly it did that. I had seen thousands of shapeshifters. Not a single albino among them.

There was only one way for Sophia to exist, and that way was very illegal. Barabas knew that better than anyone. What did you and Christopher do, and how in the world did you get away with it?

“Qualified for what?” Sophia asked.

“Bodyguard detail, twenty-four-seven, one week,” Barabas said.

“Overtime?”

“Pay and a half.”

“Hazard bonus?”

“Situational, depending on the level of the threat.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes. “I want it in writing, with the hazard bonus scale specified.”

“Done,” Barabas said.

Dear gods, he’d made a small female version of himself.

Sophia smiled. “Who will I be guarding?”

“Me,” Marten said.

“Hi. I’m Sophia.” Barabas’ daughter held out her hand.

Marten shook it. “Hi. I’m Marten. What’s in your bag?”

“Nagaina.”

Like father, like daughter.

“What’s a nagaina?” Marten asked.

Sophia slid her hand into the backpack and pulled out a cobra. Big and black, it wrapped around her arm and reared up, displaying a bright yellow chest. Marten froze.

“Sophia, you’re scaring the client,” Barabas said.

“Don’t worry. She’s an Egyptian cobra. They’re pretty docile and they don’t spit venom.” Sophia smiled. “And they don’t eat pine martens.” She slid the snake back into the bag.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked Barabas.

“Quite. Sophia has a lot of experience despite her age, and Marten will be more comfortable with her.”

“This won’t be a peaceful assignment. They will both be in danger.”

“And that’s precisely why Sophia would be an excellent fit.” Barabas smiled, a sharp, controlled baring of his teeth. “She can dedicate herself to this assignment completely. During the day, they will be here, at the Guild. During the night, they will be at our home. If problems arise, my husband and I will handle them. Additionally, we live in a unique community. I assure you, it’s quite safe.”

I bet. “It’s essential that nobody interrogates her about the murder, including Ascanio Ferara.”

Sophia cracked her knuckles. “Oh, that won’t be a problem.”

Conlan clearly had something against Ascanio, and apparently Sophia wasn’t a fan either. He sure had a way with children.

“Does the Pack have an interest in this case?” Barabas asked.

“I don’t know yet. However, Mr. Ferara definitely does. Does that complicate things?”

“Not at all,” Barabas said. “We do not fall under the Pack’s authority.”

Like everyone who left the Pack with Curran and Kate, Barabas enjoyed a special status, and I counted on it.

“Great. Here’s her clothes and toiletries.” I passed the bag to Barabas. “The fee should cover her food, but please make sure she eats something besides cookies.”

Barabas nodded. “Of course.”

“Do you like honey muffins?” Sophia asked Marten.

I loved honey muffins. Curran’s adoptive mother made them. I would kill for one of Martha’s honey muffins right now. I would eat it and cry right here in the office.

Marten’s eyes lit up. “Are they yummy?”

“Very yummy.”

“Then I like them.”

“I have some in my office.” Sophia held out her hand.

Marten jumped off her chair, winked at me, and took Sophia’s hand. They walked out of the office.

That wink spelled trouble.

“She is very good at escaping,” I said.

“Sophia is very good at preventing escapes. I promise you, Ms. Ryder, she will be treated well; she will be bathed, fed, and tucked into bed at night, and most of all, she will be under constant supervision.”

I had a nagging feeling he would eat those words, but there was nothing else I could do. I had given all the warnings I could give. I hired them to do a job and I had to let them do it.

8

The phone line was nowhere near Martha Street.

I figured on about a fifty/fifty chance of Stella sending me on a wild goose chase. Clearly, she either didn’t trust me or decided to get payback for me ditching her. Fair enough, a point for her. I respected both her being cautious and trying to get even. In her place, I’d do the same thing.

The Honeycomb sat deep inside a gorge, a crack in the ground about three miles long and a quarter of a mile deep called the Honeycomb Gap. The Gap pulled iron into itself, gathering it from junkyards and the abandoned Ford Motor plant. The area around it lay in ruins, and climbing back and forth over the rubble with an injured leg and a bruised shoulder was all kinds of fun.

If the magic had been up, I could have just called Turgan and had him scout the Gap. The eagle would have spotted the cable in seconds. But with magic down, looking through Turgan’s eyes wasn’t an option. Turgan was an intelligent bird, but he was just a bird. Telling him to find the cable on his own was like asking Lassie if Timmy was stuck in a well. Words like “cable” had no meaning to an eagle.

Instead I picked my way through the debris and abandoned buildings for over an hour before I finally found it, a single phone line diving into the Gap from a pole that rose at the top of a ruined three-story building. The structure’s roof was gone, leaving the inside exposed, and the tall wooden pole had been anchored to the remains of the top floor with a mound of concrete. Climbing said pole with my hurt thigh proved to be about as fun as cuddling a feral cat, but after sliding down a couple of times and cursing in half a dozen languages, I finally cut the line, climbed down, and sat on the edge of the crumbling top floor, dangling my feet over the chasm.