“I may be able to help with that,” I said.

“How?” Curran asked.

To tell him or not to tell him? “Okay, remember the stupid reckless thing I can’t tell you about?”

His eyes shone. Oh, yes, he remembered.

“It involves going back to Mishmar.”

Barabas dropped his teacup and caught it an inch above the table. Shapeshifter reflexes for the win.

“Why?” Curran asked.

“I can’t tell you.”

A roar rumbled in Curran’s throat. Barabas sat back a bit.

I shuddered. “So scary. Still can’t tell you.”

He opened his mouth.

“Lorelei,” I said.

Curran swore.

Barabas grinned.

“Don’t,” Curran warned him.

“My father told me that he has a warning system set up in Mishmar. The moment I walk in there, he’ll drop everything and rush over there by some mysterious magical means. He didn’t tell me how, but I think whatever method he’ll be using will be damn fast.”

“Why?” Barabas asked.

“Because he doesn’t want me talking to my grandmother.”

Barabas looked at Curran.

Curran shrugged. “It’s a family thing. Sometimes your father puts your semidead grandmother into a really bad place and is ashamed of it.”

“Yeah,” Barabas said. “We’ve all been there.”

“You two are a riot,” I told them. “I don’t think Dad will be teleporting, because teleporting carries risk. If a magic wave ends while he’s in transit, he’s dead, so his travel will take at least some time. If we time it right, I’ll open Mishmar, he’ll take off, and you’ll get a shot at Saiman. You’ll still have to go through my father’s people.”

“Not a problem,” Curran said. “Something that is a problem: Mishmar is on your father’s land. He’s strongest there. If he’s going to Mishmar, you need to get away before he gets there. How are you planning on doing that?”

“According to the Witch Oracle, on a flying horse.” Also someone’s head was involved and it was important. I wish I knew whose head.

“Kate,” Curran said. “You’re terrified of heights.”

Heights or my son dying on my father’s spear? Not even a choice. “Double excitement.”

“Going to borrow Eduardo’s father’s horse?” Barabas asked.

“No, Amal won’t let anyone but Bahir ride her. Julie talked about sightings of flying horses last week. I thought I’d tug on that and see what happens.”

“You’re not serious?” Curran frowned at me. “You don’t even know if those flying horses are rideable.”

“My father won’t expect a flying horse. The Witch Oracle saw me on one, so the least I can do is cross it off my list. I don’t have a lot of choices if I want to outrun my father. He can do many things, but last I checked he couldn’t fly.”

If Julie talked about it, she must have filed a report somewhere in the office. If there was one thing Julie was good at, it was keeping a record of everything odd she came across.

“So what will you do in Mishmar?” Curran asked casually.

I got up, kissed him, and went to get dressed.

• • •

WHEN I GOT to Cutting Edge, Peanut wasn’t there. This was getting ridiculous.

Inside, Ascanio greeted me with a salute and a bright smile. “Good morning, Alpha Sharrim.”

Why me? “Where is Julie?”

“Escaped half an hour ago.”

Argh.

I went to the larger filing cabinet and rifled through the files. “Where is the Weird Crap folder?”

“Derek has it.” Ascanio walked over to Derek’s desk, grabbed the folder, and handed it to me.

I flipped through it, looking through paper notes and newspaper clippings. This was the folder where we stuffed everything that came across our desks that was too odd even for us or had no explanation. Let’s see, tentacle monster in the sewer on Grimoire Street, ball of blue lightning, no, no, no . . . Here it was, a newspaper article with notes written in Julie’s firm hand:

Third report of a flying horse in the area. Horse is described as 15–17 hands tall and golden in color. Horse breeds of ancient Greece were mostly ponies: Skyros pony, 10 hands average, Thessalonian pony, 11 hands average. Weird.

I flipped the page back to the newspaper clipping.

Milton County.

Misdemeanors: Jeremiah B. Eakle and Chad L. Eakle, charges of public indecency and disorderly conduct while intoxicated.

That was it. No additional text, no explanation of the article. No notes. Were these the people who reported seeing the flying horse? How were they connected? I flipped through the rest of the folder. The notes said this was the third report, so where were the other two?

I looked at Ascanio. “Where’s the rest?”

He shrugged his shoulders, his face a picture of perfect innocence. “Julie was the one who filed it. I just work here. I have no idea why the Blond Harpy does anything.”

Argh.

I picked up the phone and called home. Maybe she went back.

No answer.

There was a time when that would’ve freaked me the hell out. Now I took it as a given. Julie, if she was home, wasn’t picking up. Now that I was calm and somewhat rational, I didn’t blame her. In her place, I wouldn’t answer either. We both knew an ugly conversation was coming. Sooner or later, I would track her down. If I wasn’t running out of time, I would’ve done that already.

I dialed Beau Clayton’s office.

No ringing, but lots of dry clicks. The magic must’ve knocked out the phone lines somewhere on the way to Milton County.

“Stay here,” I told Ascanio. “If Julie shows up, tell her that she and I need to talk and to be home at a decent time tonight. My decent, not hers. If Curran shows up, tell him I went to see Beau Clayton. Everybody else can take a number, I’ll deal with it later. If my father shows up, don’t talk to him.”

Ascanio dropped the innocent act. His eyes turned serious. “I want to come with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I never get to and your father tried to slap you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You need backup.”

He wasn’t wrong. Given that he was seventeen now, six feet tall, and able to control his aggression enough to think during a fight, I could do worse.