"I do not think you killed Mme. Deauxville," Inspec-tor Proust said suddenly. "I have examined your move-ments most stringently, and I do not believe you would have had the time to murder her and hang her between the time you arrived and when the police descended."

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until he said that. I let it out, relaxing against the back of the bench, more than a little surprised to find he believed me inno-cent of the murder. "That's not an admission that you be-lieve I'm telling the truth, but I'll take it."

"However, I have not ruled out the possibility that you are working in cooperation with the person who did mur-der her," Proust added.

Jim made a noise that sounded strangely like it was a laugh. I tugged on the leash as a warning. "Well, hel… er … heck. I don't suppose you'd care to just take my word for it that I didn't?"

"I would prefer proof absolute," he said in a careful neutral tone.

I sighed. "I'd give it to you if I had it."

He continued to watch the river for a few minutes. "What did you find in the circle during your visit to Mme. Deauxville's apartment?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked almost disinterested, as if he were simply passing the time talking about something innocuous, like the weather. Now I had to lie, or else he'd think I was stark, staring mad. "Not much. There was salt in it as well as ash."

He nodded, waiting for me to go on. I fidgeted, trying to pick out things I could safely tell him. "Whoever drew the circle followed the formula for summoning Ashtaroth, a demon lord."

"A demon lord, how very unusual." If his voice were any more bland, it would be tapioca. "Why would some-one wish to do that?"

"You got me," I answered, giving a little shrug of my own. It wasn't nearly as effective as his, but it felt good nonetheless.

"No, I do not have you, but I could if I feel strongly enough that you are not being entirely honest with me."

I glanced at him again to see if he was joking. Serious brown eyes looked back at me.

"Oh. Uh…"

"For someone who is new to Paris, you seem to have made quite an entrance in the occult underground society that is so popular in the Latin Quarter."

Oh, lord, had he seen me playing kissy-face with Drake in G & T?

"One might almost say you were comfortable in such a society, as if you were expected."

"I didn't know a soul here until I arrived," I said hon-estly. I chanced another glance at him. His left eyebrow was cocked in outright disbelief.

"If that is so, I would be forced to say that you have made yourself familiar with certain individuals excep-tionally quickly."

Hehad seen Drake and me kissing! Damn. "Um …"

Proust flicked his cigarette to the pavement, grinding it out with his heel as he stood up. "A word of advice, if you will permit it, mademoiselle."

"Whatever turns your crank," I said as I stood up, too.

"It is an English poet, I think, who said that all that glitters is not gold. Me, I say that which looks innocent is often the most corrupted."

With those parting words, Inspector Proust patted Jim on the head and strolled off down the cobblestone street toward Mme. Deauxville's house.

"Well, how do you like that? Was he talking about me, do you think? Or something else? And if so, who? Or what?"

"How would I know? I'm just a homeless stray no one wanted that you so kindly took in," Jim answered. "He petted me, you'll notice. You could do more of that. Wouldn't hurt you any."

I made a face. "May I remind you that you're a demon, not a dog, and it is commonly held that those things that we mortals find enjoyable—like petting—are loathsome to demons?"

"All I said was that you could do more of it," Jim said with great dignity, lumbering over to pee on a nearby trash can.

I thought about what I needed to do next. Even though Inspector Proust said I was off the hook for the actual murder, it was obvious he thought I was involved some-how, which was not going to get me my passport back. I still needed to find out who drew that circle, and although I had a clue in the name of the demon that was present, it wasn't enough to give me the answer.

"I bet Drake knows, the rat fink."

"I thought he was a wyvern."

I turned to Jim, patted it on the head, and even gave its ears a quick fondle. "Stop groaning, people will hear you."

"Dogs groan when you rub their ears," Jim said with a sour look.

I grabbed the leash and headed toward the Pont Marie.

'True, but they don't mumble 'Oh, yeah, mama, that's the spot right there!' while they're doing it. Any ideas on where in Paris a wyvern would be likely to keep his lair?"

"Phone book," Jim said.

I shot it a look. "That's just stupid. Drake is a power-ful dragon, a wyvern, an immortal. He wouldn't be in a phone book like normal people."

"Just because you're immortal doesn't mean you don't want people to call you," Jim pointed out.

"Fine, I'll look, but it's a waste of time," I grumbled as I changed course to stop by a pay phone. "You could be trying to help me by thinking of all the likely spots that a dragon might… Well, I'll be damned."

"Told you," Jim said smugly as I stared down at the phone book page. There was Drake's name, big as life.

"I amso in over my head," I said with a sigh as I wrote down the address. I toyed with the thought of simply call-ing him up, but that would take the surprise out of me showing up on his doorstep demanding my aquamanile. Not that he was going to give it to me if I just asked …

"Inspector Proust mentioned Amelie. I wonder if I should talk to her. If he thought she was someone impor-tant, maybe she can shed a little light on the murder, or at least who might be likely to call up Bafamal. Or I could go straight to Drake's and try to sneak in. Or I could swing by the G & T and see if Ophelia and Perdita might be there."

"Who?"

"They're sisters, Wiccan sisters. I met them at G & T."

"Oh. Or—and this is a much better plan—you could take me to lunch and feed me."

"You just had breakfast," I said absently, trying to think what would be the logical next step. The problem was, logic didn't seem to be on speaking terms with me anymore.