"I have a lot of faith, I just don't want you getting in-volved in something that you'll regret."

He made a rude gesture out the window at the person behind us who was yelling at him, turning to face the front. "Quand les poules auront des dents."

"Huh?"

He put his foot on the gas. I clutched Jim as we were thrown backwards. "It means when female chickens have teeth. It is your phrase for today, but it also expresses what I think of your so foolish worry."

Evidently I was forgiven if he was giving me another phrase to wield during my time in France. I smiled and, while we drove to the Latin Quarter, gave him the latest on what had been happening since I last saw him.

"It is good you called me. I will watch with eyes most vigilant to be sure the police do not see you," Rene told me as I dragged an unwilling Jim out of a pet shop we'd stopped at to get a brush. Jim decided any store that had big open bins of dog cookies was more or less heaven, and had to be forcibly convinced to vacate the premises. "We will serve the reconnaissance on the Rue Ebullitions sur les Fesses de Diable. If we see the police,hein, we will leave. If not, I will drop you off and park down the street, yes?"

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed. And that's exactly what we did—Rene drove up and down Amelie's street a cou-ple of time, but we didn't see any police cars, or strange men across from her shop who appeared to be reading newspapers, or women stopped in front fussing with a baby carriage, or any of the other many ruses cops take when on stakeout. There were a lot of people on the street, but none of them were loitering. It was nearing midday, and people were hurrying along to the shops or for an early lunch. Rene let me out about a block away, following slowly behind as I strolled up and down the street, watching for anyone who might be interested in me.

On my third stroll past Amelie's shop, he gave me the all-clear symbol and zoomed off to our rendezvous place a couple of blocks away.

"Operation Amelie is go," I told Jim quietly as I turned on my heel and headed back for Le Grimoire Toxique. As I approached the door to the shop I did a final scan of the street, but no one was paying the least amount of atten-tion to us. "Whew. Looks like for once luck is with us."

I pushed the door open and walked right into Inspec-tor Proust. 16

"Pardon me … Oh, holymerde" I said, getting a good look at whom I had careened into. For a moment I just stood in stunned surprise; then my fight or flight instincts kicked in and I turned to run.

Inspector Proust's hand clamped down on my arm, stopping me dead in the door. "Mile. Grey, what a pleas-ant surprise. I was just having a little chat with Mme. Merllain about you. Madame declared that she had no idea of when you might stop by her shop, and yet here you are. How very timely your visit is."

My heart sank to my shoes (again) as I turned back to face him, flexing my arm experimentally. His grip wasn't painful, but it was extremely solid. There was no way I could get away from him unless I ordered Jim to attack, and I hesitated doing that, not only because it wouldn't look good for Amelie, but also because despite the fact that he wanted me in jail, I kind of liked Inspector Proust. At the very least, he was honest with me.

"Amelie was telling the truth," I said, briefly allowing my eyes to meet hers as she stood looking very worried behind Inspector Proust. "She knows nothing about my plans. I suppose you want to have a chat with me, too."

"That would be most agreeable," he said, gesturing to-ward the door with his free hand.

Somehow I doubted ifagreeable would be a descrip-tion that I would use. I shot a warning look to Jim as we left the store. It raised its eyebrows but kept silent.

"I'm innocent, you know," I said in a conversational tone as Inspector Proust walked me down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of where Rene was waiting for us. I figured I had a minute at best before he marched me into official custody. Now was as good a time as any to fill him in on a few facts. "I didn't kill the Venediger any more than I killed Mme. Deauxville, and you yourself admitted I didn't kill her. I do, however, know who did kill both of them, and I'm in the process of gathering proof you can use to convict the murderer."

"It is the job of the police to gather proof, mademoi-selle, not you. I will be glad, it is true, to hear your thoughts on the matter. I am most interested in what you have to say about your adventures at M. Camus's house." He cocked his head as he glanced at me. "It was you who set fire to the gazebo, was it not?"

"Yes, but that was an accident, I didn't mean for it to happen. I was just a little careless with… uh… matches." I pulled on my arm. He didn't loosen his hold at all, just kept walking me down the street, Jim trailing behind us. I chewed on my lip for a moment, remember-ing what Jim had said earlier. Of all the powers a Guardian had, there was only one that could do me any good in this situation. If I could figure out how to do a mind push on Inspector Proust, I might be able to get away from him and make it back to Rene. I glanced at In-spector Proust from the corner of my eye. He lifted his free hand and gestured to someone, probably his driver parked down the street. It was now or never. "You want to let me go, don't you?"

He looked at me, clearly startled by my statement. "I beg your pardon?"

I curled my fingers into fists and opened the door in my head, ignoring the embers of Drake's fire that always seemed to be there, instead picturing Inspector Proust re-leasing my arm. "You want to let me go. You don't want to hold on to me. You know I'm innocent, so there is no reason why I should not just walk away."

His brown eyes looked a bit wary. "Mademoiselle, are you unwell?"

I took a deep breath, held the mental picture of In-spector Proust releasing me, and infusing my words with as much of my will as I could muster, said, "Let… me… go."

Something gave, a barrier that was there, then was gone, and with its absence the pressure of Inspector Proust's hand on my arm also disappeared. I looked down, surprised the mind push worked. He wasn't hold-ing on to me. I took a step away, glancing up at him. His eyes were a bit flat, as if he were thinking some deep thoughts. Ahead of me, a car approached. I took a few more steps away from Inspector Proust. He didn't even blink.

"It works," I breathed as I yanked on Jim's leash. I didn't have to yank twice. As the unmarked police car zoomed up and stopped next to Inspector Proust, we walked away quickly, half expecting either the Inspector or his driver to yell after us, but neither did. The driver must not have realized his boss had me in custody. "Hot damn, it works! I can mind push! Now this is a skill I can use. No more speeding tickets, no more waiting for a table in a restaurant, at last, at long last, something prac-tical!"