Page 8 of Equalizer (Sharps & Springfield #2)

Chapter 8

Owen

D abblers forget—magic always leaves a signature.” Arabella looked smug as she lifted her cup of hot chocolate and took a sip. A few days had passed, and she seemed none the worse for their recent adventure.

“You’ve found where Humphries is doing his surgery?” Calvin reached for a cookie. The bakery where they had agreed to meet had caught his eye a few days ago, and their goods were as tasty as they looked.

“We need to be sure,” Owen pressed.

Arabella fixed him with a look. “We’re sure. We’ve been keeping watch. Humphries and some others go in and out. Once in a while, a delivery carriage big enough to hold a body—or a coffin—pulls up and unloads. The sign says it’s a leather workshop, but no customers or employees ever come around. It’s in a shady neighborhood. And it reeks of dark magic.”

“I can attest to that firsthand,” Winston vouched. “Just driving by made me nauseous. I don’t think anyone with even a glimmer of power could stand to be anywhere near the location for long.”

Owen’s magic also picked up on the truth in Arabella’s report. “What about your coven? Will they help?”

“Yes. Humphries isn’t one of ours, and what he’s doing feeds the kind of fear that leads to witch hunts. He’s a threat to us all. Not to mention that the use of magic for his purposes is utterly abhorrent.”

“What kind of protections does his surgery location have? What about guards?” Calvin asked.

“If he has security, they’re inside. The magic deflects attention and the building has been glamoured to appear uninteresting, even ramshackle,” Arabella reported.

“I don’t doubt there are guards inside. Perhaps even some of the beneficiaries of the replacement parts. I would expect them to be co-opted in return for being repaired,” Winston added with distaste.

“Do they live there? If not, they have to come and go,” Calvin said.

“If it’s too dangerous to have someone watch the location, I can ask the ghosts,” Owen volunteered. “I should be able to contact them without tripping any alarms about using magic.”

“Someone has to be funding Humphries,” Calvin fretted. “The question is—who?”

“That’s a question for Louisa.” Owen knew that their Pinkerton friend could get the financial information. “It would be good to know who has a stake in the game. Because Humphries has to have a benefactor.”

“It’s likely to be one of the Mob families, although Luca Conti looked genuinely surprised,” Calvin said. “If one family gained the ability to put their disabled strongmen back on the job, it would be an advantage.”

“Sounds expensive—I’d think burly henchmen would be a dime a dozen,” Winston sniffed.

“Think about it—the Mob values absolute loyalty. That cuts both ways,” Owen said. “If they take good care of their people, those folks are completely trustworthy—and having magic involved in keeping the replacement part would also help.”

“Extreme, but I can see that,” Calvin admitted.

“The Mob covens keep to themselves,” Arabella said. “They’re secretive, even for witches. But I may have some contacts who can find out enough to narrow it down.”

“What about the Russo family? They’re vying with the Contis for the upper hand.” Calvin took another long sip and paused to savor the drink before setting down his cup.

“They’ve been the most visible, but that doesn’t always mean something. The real power could be staying out of the limelight,” Winston pointed out.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Arabella promised. “What’s the plan?”

Calvin and Owen exchanged a glance. “I’d like to see where Humphries has set up shop so we know how best to attack. Figured we would drive past today before we go back. Then we gather the troops, see who’s playing for our side, and determine the best way to shut down Humphries’s illegal surgery and capture him.”

“What’s to stop someone else from picking up where he left off?” Arabella asked.

The same thing had occurred to Owen as well. “That’s always the challenge. We didn’t know to look for the resurrectionists sooner, so they got a head start. Now, we’ll be able to watch for the signs and shut them off quicker. This job is always like swatting roaches. Kill one, ten more pop up. I guess it’s job security.” He gave a lopsided smile.

“You might be right,” Arabella agreed in a rueful tone. “In the meantime, I’ll do some more digging and let you know what I come up with.”

They thanked Arabella and took their leave, heading back to the carriage, but didn’t speak until they were inside the vehicle’s wardings.

“I take it you wish to get a look at Humphries’s operatory?” Winston asked before he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Seems to be the next step,” Owen replied. “Since I suspect we’re going to end up there sooner rather than later.”

“Very well. I’ll scan for magical traps and protections and do my best to keep us tightly shielded. You might want to stay alert for more ghosts than usual,” Winston told Owen. “I have a suspicion that for all of Humphries’s successes, he’s probably also had a deadly learning curve.”

The carriage left the stable and moved into the crowded Chicago streets, threading its way among delivery wagons and coaches. They quickly left the more prosperous areas and headed into a warehouse district that was much less traveled and looked hard used.

Most of the buildings bore faded signs, but there was no way to tell whether those enterprises were still active or merely marked where they used to do business. Owen guessed that most were empty and disused or had new squatters eager to avoid notice.

A few sheets of newspaper blew across the empty street. Compared to Chicago’s vibrant downtown, it was hard to imagine this ghost town was part of the same city.

“Want to bet the cops don’t make regular patrols in this area?” Owen looked out the carriage window, glad they weren’t on foot despite their advantages with weapons and magic.

“Probably not. If the other businesses are legit, they sure don’t look prosperous, or they aren’t spending their money to impress the neighbors,” Calvin agreed.

Their coach was warded, and they all had protective amulets. Winston sat in the driver’s seat, and his witch senses and magic swept the area around them as discreetly as possible to avoid raising alarms.

Not many people were in sight. That wasn’t surprising for an area that didn’t cater to retail traffic, but it added to the aura of disuse and abandonment.

“I wonder how many other illegal enterprises are in the other buildings,” Owen mused.

“Probably plenty. Which means people mind their business and aren’t likely to report something odd to the police,” Calvin agreed.

“No obvious security guards.”

“If people could see them, they’d wonder what needs guarding. Kinda defeats the purpose of being inconspicuous,” Calvin pointed out.

Owen opened his senses to the spirits. He could see them like a translucent overlay, hidden figures who remained connected to this place long after their deaths.

Young boys were probably cutpurses or pickpockets. The women look like streetwalkers. The older toughs might have been Mob, gang members, or common thieves. A couple of them look like they blundered into the wrong neighborhood and didn’t make it home.

“I think I caught a glimpse of some guards loitering in a few doorways.” Calvin kept his revolver on his lap, as did Owen, just in case. “I can’t imagine what else they’d be doing here.”

“Anyone doing business here probably needs plenty of guards,” Owen replied. “I’ll be interested to see what Winston picks up. My magic isn’t nearly as powerful as his, and I can sense the wardings. There’s a very strong sense of being unwelcome. I know Winston has spells on the horses, but I’m honestly surprised that the ambient magic isn’t making them balk.”

They didn’t slow down, keeping an even speed as if they were hapless travelers who took a wrong turn.

The closer they got to Humphries’s building, the more ghosts Owen glimpsed. They look confused like they don’t know how they got here. Mostly teens to thirties—makes sense for prime bodies. All male, which would go with replacing limbs for their enforcers.

Owen’s heart went out to the ghosts who looked so lost. Bad enough that they were murdered, but they’ve found no rest on the other side.

Back in his Army days, Owen had heard the belief that people who lost a limb couldn’t move on to the afterlife without a complete body. That had always seemed ridiculous to him. Now, he hoped more than ever that wasn’t true.

“There’s a large black delivery carriage beside Humphries’s building,” Calvin noted. “Plenty of room for a body in there.”

“The building has enough space for a big generator to create the electricity he needs,” Owen observed. “And if the other buildings are largely deserted, there are fewer people to notice odd smells and lights.”

They didn’t linger, not wanting to call attention to themselves. Owen breathed in relief when they returned to more trafficked areas and came into sight of their Pullman car.

“Go in and get warm,” Winston told them when they got back to the train station. “I’ll return the carriage and start on dinner.”

They headed for the Pullman, but Owen came to a dead stop a few feet away and threw his arm out to stop Calvin. “Someone left us a present.”

A severed hand lay on the platform in front of the Pullman’s door.

“I guess Humphries figured out we weren’t professors.” Calvin wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Or his witch saw through the spells,” Owen remarked. The body part wasn’t fresh, and despite the cool day, it stank.

“Do you think Arabella could make anything from it?” Calvin asked.

“I’m not traveling with that.” Owen shivered and looked around at the thankfully empty section of platform. He found a metal trash can, which he used to scoop up the putrid hand. Owen carried the can to a different siding, stuffed newspapers on top of the contents, and dropped a lit match, sending it up in flames.

“Message received,” he said when he returned to Calvin. “Question is—who sent it?”

Since it came without packaging, Calvin’s touch magic couldn’t offer clues.

Winston bustled in after they had gotten settled in the parlor, and they told him about the severed hand.

“What did you make of the warehouse?” Owen asked. “I did pick up on some ghosts, and I know there was strong magic in play, but I’m sure you could sense more than I did.”

Winston nodded. “Very much so. The warehouse is heavily warded, with protection spells and distraction magic so people simply don’t notice it. That takes some high-level witchery, so Humphries has skilled practitioners helping him. We’ll need to consider that in any plan of attack.”

“I was afraid of that,” Calvin said. “What else did you sense?”

“I’m wondering how the electricity Humphries uses to awaken a body part vies with the magic that keeps the limb alive,” Winston said. “I’m guessing that’s where the technology witches come in, but there’s an inherent conflict between the magic and electricity that poses a big challenge.”

Owen went to check the telegraph tape that recorded any missed messages in Morse code on a long streamer of paper.

“Got a message from Louisa,” he told Calvin. “Said she’ll be by this evening.”

“Good. I still feel like we’re missing important pieces.”

A sudden, blinding pain stabbed through Owen’s head. He knew Calvin was calling his name, but all Owen could do was put his hands to his temples and slump to the floor.

The train car seemed to disappear, and in its place, Owen found himself back at the restaurant where they had met with Luca Conti. But instead of Conti, Owen only saw the black-clad strega , and recognized the woman as Maria Bianchi, the Conti-Bianchi Family matriarch—and top witch.

“A war is coming. No good can come of it. I do not want my family dragged down. I can keep them from joining the conflict. I will try to rally the covens of the other families, but I can’t guarantee they will also abstain. Luca is doing what he can to dissuade the others.” The old woman’s raspy voice sounded as clearly in his mind as if she stood beside him.

“Why are you helping us?”

“What that man is doing is unholy. It defiles the dead and the living. Act soon. The longer this goes on, the more likely that other families will be persuaded to join in the abomination. I cannot hold the covens together for long.”

With that, the vision ended. Owen found himself lying on the floor, gasping for breath, held in Calvin’s arms.

“Owen? Thank God. Are you okay?” For all that Calvin was a seasoned agent, he sounded completely panicked.

Owen groaned. The vision left behind a splitting headache. Before he could say anything, Winston hurried in with a pot of tea and a mug.

“You’re awake and alive. Good to see. When you can sit up, I brought tea—and willow bark.”

“It was a vision,” Owen managed. “Sent by Maria Bianchi. A warning—and an offer to help.”

“You can tell us more once you drink the tea. Magic like that leaves a nasty headache,” Winston said.

“Magic? Calvin echoed. “I thought the Pullman car was spelled against any outside powers.”

“I hadn’t anticipated a witch of that strength sending a vision. Since she’s technically an ally, the warding may have permitted the intrusion. I assure you, I’ll find a way to close that loophole as soon as I can,” Winston replied.

Calvin helped Owen sit and held the teacup for him to drink. “Your hands are shaking too badly—you’ll have it all over you.”

Owen sipped the hot beverage, willing the jitters to stop. “Maria Bianchi had a business proposition.” The others listened as he relayed what the strega had told him.

“That’s an alliance I didn’t anticipate, but I won’t turn it down,” Calvin replied when he ended his recap.

“I’m surprised but not shocked,” Winston said. “The Mob stregas have to be strategic. Mafia is their business, and their families are like rival companies.”

“We need to move quickly while she can hold the agreement together,” Owen said. “If the Mob covens side against us, I don’t know if we’re strong enough, even with our allies, to stop Humphries and his witches.”

Calvin helped Owen to a seat on the couch as Winston refilled his cup and returned a few minutes later with a tray of cookies.

“Eat. No one plans a war on an empty stomach,” Winston told them.

Owen thanked him, and Calvin poured more tea. “Talk to me,” Calvin said. “What are you thinking?”

“I feel like things are coming to a head, and we’re a step behind,” Owen admitted. “We’re missing some information, and we’re running out of time.”

“Maybe more pieces will fall into place when we meet with Louisa tonight,” Calvin said.

“I had better get a start on dinner then.” Winston headed back to the kitchen.

“Feeling better?” Calvin asked as Owen finished his second cup.

“Less disoriented. Her vision packed a punch. That’s a scary-powerful witch.”

“Who, at least for the moment, is on our side. I’ll count that as a win,” Calvin pointed out.

They settled in with the day’s newspapers, scanning for any information that might mean more than it seemed on the surface. Soon, the aromas from the kitchen made Owen’s stomach growl.

Winston called them to the table and served a perfectly braised chicken, along with fingerling potatoes, green beans, and cookies for dessert.

“Excellent, as always,” Calvin said, and Winston beamed.

“How did we get so lucky? He can shoot, hex, and cook,” Owen teased.

“An army moves on its stomach, and so do secret agents,” Winston replied, clearly pleased at the praise.

At seven, a knock came at the door, and Winston brought Louisa to meet with them in the parlor.

“Coffee?” he asked.

She looked frazzled and relieved. “Yes, please. Hot and strong. It’s been quite a day.”

They took their seats, and Louisa removed her hat. “First, tell me what you’ve found out.”

Calvin and Owen took turns catching her up on their latest findings. Louisa listened intently and nodded as they spoke. Winston brought coffee and a plate of cookies.

“All of that tracks with what I’m learning,” she said when they finished.

“What’s your news?” Owen refilled his cup.

“I’ve found the money trail. Arnold Miller, the big meat packer entrepreneur, is funding Humphries,” Louisa told them.

“Meat packer? God. If I think too much about that, I’ll be sick,” Owen said.

“You know, that makes sense. A guy like that is used to slaughterhouses. Not much probably turns his stomach. He’s up to his hips in pig pieces all day long,” Calvin ventured.

“If I throw up, I’m aiming at you,” Owen warned.

Calvin grinned. “No, you won’t. Winston would make you clean it up and probably hex you for sullying the carpet.”

“I’m still digging, looking for direct ties between Miller and Humphries. Want to bet he either owns the building you saw tonight or rents it?” Louisa went on.

“Sounds logical.” Calvin agreed. “He might have owned the slaughterhouse where we think Humphries’s necromancer sicced the dead cows on us.” Calvin and Owen took turns providing a shortened version of the attack to catch her up on the action.

“Back to the meat packer,” Owen said. “Slaughterhouses use a lot of saws and knives. People probably lose fingers and hands fairly often. Being able to put them back together would benefit the company.”

Calvin frowned. “Sounds like expensive treatment for low-paid workers.”

“If Humphries can reuse parts from dead bodies, there’s an ongoing supply,” Owen answered. “And think of the loyalty. Loyal workers don’t go on strike.”

After the deadly Homestead Strike in Pittsburgh several years before, the idea of protesting workers walking off the job struck terror in the hearts of factory owners.

“If the people Humphries fixes are bespelled by him in some way, that also makes them much less likely—or able—to protest,” Louisa pointed out. “The other good news is that we’ve got support from some nearby Pinkerton agents and Pearl’s gang. So don’t start any fights without us.”

“That should be interesting.” Calvin chuckled. “Pinkertons and outlaws on the same side.”

“We also have Arabella’s coven—and maybe some of their friends,” Owen said. “And now we know Maria Bianchi and her coven won’t take Humphries’s side, and neither will the other Mob covens—for now. Not a bad coalition. If the other Mob families stay out of it, we could have a chance.”

“The families all have strongmen and stregas . There could definitely be advantages for a crime syndicate to being able to fix their injured guards,” Calvin pointed out. “And bosses won’t all share the same ethical qualms Maria Bianchi has.”

“There’s talk of friction between the Conti-Bianchi family and the Russo-Lombardi family,” Louisa said. “The Contis have a strong hold, but the Russo-Lombardis are aggressive. The law enforcement folks I’ve talked with would prefer to see the Contis stay at the top of the heap. They’re killers, but not psychopaths.” She winced. “Or at least, not as bad.”

“I get it,” Owen said. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. If the Contis can be reasoned with and aren’t out to burn down the city, it’s better than other alternatives.”

Owen knew working with the Mob was part of life in Chicago. Organized crime was so deeply embedded in everyday affairs that eliminating it would probably take more force than even the US Army could muster. The Mob gained loyalty from the neighborhoods it controlled through beneficence programs for the residents, helping with food, rent, and medical expenses. Each Mob family protected their own turf, and in return, the residents didn’t side with the cops.

Since the City of Chicago had yet to offer comparable help to shift loyalties, Owen didn’t imagine that scenario would change anytime soon.

“Does it follow that the Russo-Lombardis are supportive of Humphries?” Calvin asked.

“I’m trying to find out, but that’s my working theory,” Louisa said. “And the other families have closer ties with one side or the other, so they’re sitting it out until someone throws down the gauntlet.”

“Which side is stronger?” Owen set his cup aside.

“Before Humphries entered the equation, the Contis,” Louisa said. “But with Humphries and his replacement parts and his witch, that could change.”

Calvin swore under his breath. “Are you saying the balance of power in Chicago’s underworld hangs on this case? How come we never get the easy ones?”

Louisa smiled and patted him on the arm. “Because the home office knows you’re just that good.” She finished her tea and stood. “I need to be off, but I didn’t want to wait to share the news. I’ll be in touch.”

Winston walked her to her coach, where her bodyguard/driver waited, and Owen heard the hoofbeats fade as they drove away.

“No pressure, huh?” Calvin joked with grim humor.

“None at all.”

Winston came back in and dusted his hands. “Well, that was informative. Nothing like raising the stakes to make it interesting.”

Owen gave him a dour look. “Interesting isn’t the word I would have picked.”

After Louisa left, Calvin and Owen spent an hour working crossword puzzles from the day’s newspapers, passing the time in companionable silence, seated close enough for their knees to brush.

Late in the evening, Winston came into the parlor with an envelope. “A messenger just brought this for Owen.” He handed off the letter.

Owen frowned when he saw the handwriting. “It’s from Steven,” he said, although there was no other name on the outside.

He opened the sealed envelope and made sure to hold the pages so Calvin could see. Owen harbored no romantic feelings for his old flame but knew that Calvin held a twinge of understandable jealousy.

“We’ve had more close calls, and I’m sure there’s a saboteur among us,” Owen read out loud. “I’ve been spending more time in the stables to observe and overhear the workers talk. If I’m in a stall, they often don’t realize I’m there.

“There’s a guy, Jed Smith, who always seems to be close enough to see what’s going on whenever something happens,” Owen continued. “I can’t prove he’s behind the accidents, but you were always the one who told me to trust my intuition. He’s got the night off, and I’m going to follow him. It might be nothing, but come by tomorrow morning, and I’ll fill you in. I promise to be careful. Steven.”

“Dammit!” Owen muttered, nearly crumpling the letter in frustration. “I told him not to play detective on his own.”

“Whatever he was going to do, he’s already doing it,” Calvin said. “You’re too late to stop him, and there’s no telling when he’ll get back. Cross your fingers and go see him tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll take precautions.”

“Goddamn cowboy,” Owen swore. He knew Calvin understood that worry lay behind his anger. Steven had proven to still be a friend, and for the sake of their shared past, Owen wished him well and wanted him to be safe.

Did he feel he still needed to prove something to me after all this time? I don’t want him to put himself in danger to impress me.

“How about if I read today’s installment of the adventure story in The Times aloud for us?” Calvin suggested as Winston left the room, only to return minutes later with a tray that held a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Take your mind off things before we go to bed. Then you can go first thing in the morning while Winston checks back with Arabella, and I stop at the library.”

Owen couldn’t fault Calvin’s logic, although he couldn’t silence his worry. He appreciated his partner’s efforts to distract him, but even the gripping serialized story didn’t completely hold his attention. If Calvin noticed, he didn’t comment.

That night, they lay close together in bed, content to hold each other. Owen’s mood was off, and sex was far from his mind. Calvin seemed to read him as well as he usually did and kept him close.

“I want to wrap up this case and get out of Chicago,” Owen confided. “I haven’t had another vision or a ghostly warning, but my intuition is telling me to be more careful than usual.”

“We are being cautious,” Calvin said. “And once we solve the problem, we can leave the city behind. I’m hoping our next case is somewhere a little less complicated.”

Owen rested his head on Calvin’s shoulder, taking comfort in the warmth of his body and the faint trace of his aftershave. “I’m okay as long as we’re together, no matter where they send us.”

Calvin pressed a kiss to his temple. “Absolutely. Now try to get some rest. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Owen murmured, holding on tight.

“Be careful.” Calvin kissed Owen goodbye.

“I always am,” Calvin replied with a jaunty salute. “You can fill me in on Steven’s news over lunch.”

Owen’s stomach still felt unsettled. He had toast and tea for breakfast, something Winston hadn’t overlooked. Owen assured Winston that his stomach was only mildly upset. The look Winston gave him suggested that their witchy valet suspected more lay behind his reaction, but he didn’t press the issue.

When Owen arrived at the Wild West show fairgrounds, he saw several police carriages. Concerned there had been another incident, Owen strode up to the gate and brandished his badge.

“What’s the problem, officer?”

The cop read his ID and grimaced when he realized a fed was intruding. “Got another murder. This place has the worst luck.”

“What happened?”

“Why does the Secret Service care?”

Owen bristled. “Government business. Fill me in.”

Before the cop could answer, Owen heard a familiar voice.

“Oh, thank God you’re here. I didn’t know how to contact you.” Harry, his escort from Owen’s first visit, ran up, ignoring the cop. Harry’s eyes were red, and he was clearly distraught.

“What’s going on? Where’s Steven?” Owen suddenly feared the worst.

“Steven’s dead.” Harry looked like he might burst into tears.

“Dead?” Owen reeled, taking a half-step backward. “What happened?”

When Harry wasn’t able to answer, Owen turned the full fury of a federal agent on the cop. “Officer. I want details, or I’ll be in your boss’s office to yank your badge. Now, dammit.”

Anger glinted in the cop’s eyes at being outranked, but he kept his temper. “The victim was found outside the main gates this morning, but the body had been dead several hours by then. Bled to death.”

“Gunshot? Stab wound?” Owen slipped into the cold efficiency of his role to temper his reaction, although he wanted to join Harry in weeping.

“Not exactly. The body was missing a hand and a foot. They weren’t found with the body, and he clearly bled out somewhere else,” the cop reported with the dispassionate tone of someone who hadn’t known the person, hadn’t been their friend and one-time lover.

Owen’s stomach lurched. “Was there anything with the body? A note of some kind from the murderer?”

The cop shook his head. “No. You were expecting something?”

“Sometimes crazy people make a statement,” Owen replied as his mind spun. Steven had tracked someone he thought might lead them to Humphries. Clearly, Humphries had found him—and taken vengeance.

“Not this time. Any other questions? I’ve got a mess to clean up,” the cop snapped.

Owen shook his head, and the cop strode off.

Harry returned. “It’s terrible,” he sobbed. “Who would want to kill Steven? He was a good guy.”

“Yeah, he was,” Owen said quietly. “Is anyone else missing? Steven mentioned a guy named Jed.”

“It’s still early. Not everyone works mornings,” Harry replied. “Jed’s one of the locals. I haven’t seen him today. You think someone here killed Steven?”

Owen weighed his answer. He didn’t want to put Harry in jeopardy by knowing too much, but he burned with the desire to avenge Steven’s death. Right now, fury carried him forward. Later, there would be time for grief.

“Not exactly,” Owen hedged. “But if any employees suddenly stop coming to work, it’s suspicious. They might have seen or heard something.”

“I’ll let the boss know if that happens,” Harry said. “Why would anyone do such a horrible thing?”

“Because some people are sick,” Owen muttered, as close to the truth as he could manage. “Will the show make arrangements for burial?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “The police took the body. No telling when we’ll hear back. And we’re not from Chicago…Steven was from out West, but I don’t think he had family.”

“Broken Bow, Oklahoma.” Owen pulled the place from memory. He felt numb. “No family.” He handed Harry his card. “If the show won’t cover his burial, contact me, and I will.”

Owen felt a sudden lurch as a vision overtook him. He felt surprise, then terror, and then nothing and knew Calvin was in trouble. His panic intensified when he couldn’t re-establish the usually constant vague awareness of his partner that Owen had come to take for granted.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked.

“No. I’ve got to go.” Owen ran back to his hired coach, ignoring the cop’s judgmental glare.

“Main public library,” he told the driver. “Fast as you can—someone’s life is in danger.”

Please be safe, Calvin. I never should have let you go alone. But Owen knew that as protective of each other as he and Calvin were, their jobs as government agents meant they couldn’t go everywhere together. Owen had trusted in Winston’s amulets for protection, but he feared that the madman who had killed Steven might have found a way around the magic.

“Wait for me,” Owen snapped at the driver, jumping out when the wheels had barely stopped turning. He hurried up to the front desk and managed a strained smile for the librarian.

“I’m looking for a man who would have come to view some of the special collections earlier this morning.” Owen gave Calvin’s description. “Have you seen him?”

She nodded. “Yes, but you’ve just missed him, I’m afraid. He wasn’t feeling well, and a couple of men helped him to a coach about half an hour ago. I’m sorry.”

Once again, Owen searched but his psychic connection failed to find Calvin. Please don’t be dead. Please, please don’t be dead.

Fury mingled with fear, and the need for vengeance kept Owen on his feet.

Humphries has Calvin.