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“We haven’t been able to prove or disprove that the Willard brothers and their sister were descended from Vincent Lee Vance,” Eugenie said. “But we’ve turned up a few interesting details, one of which is that the twins attended a private boarding school that claimed to have a unique method for educating high-talent children with symptoms of psychic instability.”

“Interesting.” Leona put the phone on speaker and set the device on the kitchen counter, freeing her hands so that she could spoon freshly ground coffee into the coffeemaker.

She and Roxy were alone in the apartment. They had just finished a light lunch of cheese-and-pickle sandwiches, and she was getting ready to hit the grocery store to stock up. When you had a man around the place, you had to make sure there was food on hand.

A man around the place. She wasn’t clear on the definition of the phrase. Like relationship , it was a frustratingly vague concept, at least when applied to Oliver and herself. But whatever was going on between them was vastly different from what she had experienced with Matt Fullerton or his predecessors. No question about it, her days as a free spirit were over. For now.

They had returned from Lost Creek the day before yesterday, and even though Oliver had not officially moved in, their lives together had begun to take on a domestic routine. After breakfast, he had left for his office at the museum. He had called an hour ago to let her know that he had heard from his contact in the Bureau, who had informed him they were still actively investigating the scene in Lost Creek. As of yet, no one had been arrested.

“Anything else on the Willard brothers?” Leona asked.

“Some bits and pieces,” Charlotte said. “Cyrus tried to erase all traces of his branch of the family tree, too, but he was not nearly as thorough as his brother. We were able to track down the sister, Agnes Willard. The poor thing was committed to an asylum at an early age because of severe psychic instability. She was deemed to be a risk to herself and others. Turns out she died a few months ago.”

“All of which goes a long way toward explaining why the Willard brothers tried to make their ancestry records disappear,” Eugenie added. “Just the rumor of psychic instability severe enough to require permanent hospitalization is enough to destroy a family. In any event, Nigel and Cyrus managed to get through college and launch careers as scientific researchers. But they apparently had a falling-out at some point, and for all intents and purposes, Cyrus disappeared.”

“That’s probably when he went to Lost Creek, found Vance’s notebook, and eventually the Vortex machine,” Leona said.

“There’s one more item of interest,” Eugenie added. “Nigel appears to have died without issue. But we’re not sure about Cyrus. We’re looking into the possibility that he may have had offspring.”

“Thanks,” Leona said. “Keep me informed, okay?”

“Will do.” Eugenie switched into her Mom voice. “Will you be seeing your new friend, Oliver, again?”

“Yes,” Leona said, bracing herself for the inquisition. “As a matter of fact, he’ll be here for dinner tonight.” There was no need to add that he would be spending the night.

“Dinner?” Eugenie’s voice sharpened. “At your apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds lovely. As it happens, Charlotte and I are free tonight. We could join you. We’d love to meet Mr. Rancourt.”

Panic struck Leona. It was too soon. She needed more time to get used to the idea of living with Oliver. Time to make sure that what they had was going to last.

“Well—” she began.

“I’ll bring my famous lasagna,” Eugenie said.

“I’ll bring the wine,” Charlotte added.

I’m doomed, Leona thought. It was going to be Meet the Parents Night. She had to warn Oliver.

Mercifully, the security system buzzed, announcing a caller at the lobby door.

“Sorry, Moms, gotta run. There’s someone at the downstairs door.”

“Who?” Eugenie demanded.

“I don’t know. Bye.”

“Leona, make sure you know who is on the other side of that door before you open it,” Charlotte said.

Leona groaned. “I’m not an idiot, Mom.” She rezzed the button that activated the video monitor. A familiar face appeared. For a beat she was off-balance. Bewildered. “It’s okay, I recognize him. Bye.”

She ended the phone call and rezzed the audio on the monitor. “What are you doing here, Matt?”

Matt Fullerton glared at the street-level call box screen with the expression of a desperate man. Not a typical look for him.

“Let me in, Leona,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to you right now. There’s been an accident in the Underworld directly beneath the Antiquarian Society mansion. Lives are at stake.”

“That’s horrible.” Leona stared at the screen, stunned. “But the Guild has experts who deal with situations like that. Why do you need me?”

“Because this incident involves artifacts of unknown power—a room full of AUPs, in fact. We don’t know which object rezzed the problem. Even if we did, none of us has the talent to de-rez it. There may be other people who can handle this, but I don’t know of anyone except you, and time is running out.”