“Again.”

The beast rammed the wall ahead. The view from its camera turned, shaking. The tunnel sagged. The weight of the badger had strained the connection between the wall and the semi-rigid metal duct running to the dryers. A narrow gap formed between the duct and the length of the dryer vent.

“Open the hole,” Cornelius intoned. The ferrets hooked their claws into the gap.

Rogan watched, an odd expression on his face.

Three minutes later Loki, the lighter ferret, squirmed out of the hole and pulled off the clamp, disconnecting the duct.

Rogan lifted his cell to his ear and said quietly, “Margaret? Look into putting pressure sensors into our dryer vents . . . Yes. Dryer vents.”

Augustine was typing something on his phone, his face unreadable. Serves you right.

The burglars dashed into the house, navigating the vast mansion and following commands as Cornelius patiently talked them through their heist. Bug had been right. The place swarmed with security personnel and detectives. Once, just before the ferrets ducked behind a curtain, Hermes’ camera caught a glimpse of Lenora Jordan, the Harris County district attorney. In her late thirties, with medium brown skin and a mane of hair twisted into a careless bun, she strode through the house with a scowl on her face. Baranosvky’s murder was big enough news to drag her out of bed and she clearly wasn’t happy about any of it. A team of haggard-looking people in professional clothes trailed her, watching her every move. Most likely those were Baranovsky’s lawyers. He must’ve made provisions for his death.

Lenora Jordan was my hero. When I was growing up, I’d wanted to be just like her.

Slowly, foot by foot, the furry beasts made their progress into the depths of the house.

I was so tired. It’d been a long night. If I just closed my eyes for a moment, I’m sure nobody would mind . . .

Rogan’s hand skimmed my back as he leaned forward to glance at my face. “Coffee?”

I jerked awake. “Yes. Thank you.”

I should’ve said no. Ugh.

He stepped away and returned with coffee, cream already in it.

Augustine raised his eyebrows at him. “You really are trying.”

Rogan gave him a flat stare. Lesser men would’ve fled for their life, but Augustine was clearly made of sterner stuff.

“Congratulations, Nevada.” Augustine allowed himself a narrow smile. “I do hope you appreciate the full gravity of this momentous occurrence. Mad Rogan actually physically moved his body to bring you a cup of coffee instead of simply floating it to your lap. The manipulation is so blatant it’s painful to watch. Sadly for him, I’m still a better employer.”

Rogan paused by him. “If you need any pointers on how to properly treat a woman, I can give you a lesson later.”

“Please.” Augustine held up his hand. “Spare me. Do you honestly think that she is dumb enough to fall for that? What’s next? A picnic under the stars? Just how underhanded are you planning on being in your hiring process?”

Pot, kettle. “Thank you, Rogan,” I said. “The coffee is delicious.”

“You haven’t even tried it,” Augustine pointed out.

“The coffee is delicious,” I repeated and sipped. It tasted divine, probably because it had at least half a jar of sugar in it.

“We reached the computer,” Bug reported.

Baranovsky’s personal computer was a tower of alien design, complete with weird plastic scales. The ferrets dismantled it in under a minute, plucked the hard drive out, dropped it into a plastic baggie they pulled out of Hermes’ harness, and began the long trek back to the laundry. The coffee wore off somewhere between the first and second floor. I pulled my legs to me and tried to nestle deeper into the seat. I had spent too much magic today. I needed to learn to pace myself.

I hung on through the narrow escape through the staff rooms and the mad dash across the rain soaked forest. Finally, the screen showed the truck. Rogan opened the door and the wet beasts dashed inside and swarmed over Cornelius’ lap, chirping and screeching like there was no tomorrow.

Cornelius’ face lit up. He smiled, the first genuine smile I had ever seen on his face. It was a beautiful smile, filled with simple powerful joy. Loki thrust the drive in the baggie at him, hitting Cornelius in the face with it. The animal mage took the drive, handed it to Bug, and petted the furry beasts. I exhaled. Something had gone right. I was sure we would pay for it later, but for now, I could sit here and just watch Cornelius with his animals.

Soon the beasts calmed down, the ferrets overjoyed at offerings of cooked chicken, while the ferret-badger munched on plums. Cornelius slumped in his seat, exhausted.

“That was incredible,” I told him.

“Thank you. The biggest problem is keeping the ferrets on task. They are like hyperactive toddlers.”

“Found it,” Bug announced.

The screen ignited, showing a nighttime recording of a man in a light trench coat exiting a high-rise. A taller man in a suit followed him closely. A bodyguard.

The angle of the video was much too low for a street surveillance camera. Somebody was recording it from a car. I’d done it hundreds of times and my videos looked just like that.

The bodyguard and the man waited for a moment. A car pulled around the corner and the headlights illuminated the bodyguard and the man in the trench coat. Breath caught in my throat. Senator Garza.

The car slid to a smooth stop. The bodyguard opened the door.

Lightning ripped from the corner of the screen, its feathery tendrils clutching the bodyguard, Senator Garza, and the vehicle and binding them into a single glowing whole. The lightning burned and burned, the two men jerking in its lethal embrace. The front of the car melted. Fire burst from the rear, popping the tires.

The lightning blinked and came back again. Slowly, shakily, the camera panned left. A lone man stood on the street, older, dark-haired, wearing a business suit, his hands raised in a trademark mage pose, arms bent at the elbow, palms up. The camera zoomed in on his face. His features were slack, his expression almost serene, but his eyes furious, churning with the pain and despair of a man not in control of his own body.

The lightning died. The camera panned back. The car burned, a charred wreck. Garza and the bodyguard sprawled on the sidewalk, their bodies smoking.

The view switched back to the man. He stared at the two bodies, a horrified expression on his face, then turned and fled.

“I know him,” Augustine said, his voice sharp. “It’s . . .”

“Richard Howling,” Rogan said. “Controlled by Olivia Charles. House Howling killed Senator Garza.”

It was obvious now, and putting together the pieces seemed like an afterthought. I did it anyway, just so I didn’t miss anything.

“For some unknown reason, Olivia Charles wanted Senator Garza dead. Most likely, he stumbled onto their scheme and became a threat. They needed to take him out and do it in a way that wouldn’t come back to them.”

“So they kill two birds with one stone,” Augustine said. “Olivia used her magic on Richard Howling, forcing him to kill Garza, which eliminates the threat and potentially implicates Richard Howling.”

“But why use Richard Howling?” Cornelius asked. “If she could impose her will on Howling, she could’ve taken control of Garza’s bodyguards.”