He was stepping out of his car later, task complete, when he got to see with his own eyes the limits of the warning charms. Two people materialized near the forest’s edge, and his locket didn’t react.
He waited, trying to remain calm, as the men walked toward him. One was a typic; he wore a winter coat over a suit, and his hair was short and brown. The other was a wizard. A wizard, he realized as the distance between them narrowed, with a high forehead, a square jaw, a grim mouth and dark glasses. Morse.
Good God,hadGarrett seen something illegal yesterday?
“Wizard Blackwell?” the typic said in a businesslike tone.
The words didn’t have the bite one would expect whenyou are under arrestwas due to follow, and on second thought, Washington would surely send more than one wizard to arrest another wizard. Peter took a deep breath. “Yes?”
“I’m Mark Radcliffe from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
His heart dropped.
“May we come in,” Radcliffe said, and it wasn’t a question.
The moment Peter opened the door for them, he called out a warning that wouldn’t appear like one: “Miss Harper! We have guests—could you please fetch drinks?”
She rushed out, stopped dead at the sight of the “guests,” but quickly recovered. “Yes, Omnimancer.”
“What will you have, Mr. Radcliffe?” Peter asked.
“Coffee, two sugars.”
Peter turned to Morse. “And you, Wizard ...?”
Morse simply shook his head. That was more unnerving than if he’d spoken.
Peter walked into the receiving room and turned to find that only Radcliffe had followed. The man shut the door behind him, leaving the wizard on the other side of it—with Beatrix.
It would be OK. It would.
“Please cast a soundproofing spell on this room,” Radcliffe said.
Peter obliged, though the room already had one, and sat in the seat that put his massive desk between them. “What can I do for you?”
“I have some questions about your omnimancing operation.”
“Oh? Ask away.”
“I understand that neither Washington nor the town is paying you. Is that right?”
He’d expected that someone from the magiocracy would ask this eventually, followed by more subtle variations on the theme ofAre you in the employ of Canada?He relaxed a notch. These sorts of questions posed no danger.
“Yes,” he said, “nothing from Washington, Ellicott Mills or anyone else. Our state senator did offer to see if he could get a small stipend for me, but it didn’t feel right, so I declined.”
“And I understand you are paying an assistant.”
At that moment, the assistant—or lead omnimancer, more accurately—walked in with two cups of coffee. She gave him an inscrutable glance as she set them down. He managed a half-smile and waited until she left.
“I am paying my employee, yes,” he said.
“How are you supporting yourself and covering her salary, Omnimancer?”
“From my savings account.” With effort, he grinned. “Areyouhere to offer me a stipend, Mr. Radcliffe?”
Radcliffe’s smile was brief. “If the federal government decided to fund omnimancers outside of cities again, the money wouldn’t come from my agency, would it? Tell me, why is it that you have chosen to do this work not merely for free but at a financial loss?”
“I desperately needed the change—something far less stressful,” Peter said, with complete honesty, and then tacked on a not-quite-truth: “I wanted to come home.”
