The FIB captain moved uneasily. "Ah, about your compensation, Morgan…"

"Forget it," I offered quickly. "I figure I still owe you for paying off my I.S. contract."

"No," he said. "We had an agreement. It's not your fault the class was canceled—"

"Glenn, can I have your ketchup?" I said brusquely, cutting Edden off. "I don't know how you people can eat hot dogs without it. Why the Turn didn't that guy give me any ketchup?"

Edden leaned back, a heavy sigh slipping from him. Glenn obediently shuffled about his wad of paper until he came up with a white plastic packet. Face drawn, he looked at my broken arm and hesitated. "I'll—uh—open it for you," he offered.

"Thanks," I muttered, not liking being helpless. Trying not to scowl, I watched the detective carefully tear open the packet. He handed it to me, and with the hot dog balanced on my lap, I awkwardly squeezed the ketchup out. So intent was I on getting it on the right spot, I almost missed Glenn raising his hand and surreptitiously licking a red smear off his fingers.

Glenn? I thought. My face went slack as I remembered our missing ketchup and the pieces fell into place. "You…" I sputtered. Glenn had stolen our ketchup?

The man's face went panicked, and he reached out, almost covering my mouth before he drew back. "No," he pleaded, leaning close. "Don't say anything."

"You took our ketchup!" I breathed, shocked. Beyond Glenn I could see Jenks rocking in mirth on Edden's shoulder, able to hear our whispers and keep up a running conversation to distract the FIB captain at the same time.

Glenn shot a guilty look at his dad. "I'll pay you for it," he begged. "Anything you want. Just don't tell my dad. Oh God, Rachel. It would kill him."

For a moment I could only stare. He had taken our ketchup. Right off our table. "I want your handcuffs," I said suddenly. "I can't find anything real without fake purple fur glued to it."

His panicked look eased and he shifted back. "Monday."

"Soon enough for me." My words were calm, but inside I was singing. I was going to get my cuffs back! It was going to be a good day.

He darted a guilty look toward his dad. "Will you—get me a bottle of spicy?"

My eyes jerked to his.

"Maybe some barbecue sauce?"

I closed my mouth before a bug flew into it. "Sure." I did not believe this. I was pimping ketchup to the son of the FIB's captain.

I looked up to see a park official wearing a red polyester vest loping up the stairs toward us, scanning the faces. A smile curved over me as he met my eyes. He worked his way down the relatively empty aisle in front of us as I wrapped up what was left of my hot dog and set it on Nick's seat, then dropped the baseball into my bag out of sight. It had been fun while it lasted. I wasn't going to interfere with the game, but they didn't know that.

Jenks flitted from Captain Edden to me. He was wearing all red and white in honor of the team, the brightness hurting my eyes. "Oooooh," he mocked. "You're in trouble now." Edden gave me one last warning look before putting his attention on the field, clearly trying to divorce himself from me lest they kick him out, too.

"Ms. Rachel Morgan?" the young man in the red vest questioned as he reached us.

I stood with my bag. "Yes."

"I'm Matt Ingle. Park ley line security? Could you come with me, please?"

Glenn got to his feet, standing with his feet spread wide and his hands on his hips. "Is there a problem?" he asked, turning the angry-young-black-man mien on high. I was too thrown by him liking ketchup to get angry at him wanting to protect me.

Matt shook his head, not cowed at all. "No sir. The Howlers' owner heard about Ms. Morgan's efforts to retrieve their mascot and would like to speak with her."

"I'd be happy to talk to her," I said as Jenks chortled, his wings turning a bright red. Despite Captain Edden keeping my name out of the paper, the entirety of Cincinnati and the Hollows knew who had solved the witch hunter murders, made the tag, and summoned the demon into the courtroom. My phone was ringing off the hook with requests for help. Overnight, I had gone from struggling entrepreneur to bad-ass runner. What did I have to fear from the owner of the Howlers?

"I'm coming with you," Glenn said.

"I can handle this," I said, mildly affronted.

"I know, but I want to talk to you, and I think they're going to kick you out of the park."

Edden chuckled, shifting his squat bulk deeper into the hard seat. Taking a key chain from his front pocket, he handed it to Glenn.

"You think?" I said, waving 'bye to Jenks and telling him with a finger motion and a nod that I'd see him back at the church. The pixy nodded, settling himself back on Captain Edden's shoulder, hooting and hollering, having too much fun to leave.

Glenn and I followed the ley line security guy to a waiting golf cart, and he drove us deeper into the stadium. It grew cool and quiet, the thrum of the unseen thousands around us a low, almost subliminal thunder. Far into the authorized personnel areas and amid black suits and champagne, Matt stopped the cart. Glenn helped me out, and I took my cap off, handing it to him as I fluffed my hair. I was dressed nice in jeans and white sweater, but everyone I'd seen in the last two minutes was wearing a tie or diamond earrings. Some had both.

Matt looked nervous as he took us up an elevator and left us in a long plush room that overlooked the field. It was comfortably full of talk and nicely dressed people. The faint smell of musk tickled my nose. Glenn tried to give me my hat back, and I motioned for him to keep it.

"Ms. Morgan," a small woman said, excusing herself from a group of men. "I am so glad to meet you. I'm Mrs. Sarong," she said as she approached, her hands extended.

She was shorter than me, and clearly a Were. Her dark hair was graying in wispy streaks that looked good on her, and her hands were small and powerful. She moved with a predatory grace that drew attention, her eyes seeing everything. Were men had to work hard to hide their rough edges. Were women got more dangerous-looking.

"I'm pleased to meet you," I said as she briefly touched my shoulder in greeting since my right arm was in a sling. "This is Detective Glenn, of the FIB."

"Ma'am," he said shortly, and the small woman smiled to show flat, even teeth.

"Delighted," she said pleasantly. "If you would excuse us, Detective? Ms. Morgan and I have a need to chat before the game begins."

Glenn bobbed his head. "Yes ma'am. I'll get you both a drink if I might."

"That would be lovely."

I rolled my eyes at the political niceties, relieved when Mrs. Sarong put a light hand on my shoulder and led me away. She smelled like ferns and moss. Every man watched us as we moved together to stand by a window with an excellent view of the field. It was a long way down, making me slightly queasy.

"Ms. Morgan," she said, her eyes not at all apologetic, "it has just come to my attention that you were contracted to retrieve our mascot. A mascot that was never missing."

"Yes ma'am," I said, surprised how the title of respect just seemed to flow out of me. "When I was told, my time and energies were given no consideration."

She exhaled slowly. "I detest digging out prey. Have you been magicking the field?"

Pleased at her frankness, I decided to be the same. "I spent three days planning how to break into Mr. Ray's office when I could have been working on other cases," I said. "And while I admit that isn't your fault, someone should have called me."

"Perhaps, but it remains that the fish was not missing. I am not in the habit of paying out blackmail. You will stop."

"And I'm not in the habit of offering it," I said, having no trouble keeping my temper as her pack surrounded me. "But I'd be remiss if I didn't make you aware of my feelings in the matter. I give my word I won't interfere with the game. I don't need to. Until I get paid, every time a ball goes foul or a bat cracks, your players will wonder if it's me." I smiled without showing my teeth. "Five hundred dollars is a small price for your players' peace of mind." Lousy five hundred dollars. It should have been ten-times that. Why Ray's henchmen wasted bullets on me for a lousy stinking fish was still beyond me.