As if hearing my unspoken thoughts, the woman turned. Her heavy lips closed and she stared. Evaluating me, are you? I thought, sending my eyebrows high in challenge.

Edden followed her gaze, and his demeanor brightened. Getting to his feet, I heard him say, "Here she is," and he came to greet me.

"Sorry I'm late," I said as he took my elbow to hustle me to the table. "Marshal made me get a massage to help with my aura." Yes. Blame it on Marshal, not me needing to recoup after finding out I'm shunned.

"Really?" the squat man said. "Does it help? How do you feel?"

I knew he was thinking about his son, and I set my hand atop his. "Wonderful. Jenks said my aura looks tons better, and I feel great. Don't let me leave without giving you the woman's phone number. She makes hospital calls. I asked. No extra charge for the FIB."

Jenks made a scoffing sound. "She says she feels great?" he said. "More like stinking drunk. The damned woman nearly smashed her car drifting it into a parking spot."

"How's Glenn?" I asked, ignoring Jenks as Edden helped me out of my coat.

"Ready to go home." Edden gave me a look up and down. "You look good, Rachel. I never would have guessed that you had to get an AMA."

I beamed as Jenks rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

The waiter holding out his hand for my coat was eyeing Jenks. Edden saw his gaze and moved his chin to make his mustache bunch up. "Can we get a honey pot?" he asked, trying to put Jenks at ease.

"I appreciate the offer, Edden," Jenks said. "But I'm working. Peanut butter would be good, though." His gaze went to the table in its white-and-gold perfection, and his expression became panicked, as if he'd asked for grits and pig's feet instead of the source high in protein he needed because of the cold.

The waiter, of course, picked right up on his unease. "Pe-e-e-eanut butter-r-r-r-r?" he said in a patronizing tone, and Jenks let a wisp of red dust slip.

My eyes narrowed as the man implied with those two words that Jenks was a bumpkin, or worse, not even a person. "You ha-a-ave peanut butter, don't you?" I drawled in my best Al impression. "Freshly ground, absolutely nothing out of a jar will do! Low salt. I'll have a raspberry water." I had sampled Kisten's raspberry water after finding my French toast not to my taste. It had some fancy glaze on it. Okay, maybe I was a bumpkin, but making Jenks feel like one was rude.

The man's face went blank. "Yes, ma'am." Gesturing for a second waiter to get my water and Jenks's peanut butter, he helped me with my chair, and then a menu—which I ignored since he'd given it to me. I had a view, too. Jenks hovered by my place setting as if reluctant to set down on something so fine. His flowing black outfit looked great among the china and crystal, and after I turned an empty water glass over for him, he gratefully sat on the elevated foot. Edden was to my right, the banshee to my left, and my back was presently to the door. But that would change as the hour advanced and the restaurant turned.

"Ms. Walker, this is Rachel Morgan," Edden said as he settled back in his chair. "Rachel, Ms. Walker has been adamant about meeting you. She's the administrative coordinator of banshee internal affairs west of the Mississippi."

Edden seemed unusually flustered, and another flag went up. Jenks, too, didn't seem to like that the usually levelheaded man looked almost twitterpated. But she was a banshee, beautiful and alluring in her sophistication and exotic beauty.

Shoving my increasing dislike away, I extended my hand across the corner of the table. "It's a pleasure, Ms. Walker. I'm sure you know we can use all the help we can get. Mia Harbor turning rogue has us in a tight spot." Jenks smirked, and I flushed. I was trying to be nice. So sue me. I hadn't said anything that wasn't true. It was obvious I couldn't bring Mia in if she resisted.

The older woman took my hand, and I tensed, searching for any sensation of her siphoning off my aura or emotions. Her eyes were a rich brown, and with the bone structure of a supermodel and her wrinkled but clear complexion, she was classically alluring.

"You can call me Cleo," she said, and I drew my hand away before I shuddered. Her voice was as exotic as the rest of her, a low slurry of warmth insinuating a promise of naughty but nice. God, the woman was like a vampire. Maybe that was what was putting me on edge.

That I had pulled away was not missed by Edden or Ms. Walker, and a faint, knowing smile curved the edges of her mouth up. "It's good to meet you," she said, shifting to lean forward. "I'll help find little Mia, but I'm here for you. Your reputation is worth investigating."

My fake smile faded, and Edden, hunched over and guilty, started to play with his drinking glass. Slowly I turned to him, calming my anger before the banshee noticed it. But she did anyway.

The cool woman put her elbows charmingly on the table and eyed him almost coyly. "You lied to get her here?"

Edden glanced at me, then back down to the river. "Not at all," he grumped, his neck going red. "I stressed certain things is all."

Stressed certain things, my ass. But I smiled at the woman, keeping my hands below the table, as if she'd soiled them with her touch. "Is this because I survived Holly's attack?" I asked.

"In large part, yes," she said, lacing her fingers together and propping her chin on them. "Would you mind if I felt your aura?"

I stiffened. "No. I mean yes, I would mind," I amended. "I don't trust you."

Edden winced, but Ms. Walker laughed. The comfortable sound of it made the waiters just out of earshot look up, and my stomach clenched. She was too perfect, too assured. And her eyes were dilating like a vampire's.

"Is that why you brought your pixy?" she said, the first hint of distaste wrinkling her nose as she grimaced at Jenks. "I won't be sampling your aura, Ms. Morgan. I simply want to run my fingers through it. Find out why you survived an attack from a child banshee. Most don't."

"Most don't have a black banshee tear in their pocket," I said stiffly, and the woman made a small sound of interest.

"That's why…," she said, and it was as if an until-now hidden tension slipped out of her. "The emotion went sour as she killed you, and finding a sweet source, one familiar—"

"Holly took that instead," I finished for her. Jenks's heels were tapping out a distress signal, and I twitched my fingers to acknowledge it. He had seen the woman lose her tension, too. She'd been afraid of me, and now she wasn't. Good. It would make taking her down easier if it came to that. Stop it, Rachel. You can't tag a banshee.

The woman sat upright in her chair and sipped her tea with a thousand years of grace. She and Ceri would get along famously. "Even so, your aura is extremely tight," she said as she set it down. "If I hadn't known you were recovering from an attack, I'd say you were insane."

That was just rude, and when Jenks shifted uncomfortably, Ms. Walker's eyes went from him to me, squinting softly in the bright light. "Your pixy didn't tell you a tight aura is a sign of instability?"

Knowing she was goading me, I let my anger dissipate before I smiled back. "He's my business partner, not my pixy," I said, and Edden miserably shrank into his chair while we had our polite, sophisticated catfight.

Jenks, though, couldn't help himself, and he rose with his hands on his hips. "Why should I tell Rachel what a tight aura means? She's not insane. She had a massage today and it condensed it down. Lighten up—you hag of a washerwoman."

"Jenks!" I exclaimed, but Ms. Walker took it in stride. What is up with him?

Ignoring Jenks but for a warning twitch of her fingers, she focused on me, her brown eyes going black. I clamped down on my sudden fear. This woman could probably kill me as we sat, and she would get away with it though Edden sat two feet away. "I don't care what they say you are," she said, her low voice entirely devoid of anything but scorn. "We are more powerful than you. That you survived was a fluke."