Carrow joined me. “Is that her?”
“We’ll meet her around the back of the East Wing Archives.”
“Lead on.”
Carrow and I strode across the park to the alley behind the building. Ms. Cross waited for us in a shady spot along the pavement, her gaze serious. She wore slim-cut trousers and a blouse that I recognized as currently fashionable. Not that I was interested in fashion, but I tried to keep up with societal changes.
Immortals—though we were rare—were notorious for being hopelessly out of date, clinging to the past. That would never be me.
“Why are you a persistent thorn in my side, Devil?” Ms. Cross fingered a fire opal pendant hanging around her neck. It glinted red with flecks of green in the sunlight.
“Thank you for your help, as always.”
“You owe me. Again.”
“I do.” I gestured to Carrow. “Ms. Cross, this is Carrow Burton. Ms. Burton, Ms. Cross.”
Ms. Cross shook Carrow’s hand in the cheerful, friendly way of Americans. “Call me Neve.”
Carrow flinched subtly at the touch and withdrew her hand as quickly as possible. She covered the awkward moment with a warm smile that didn’t quite douse the look of concern in her eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Neve. Thank you for the help.”
Had she sensed something? Most Chicagoans weren’t subtle about their magical signatures, but Ms. Cross always seemed to have hers tamped down tight. I’d never known her species, and my curiosity was piqued.
Ms. Cross didn’t seem to notice Carrow’s reaction and gestured for us to follow. “Come on. I can sneak you in through this service entrance.”
“If it’s a risk, you can take me in, and Grey can stay outside,” Carrow said.
Ms. Cross gave me a penetrating
and perhaps slightly incriminating look. “We’ll have to bend a few rules. And he has some skills that may come in handy.” She tossed us a couple of visitor badges. “I brought disguises. This is a broad-daylight infiltration. We’re not going into the high-security wing, so we shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. We can be seen—just not by the wrong people, like an investigator. Or anyone who looks official. Or curious.”
“So…avoid everyone but the janitors.” Carrow grinned.
“Basically. Just don’t draw attention to yourselves. Let me answer any questions.”
Ms. Cross turned and led us through an unassuming steel door tucked into an alcove against the side of the building. She strode down a nondescript hall that was oddly narrow and short, given the imposing edifice. We followed her up a back stairwell lit with anemic industrial lights and down another long corridor. As we walked, Carrow leaned close to Ms. Cross and whispered, “I’m sorry to ask for more favors, but is there anyone here who might be able to determine what type of curse my friends have been hit with?”
Ms. Cross frowned. “Not here, necessarily, but I think I know someone. I can hook you up.”
“Oh God, thank you.” Carrow’s voice rang with gratitude.
We were approaching an intersection when we heard a gruff female voice shouting at someone in the adjacent hall.
“Crap, that’s my boss, Lieutenant Bitchface,” said Ms. Cross. “We don’t want to have to answer any of her questions.” She grabbed Carrow’s arm and yanked her into a room, and I darted in behind them.
Two horned trolls and half a dozen imps looked up at the commotion. One of the trolls pulled off a pair of thick reading glasses and scowled at us. “Yes? Can we help you?”
There were stacks of paper everywhere, and the room was filled with a low curtain of thick smoke. Two of the imps seemed to be fighting over an elaborate abacus.
“Hi, guys,” Ms. Cross said with a start. “How’s the number-crunching going? I…er…am showing a few visitors around the building and wanted to show them the brains of the operation. Arcane auditing, I thought, and brought them here.”
The troll narrowed his eyes. “This is very irregular. Who are the visitors?”
“Oh, just a couple of witnesses…” Ms. Cross stammered.
“Witnesses to what?”
“Well…” Smiling, she leaned in. “They witnessed some serious trespassing. On Order property, no less.”