“Listen to him, Rowan,” Felicity demanded as she squeezed my arm. “This isn’t the time. Not now.”

“When will it be the time?” I asked, my voice flat. “Tell me that.”

“I don’t know. But not now. Please.”

She was still frightened, and I couldn’t blame her. The written threat was enough by itself, but backing it up by torturing and killing a member of our own Coven drove the point past home. It fueled the horror and urged it across the line that separated intimidation from violence. Omen from action.

While I still felt some of the same fear that enveloped my wife, mine was rapidly turning to calculating anger. Still, they were both correct. I needed to keep myself on an even keel, or I wasn’t going to get anywhere.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Okay.”

“I’m friggin’ serious here, Row,” Ben said.

“I know. I know.”

Lieutenant Barbara Albright reminded me of someone’s mother. She didn’t resemble anyone in particular, actually. She just fit the appearance of a generic, prim and proper, sixties sitcom mom who had been strategically updated to fit the style of the decade-but only where absolutely necessary. She was slight of figure and wore her white hair in a shoulder-length coif that was just traditional enough not to be out of vogue but wasn’t exactly riding the cutting edge either. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, but that, in and of itself, could have been an illusion. She was very simply just that nondescript.

The one thing that stood out about her appearance was the thin-lipped expression she now wore. According to Ben, it was how she always looked. At any rate, it was the kind of mask a card player would kill for, and I was betting she knew exactly how to use it.

“Mister Gant, we need to get some things straight right now.” She started talking three steps before she reached us. “I am not exactly sure what went on during my predecessor’s time in charge, but I know for a fact that I do not like the things that I have read.”