Page 91 of The Rut in the Road

“So Drew and I go back in,” Cass jumped in. “Attend one of their public services, chat up Henny”—the secretary who had been chewing on the pen—“and see what she lets slip. We’ll mention some home repairs or something.” She offered a fake smile at Drew. “After all, we just moved here and are struggling to get our house in order, right, honey?”

Drew snorted, then shrugged.

Raj blew out a breath. “I don’t have any better ideas,” he admitted. “So I’ll green-light it, but the two of you need to be careful. It’s always possible that they’ve got some connection to magic use, in which case they might be able to tell you aren’t what you pretend to be.” He glanced over at Hart. “And I can’t send Keebler in with you to act as maydar.”

“Maydar?” I asked, confused.

“Magic-radar,” Hart answered, then held up his hands and wiggled his long fingers. “Elves can feel magic.”

“Oh,” I replied. I could also feel magic, but I didn’t think Raj was going to even entertain the thought of me going in with them. Especially since I’m a terrible liarandI didn’t particularly want to.

“So what can you tell me?”Violette asked me, flopping down on her stomach in the second beanbag chair that I’d given in and bought because I felt bad about the fact that both she and Raj came over fairly often, and offering up an office chair or a beanbag felt awkward. Vi had offered to buy me a couch—or, in her terms, buyhera couch that she’d store in my apartment—but I’d emphatically refused.

The beanbag was at least something that fit into my meager budget. Mostly.

Victor liked to curl up in the middle of it, which was completely ridiculous, given that he’s a tiny rat and it was over-sized, with the idea of it being big enough for Raj. He wasn’t in it at the moment, though, which was good, since Vi would have squished him. I could hear the telltale sound of his wheel turning, which meant he was running in it and safe from my sister’s careless enthusiasm.

“Nothing,” I answered. Raj and Hart had both been very clear that I wasn’t allowed to talk about anything that happened at the federal office or BTV with anyone who wasn’t explicitly in the room. And that included talking with Ward about anything I read when he wasn’t there. I didn’t really understand why, but I’d had to sign a contract, so I was going to be careful about not sharing anything someone hadn’t given me explicit permission to talk about.

“C’mon, seriously?” Vi whined. “My big brother works for the FBI and I don’t get to know what’s going on? Even a little?” She batted her eyelashes at me, which I understood was supposed to convince me to do what she wanted, although I didn’t understand why.

“No, Vi,” I reiterated. “I’m not allowed to talk about it.”

She pouted. “They’re having you read stuff, though, right?”

I felt like that was safely allowed, since why else would she have had to cover my desk shift? “Yes,” I confirmed.

“A lot of stuff?”

I gave her a look that I hoped communicated the fact that I didn’t appreciate that she was fishing for information I’d already told her she shouldn’t have.

“Tell your boyfriend he’s mean for not letting you share the goss.”

“The what?”

“Goss. Like gossip.”

I frowned. “I don’t think I would call the confidential details of a federal investigation ‘gossip,’” I told her. “And I don’t think Raj would, either.”

Vi huffed. “You are soliteral,” she informed me. “I know it’s not actually gossip. But the details probablyarejuicy.”

I raised my brows at her.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Interesting. The details are interesting.”

I almost replied to that, then decided that none of what I’d been about to say was probably a good idea, since it might have revealed more than I was supposed to—such as mentioning that being in the heads of people who hated Arcanids wasn’t exactlyinteresting.Horrifying, yes. But not really interesting.

When it became clear that I wasn’t going to answer her in a way she found satisfactory, she sighed. “Okay, fine. How’s your head?”

“It’s okay,” I answered. “I have a bit of a headache, but much better than it was. And it hurts when I touch it.”

“So don’t touch it, silly,” she chided.

I shot her a look. “For example,” I said. “When I pull a shirt over my head or try to take a shower.”

“Oh.” She looked a little bit guilty. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “It could be much worse, I’m told,” I replied. “It is healing, and at least they gave me dissolving stitches again.”