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as a baseline telepath.”

“Do you feel that he’s contributing enough?”

“Of course. He can pick thoughts out of people’s brains. A few days ago, he read Selena’s mind like it was a DVD. Perfect accuracy.”

“But that isn’t quite the same as having a combat proficiency, or being trained as an OSI. He’s more of a consultant than a field agent.”

I felt myself growing slightly defensive. “He’s a great field agent. He’s been to as many scenes as I have, and he’s learning more each day.”

“But there’s a limit to Siegel’s abilities. He can’t start a fire with his telepathy, or channel earth materia like you. According to his file, he has no telekinetic or elemental materia proficiencies.”

“You have his file as well?”

Hinzelmann gave me a bland look. “Tess, I have everyone’s file. The Department of Psychology and Paranormal Development has files on every employee. We track their physical and mental evo-lution as agents of the CORE.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It’s just a database. Nothing to fear.”

“Information is power.”

“But power is just a word for a vast field of systems that structure our lives from the bottom up. It’s not a static entity that bears down on you. It’s like breathing.”

“Yeah. I’ve read Foucault, too.” I stretched, grimacing.

Those Vicodin tablets were going to do a world of good. “It’s all well and good to say that power is some magical force field, until someone’s ripping out your toenails while they interrogate you. Critical theory doesn’t mean a lot in that situation.”

“Have you been feeling powerless lately?”

I sighed. “Well, I nearly got shot in the head last night. I had to talk to a bird-demon wearing a raincoat, who told me virtually nothing about the case.” Except that my boyfriend is probably a double agent. “And I’ve discovered that I have almost no aptitude for learning languages.”

This seemed to interest him. “Are you trying to acquire a new language?”

“Yeah. I wanted to add something to my CV, so I’m learning Spanish.”

“And how is that going?”

“I tried to watch an episode of DuckTales en español, but I could barely understand any of it. Did you know that Uncle Scrooge is called Tío Rico? And it’s Patos Aventuras. Which doesn’t even make sense. What are ‘duck adventures’? Shouldn’t they be ‘duck adventurers’ instead?”

“I believe that would be Patos Aventureros.”

I closed my eyes. “Of course you speak Spanish. Everyone does.”

“I took a few online courses. But that’s not the point.” Hinzelmann tapped his fingers on the green file. The secret, sordid history of my life. “People tend to learn languages for one of three reasons.

Relocation, postsecondary education, or romantic entanglement. Which category would you say most describes your situation?”

Shit. All I’d wanted to do was distract him with a non sequitur about my life, but now the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. I couldn’t let anyone think that I might be involved with Lucian.

If Selena suspected that we’d even shared a platonic coffee together, she’d skin me alive.

“I heard there’s a pay raise that comes with having a second language.”

“Why not learn a demonic dialect, then? Wouldn’t it be more useful to read vampiric script?”

“I’d rather watch an Almodóvar film. It would be nice to actually get the jokes instead of just looking at all the hot naked men.”

“Learning a language takes years, and it can be incredibly frustrating. Do you feel like you have the patience for that sort of endeavor?”

“I don’t know. But it’s not like I have any hobbies. It’s nice to have an activity that isn’t connected with my job in some way.”

“You could go to the gym. Some people find that relaxing.”

I laughed. “I already have to train several hours a day just to keep in shape. Whenever I’m on a treadmill, all I can think about is how similar it feels to running through a dark alley. The only difference is that we get towel service.”

“What about art, or creative writing?”

“Seriously? I don’t feel like writing poetry about the viscera that I saw yesterday in the morgue.

And the only thing I ever learned to draw as a child was a replica of Garfield with a thought-bubble above his head. I used to spend hours trying to get his whiskers right with the flesh-colored crayon.”

“We have some great art therapy programs.”

“I think I’m fine with the Vicodin. Thanks.”

Hinzelmann got up and walked over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. He opened it to reveal a cherry red Gaggia espresso machine—the precise model that Derrick had been begging me for.

He smiled infuriatingly at me. “Cappuccino?” “You’ve had that here the whole time?”

“It’s new, actually. I just had it installed.”

“Wow. I want your job.”

“Don’t be too sure of that.” He manipulated some complex dials, and the whole thing started to hiss and steam.

“I went to Johns Hopkins for six years, and I’m sixty thousand dollars in debt. I also had to do a practicum at the Sagremor Asylum for the Paranormal. It wasn’t exactly fun city.”

He poured two shots of espresso into a white porcelain cup. Jesus, did he have a whole sideboard in there?

“Isn’t Sagremor maximum security?”

“Yes. Designed to hold those with exceptionally violent powers.” He handed me the steaming cup.

“I met a pixie there who could turn himself into a cloud of mustard gas. Cranky little bastard. Killed thirteen orderlies.”

“You’re bullshitting me.”

“Okay. You’re right.” He shrugged. “It was only seven orderlies.”

I sipped the coffee. “This tastes like everything good in the world. I think I may have underestimat-ed you, Dr. Hinzelmann.”

“That’s fine. It comes with the height differential.” He sat back in the office chair, pumping it up four or five times until we were at eye level again. “Most of my professors thought I had a form of achondroplasia, so they were always trying to enroll me in studies on dwarfism. They just wanted to get another grant.”

I didn’t really know what to say. “That sucks.”

“It wasn’t so bad. They always lost sight of me in the lecture hall, which gave me the chance to copy off the people sitting next to me.”

My eyes widened. “You cheated?”

“Of course. Everyone cheats a little in medical school.”

I frowned. “Wait. Is this some kind of analytical trap?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. The espresso—which is fucking divine, by the way—the prescription, the sudden sharing of information. Are you just trying to soften me up so you can dig even deeper into my messed-up psyche?”

“I wasn’t aware that your psyche was messed up.” Hinzelmann sipped his own coffee, then leaned back in the chair. “I’m not going to say that you’re ‘normal,’ because that’s not a word that has much use in my profession. Frankly, neither of us is normal. I’m a kobold, and you’re a mage. But we still have many of the same basic psychological investments and concerns.”

“Is that like a caste thing, being a kobold?”

He looked at me strangely. “Didn’t you take classes in demihuman biology?”

Hmm. Was that the course that I slept through, or the one that I failed?

Maybe it was the one with the professor who always wore high heels and smelled like a Givenchy counter. That was when Derrick was going through his nuclear breakup, so all I remembered was buying fun-size Twix in bulk and watching The Hours until I prayed for self-immolation.

“My course work was a long time ago,” I said.

Hinzelmann sighed. “Kobolds are the oldest phylogenetic class of the goblin species. We lived in underground cities powered by geothermal energy while most of Europe was killing itself during the Dark Ages.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I know more about hostile demon species, since those are the ones I usually deal with.”

That was a lie. I barely knew anything about Vailoid demons, and I’d practically been dismembered by one. But there’s only so much you can retain from lectures. It’s not like Derrick remembered anything from his History of Psychic Phenomena class, except for how great the professor’s ass looked in a pair of chinos.

“It’s fine.” He still looked a bit stung. “I applied to teach a seminar on goblin history, but my unit coordinator told me that there wasn’t enough interest in the course. It’s just a bit depressing. Ever since Harry Potter, people think that all we do is work in a stupid wizard’s bank. Most of my kobold friends are grad students.”

“Oh—I remember something.” I smiled. “You’re allergic to eggs, right?”

“Most goblins have a dairy intolerance, yes. But I’ve been taking Lactaid for a few years now, and it works pretty well.”

We fell into an awkward silence. There didn’t seem to be much else to say.

I had no idea how we’d gone from talking about my stress at home to discussing paranormal dietary restrictions. But I wasn’t complaining. I was actually starting to enjoy these sessions with Hinzelmann. It gave me a break from worrying about what might try to kill me tomorrow. Here, I could just let my mind wander. And if Selena thought I was actually making progress as a human being, so much the better.

“What do you think I’m digging for, Tess?”

I looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Earlier, you were afraid that I was ‘softening’ you up so that I could dig into your psyche.” His yellow eyes regarded me impassively. “What is it you think I’m digging for? Neurotic treasure?”

“Why not? There’s a whole El Dorado of crazy in my brain.”

“But you seem to be doing just fine. After a series of incredibly traumatic incidents over the past two years, you’ve shown remarkable resilience. A lot of people in your situation would be asking for more than just a light prescription to help them sleep.”

I wasn’t sure I liked where this was going. “I manage. I guess.”

He opened up the green folder, reading with a veiled expression. I found myself holding my breath.

I wasn’t sure why.

“It says here,” Hinzelmann began, “that you only achieved legal guardianship of Mia Polanski last year. And only after a lengthy court process.”

“Yes. I remember the early-morning hearings. They were fun.”

“And Patrick Donovan is still completing the legal emancipation process. Which means that his current living situation with you is tenuous at best.”

Right. Never trust an analyst. He’d been working me over like a meat tenderizer, and now he was leaning in for the grisly finishing move. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my expression neutral.

“From what I understand,” I replied, “Patrick is nearly emancipated. He has no living relatives, and Derrick and I have both petitioned the court for guardianship. My superior has already written a letter of recommendation.”

“But Patrick also has strong ties to the vampire community. There’s a distinct possibility that they’ll issue a counterclaim based on shared cultural values, which could degenerate into a tangled legal battle.” He looked at the file, not at me, as he spoke. “The CORE’s negotiations with the vampire community have been especially fraught since the murder of Sebastian Escavalon, two years ago.

That was the case that prompted you to petition for guardianship of Mia, was it not?”

“It sounds like you already know everything. What’s the point in asking me questions if it’s all in your file folder?”

He finally looked up. “I have data, but there’s also a lot missing. Your memories. Your emotions. I can’t tell anything by looking at these reports, except for the fact that you seem to have been very busy for the past two years.”

I finished the coffee. Suddenly, it tasted like betrayal. I set down the cup and shifted position in my chair.

“Yeah. I’m kind of a magnet for human devastation.”

“I’m not bringing up these uncertainties to make you uncomfortable, Tess. I just want you to address the reality of the situation. There is a chance that, despite your best efforts, Patrick may not be living with you forever. And Mia’s seropositive status is still in question. Her VR plasmid count is low at the moment, but if it increases, she could be remanded to a CORE clinic.”

“So—what—” I glared at him. “I’m supposed to have a eureka moment, where I realize that my life is fragile? I know that already. My life is like one of those towers of crystal wineglasses that you see at a wedding.” I chuckled. “Not my wedding, of course. A real Wedding Story wedding, without ca-sualties. But the concept’s the same. One demon blows on it, and the whole thing shatters. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“But acknowledging it and facing it aren’t the same thing.”

“What do you want me to do? Practice a mantra? Mia’s sick. I know that. And Patrick belongs to a world that I’m not a part of. He gets closer to it every day, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him, because that’s where he comes from. He belongs to a culture that’s existed since the dawn of time.

Who am I to deprive him of that?”

“You don’t know that he wants to be a part of that culture. Maybe he’s scared and just wants you to protect him.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s seventeen. All he wants to do is watch porn and sneak a few cigarettes when he thinks I’m not looking. But he also has a legacy to think about. Caitlin Siobahn made him the magnate, and he has a responsibility to the city itself.”

“You’re arguing as an employee of the CORE.” He looked at me squarely, and there was something less clinical in his eyes this time. “But what about as a parent? You saved Patrick Donovan from certain death at the hands of an Iblis. You brought him into your family. Now he has an entirely different family, pulling him in another direction. That can’t sit easily with you.”

I shrugged. “He’s almost eighteen. He can do what he wants.”

But I could feel my eyes welling up slightly.

I wanted to blame it on the lack of sleep, but I knew that Hinzelmann was more than right. Patrick had lived with me for a year. I’d washed his underwear, vacuumed under his bed, and convinced him to try watercress in a stir-fry (as long as it was smothered in baby corn). As far as I was concerned, he was part of my family. And no Anglo-Saxon-speaking vampire was going to give him a better home than I could.