Jamie entered the Dangerous Familiars Squad’s station, glad that Nick had agreed to let him go alone so readily. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Nick to meet any of his family. But the truth was, after the things Uncle Hurley had said over dinner about familiars, Jamie worried any meeting would end up in a shouting match at best, and the information they’d come for be lost amidst the quarrel.

Not to mention, Nick might find out Jamie hadn’t told Hurley their arrangement was only temporary. Knowing Nick, he’d take it the wrong way, believe Jamie meant to refuse to sever the bond.

Jamie rubbed his chest absently. Christ, he’d miss Nick when all this was over. Maybe Nick would agree to keep seeing him as lovers, even if they couldn’t be witch and familiar. His body still ached this morning from being speared on Nick’s cock, and fuck if he didn’t want to repeat the experience as soon as possible. He thought Nick felt the same, but he wasn’t certain.

Maybe someday, Jamie would meet another familiar he could bond with. The thought of bonding with someone else left him feeling oddly hollow, but surely time would change that.

The way time had changed the way he felt about Wyatt? Jamie took a deep breath. It didn’t seem fair that he still loved Wyatt, and…cared for…Nick simultaneously. Could he miss his bond with Nick and still find a suitable arrangement with another familiar at the same time?

Not bonding would mean leaving the MWP eventually, though. If Uncle Hurley would be disappointed when Jamie confessed to him the truth, that his promotion was only temporary, he’d be crushed if Jamie left police work behind altogether. It wasn’t like Jamie had anything else he particularly wanted to do with his life. He needed to stop thinking with his heart and start thinking with his head, surely.

The officer at the desk greeted Jamie warmly. “You’re Inspector O’Malley’s nephew, ain’t you? The war hero?”

Jamie flushed. That was one of the things he liked about Nick. Nick might not be able to understand his experiences on the battlefield—but he didn’t pretend to, either. He didn’t have any expectations of how Jamie ought to feel about the war, his missing leg, or any of it. He just let Jamie be who he was.

“Something like that,” he muttered. “I’m here to talk to Uncle Hurley, actually. Is he in?”

“Aye, but you’ll have to wait. Senator Pemberton is in there, talking to him as we speak.” The man leaned eagerly over the desk. “So, what was it like to serve under Roosevelt? I bet you have some stories to tell.”

Thankfully, Jamie was saved from having to entertain the fellow. The door to Hurley’s office swung open. A handsome dark-haired man emerged first, dressed in a fine suit. “Just keep up the good work,” he said to Hurley, who followed him out.

As they crossed to the door, Jamie rose to his feet. An expression of surprise crossed Hurley’s face. The other man, who must be Pemberton, noticed. “Who is this, Inspector?”

For some reason, Hurley hesitated a moment before answering. “Senator Pemberton, this is my nephew, Detective Jamie MacDougal.”

“He served in the Rough Riders,” the man behind the desk piped up.

“Well, then it’s doubly a pleasure to meet you.” Pemberton shook Jamie’s hand firmly. Up close, he smelled of expensive cologne. “Detective, eh? I suppose you mean to follow in your uncle’s footsteps?”

Jamie couldn’t exactly deny it with his uncle standing right there. “I’m with the MWP, sir,” he said instead.

Some of the effusive warmth faded from Pemberton’s demeanor, though his smile remained in place. “Are you? And served in Cuba?” He stepped toward the door. “I’d best be going—I have a lunch appointment with the mayor. Remember what we talked about, O’Malley.”

“Aye, sir,” Hurley said.

As soon as Pemberton was gone, Jamie asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Fine, fine,” Hurley replied distractedly. Then he shook himself and turned back to Jamie. “So what are you doing here, lad?”

Jamie glanced at the desk officer, who was avidly listening in. “Can we talk in your office?”

They settled in. The office smelled of Hurley’s cigars. A framed photograph of Muriel, Fan, and their boys sat on his desk. Hurley lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair, the smoke twining lazily around his head. “You look worried, Jamie. What’s happened?”

Jamie rubbed his palms on his thighs. “There was another ritual murder in Central Park last night. I’m here because the victim was the familiar I saw you arrest. The lion, Luther.”

“So?” Hurley asked, puzzled. “I assume he was released to a witch?”

Jamie shook his head. “Nay. One of the MWP familiars went to talk to the warden at the Menagerie this morning, and was told it ain’t him. That I’d made a mistake.”

“So you were confused.”

“I ain’t confused!” Jamie’s right hand curled on his knee. “It was the same man, and somebody pulled all of his teeth before he was murdered in the park. We went after the murderer, and almost got killed ourselves for our trouble.”

To his surprise, Hurley paled. “You shouldn’t have done that Jamie. Chasing after some lunatic—it ain’t safe.”

Did Hurley think he couldn’t perform his duties as detective because of his leg? “Why not? I’m a copper, ain’t I? That’s what we do.”

His uncle stubbed out his cigar in the standing ashtray beside his desk, as if buying time to organize his thoughts. “You are, of course. I worry about you, though. That’s natural, and I won’t apologize for it.”

Maybe Jamie’s brush with death in Cuba had frightened his uncle. Made the man realize Jamie was as mortal as anyone else. “I understand. But that’s beside the point. I’m sure the dead man is Luther, but the warden at the Menagerie is denying it. I don’t know if he’s trying to cover up an escape that would make him look bad, or what, but I need your help.”

Hurley shook his head slowly. “I ain’t sure what I can do. My job is to round up dangerous familiars and put them where they can’t hurt anyone else. What happens after that is out of my hands.”

“All I need is Luther’s photograph from the rogues gallery,” Jamie said. “That will prove me right. Then we can force the warden to cooperate, and have a chance at finding out what Luther was doing in the park before he was killed.”

“You have some maniac randomly killing ferals,” Hurley said. “I don’t see that knowing anything about this Luther’s movements beforehand will help. But I understand you want to prove yourself right about the identification, so I’ll have my aide get the photograph for you. Wait here a moment.”

Hurley stepped outside, and Jamie caught the low murmur of voices. “It’ll be just a minute,” Hurley said, returning and settling back into his chair. “How have things been going otherwise? Settling into your new duties?”

“Aye, well enough,” Jamie said, and felt a flash of guilt at the lie. “I had a question, though. The hex you used on Luther that day, to make him take human form. Where did it come from?”

“No idea,” Hurley said with a shrug. “It was distributed to us when the squad formed.”

“Can I have one? I think the MWP could use them, and—”

But Hurley was already shaking his head. “Sorry, Jamie. They’re police property. I’m sure if the higher ups want the MWP to have them, they’ll hand them out in good time.”

There came a soft knock on the door. A moment later, the aide stuck his head in. “Sorry, Inspector O’Malley, but I have bad news. Since the lion familiar wasn’t cooperative, they sent him straight on to the Menagerie. No one wanted to risk him becoming violent again, so they kept the process as short as possible.” He shrugged. “No photograph.”

Hurley sighed in annoyance. “Blast it. Sorry, Jamie lad, but luck just ain’t with you today.”

Jamie did his best to hide his disappointment. “Oh well. There’s nothing for it.” He would have to find another way.

“I’ll see you on Sunday, then,” Hurley said. As Jamie turned to the door, he added, “A bit of advice for you, before you leave. You’re still young, but the decades go past faster than you can imagine. Now is the time to think of your future. You don’t want to wake up some morning fifteen or twenty years from now and find you’re still just a detective.”

Jamie frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“This case you’re working on now…it seems exciting, I’m sure. But it won’t take you anywhere. All the politicians—the Police Board, the mayor, the senators—have their eyes on the illegal hex work the MWP is doing. Make your mark in that area, and you’re bound to get noticed by all the right folk.”

Jamie’s gut twisted. “People are dying, Uncle Hurley. I can’t just walk away and pretend that ain’t happening.”

A world-weary look passed over Hurley’s face. “People are always dying, lad. Trust me when I say, no one cares about a bunch of criminals and deserters getting murdered. No one is going to pin a medal on you for working yourself to the bone over some dead ferals. In the meantime, Ingram and his Heirs of Adam have the full support of some very powerful men. Not to mention the reform newspapers. If you want to advance, you need to concentrate on their concerns.”

Anger boiled in Jamie’s stomach, but he kept it from his face. “Ingram hates witches.”

Hurley waved a hand, as though it didn’t matter. “That’s why you make yourself useful. Say the right words, and they won’t care if you’re a witch. You were smart, taking my advice and picking a familiar instead of whatever that nonsense is about familiars recognizing ‘their’ witch. Going for a nice, dependable animal like a horse was brilliant. People see regular horses on the street all day long. No one’s scared of a horse.”

Jamie half wanted to laugh, but it would have been bitter. “And the murders?”

“Will go away on their own. They always do, don’t they? The Midnight Assassin, the Whitechapel killer, both got their fill of death and disappeared. Whoever did this will get tired of it and go his own way eventually.” Hurley nodded. “Mark my words, Jamie. Put as much distance between yourself and this case as you can, and do the work that gets rewarded. I’ll have the Police Board talk to Chief Ferguson, if need be.”

“Nay.” Jamie forced himself to smile. “That won’t be necessary.”

He left the station as quickly as he could. Once outside, though, his steps slowed.

Jamie had spent his life looking up to his uncle. Seen him as a man of honor, doing his best to protect the folk of New York. Sure, Hurley took the occasional bribe, but that was ordinary practice, part of what made the whole system work. But when it came down to it, Hurley would always do the right thing.

The coldly practical advice he’d given today had shocked Jamie. Ignore murders, because of the identity of the victims, and concentrate on illegal hexes because it was what the higher ups wanted? How could Hurley even suggest such a thing?

Had being noticed by Roosevelt and his successive rise through the ranks changed Hurley? Or had he always been this way, and Jamie just chosen not to see?

Had he ever really known his uncle at all?

“He’s changed,” Jamie said, staring off over the water of the Little Hell Gate. Nick stood beside him at the front of a small tug they’d hired to take them to the Menagerie on Sunken Meadow Island. Nick had gone back to Caballus, to make certain things had continued to run in his absence. After checking on the increasingly restless fugitives in the cellar, he’d caught up on a small amount of work, only to be interrupted by a message from Jamie to meet him on the docks. Jamie’s interview with his uncle hadn’t borne fruit, so there was only one choice left.

Go to the Menagerie themselves.

The very thought filled Nick with dread.

“Your uncle?” he asked, glad to have something to take his mind off what lay before them.

“Aye.” Jamie kept his gaze fixed on the water. “He raised Muriel and me, I know I told you that before. He was a good man, a hard worker. He still is,” Jamie added quickly. “He worked hard to make Inspector, and to be selected for heading up the Dangerous Familiars Squad.”

“Was some of that work knowing whose ass to kiss?” Nick asked.

“I didn’t think so.” Jamie slammed his hand down on the iron railing in front of them. “He never made it sound that way. He’d come home and tell us about his day when we were young, and…and he sounded like a hero. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.” Jamie’s shoulders slumped. “But maybe I was just blind. Maybe he was like this from the start. A man who investigated some crimes and let others go unsolved, because there was no prestige or money involved. I don’t know. I feel like I’ve gone from solid ground to…well, to the heaving deck of a ship,” he said wryly.

Nick shifted closer, so their arms pressed together. “People change, when they get a little power,” he pointed out. And here he was defending the damned head of the Dangerous Familiars Squad, just to make Jamie feel a little better. It was true what they said; love really did addle the brain.

Oh hell, no.

His breath caught. He wasn’t in love with Jamie. That would be stupid. It was just the lingering afterglow of the night they’d shared.

He respected Jamie. He was attracted to the man. His idiot magic thought Jamie should be his witch.

But love? No. He might fuck witches now, or at least this one, but any deeper attachment was out of the question.

“Is everything all right?” Jamie asked, looking up at him. The overcast sky dimmed the brightness of his eyes, brought the green closer in hue to the rusty brown splotch in the right iris.

“Yes.” Nick deliberately tore his gaze away from Jamie’s and looked out over the water. “I’d just rather be going anywhere but here.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed.

The walls of the Menagerie loomed over the flat marsh grass that covered most of the island. The place looked utterly bleak even from a distance: high gray walls, a gate like something from a medieval castle, and guards patrolling with wolfhounds and other dogs meant to hunt and kill the largest predators. More guards stood at each corner of the square structure, big game rifles in hand.

The hair on the back of Nick’s neck rose up. If he was caught hiding dangerous familiars, this was where he’d end up. Locked away in this desolate place, probably for the rest of his life. They’d force him into horse form and leave him that way. In a few years, he might not even remember he’d ever been anything else.

Guards gathered on the dock, watching the tug suspiciously. “Metropolitan Witch Police,” Jamie called, and held up his badge.

“We already had one of yours here today,” said a guard in a decidedly unfriendly tone.

“Must’ve been on a different matter.” Jamie lied with an aplomb that made Nick feel a foolish surge of pride. “We’re here to question one of your prisoners.”

The guard frowned and eyed Nick suspiciously. “That your familiar? What’s he turn into?”

“Just a horse,” Jamie said. “Nothing dangerous.”

Nick snorted. Jamie elbowed him in the ribs.

The guard shrugged. “You’ll have to get permission from the warden. Come on.”

Nick trailed behind them as they approached the prison. The guard seemed impatient with Jamie’s slower gait, tapping his foot as he waited for them in front of the walls. At his signal, the main portcullis ratcheted open in a rattle of chains. As he passed under the arch and into deeper shadow, Nick shivered. Surely it wasn’t really that much colder in the shade, but he felt as if ice had touched his bones.

The gate clanged down behind them, the sound echoing and re-echoing off the walls. They entered a vast courtyard, surrounding the prison itself. The prison consisted of five wings around a central hub, four housing prisoners and one for the prison administration. Sounds echoed from the tiny, barred windows: roars and howls, the chittering shriek of an eagle.

Fur and feathers, he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to walk through that door into the heart of the prison. But if he balked now, other familiars would die, because despite what O’Malley had told Jamie, the Wraith wasn’t going to just stop. This wasn’t the work of some random lunatic; last night had proved that well enough.

Jamie slowed just a bit, his fingers brushing Nick’s. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmured, too low for their guide to hear. “It’s all right. We’re walking back out of here soon, you and I.”

Nick had never thought a witch’s comfort would be welcome. “I know.” He squeezed Jamie’s fingers, then let go. “But I’m glad you’re here with me.”

The smell hit him as soon as they stepped in through the heavy iron door. The stench of too many animals kept in too small a space, with only indifferent care shown to them. The warden’s office lay in the smallest wing, on the ground floor. Word must have traveled ahead, because the guard merely ushered them inside

The warden, a thin, gray sort of man, didn’t bother to rise from his chair. He steepled his fingers together and leaned his elbows on his desk. “This is the second time today we’ve had visitors from the MWP,” he said in a precise voice like the clink of chains. “This is most inconvenient.”

“Separate investigations,” Jamie said with a shrug.

“Your…compatriot…came with accusations of carelessness. He claimed one of our prisoners had escaped somehow.”

Jamie gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “What? That don’t seem possible. Not with all the guards and dogs, not to mention the river.”

Though Nick knew Jamie had meant his words to reassure the warden as to their intentions, he had a point. How would Luther have escaped? Even if he somehow made it past the walls and guards and dogs, could lions even swim? Luther might have secretly been a champion swimmer in his human form, but it seemed rather unlikely.

Something didn’t feel right. The patch of skin between his shoulders quivered, as though a stinging fly had landed there.

“Indeed.” The warden watched Jamie carefully, ignoring Nick. “Who was it you wanted to see?”

This part of the plan had been Nick’s. “Velma,” he said. “Wolf. Killed her pregnant sister-in-law in a drunken brawl.”

The warden frowned. “Why do you want to talk to her?”

“Her name came up in conjunction with an illegal hex ring,” Jamie replied. “We’re hoping to get some more names out of her, if we can.”

“I see.” The warden’s frown turned thoughtful. “Very well. You’ll be escorted to an interrogation room and will wait for her there.”