“What?” Rook squawked. “You want to bond with a witch?”

Jamie had gathered everyone Nick requested in the interrogation room on the Coven’s lowest level, as it was the only place large enough. Rook and Dominic were there, along with Tom and Cicero, and of course Jamie and Nick.

He didn’t tell them why, only that Nick needed to talk to them somewhere private. But the whole time, his belly had been tying itself in knots. He’d lain awake half the night, wondering if he was doing the right thing, agreeing to Nick’s mad plan. What Wyatt would think about it all.

He reminded himself he was doing this for Wyatt. The last thing he could do, and it shouldn’t have felt like a betrayal. If anything, Wyatt was surely the one who had betrayed Jamie, by letting Jamie think he was dead.

If he hadn’t wanted Nick, it might have felt different. Simpler.

Nick stamped his foot against the stone floor. “Temporarily,” he clarified. “Only long enough to catch the murderer. But yes.”

Rook turned to Dominic. “Am I dreaming? Hallucinating? That must be it. I accidentally activated one of the illegal hexes, and it’s done something to my mind. That’s the only explanation.”

“Perhaps we both did,” suggested Dominic, who stared at Nick as though he’d never seen him before. Tom Halloran only looked confused, but Cicero had started to smirk. Jamie remembered their earlier conversation; apparently, he’d given more away to the cat than he’d realized. Heat crept up his face, and he prayed no one else noticed.

“Now if only we could find a witch willing to put up with a horse’s arse,” Cicero drawled. “And the rest of him, too, I suppose.”

“One moment.” Dominic held up his hands. “MacDougal, is that why you’re involved in this? Nick thinks you’re going to bond with him?”

“Absolutely not!” Rook exclaimed in horror.

Jamie stiffened. Did Rook not think he was good enough for Nick, even temporarily? “We don’t need your permission,” he snapped, at the same moment Nick said, “You damned hypocrite.”

Rook focused on Jamie. “I know my brother, so let me guess how this went. Nick came up with this crackpot idea, and now he’s charging ahead and dragging you along behind him. Just like he does with everyone.”

Nick’s nostrils flared, and he drew himself up. “That isn’t true.”

“Of course it’s true!” Rook turned on his brother, lips pulled taut against his teeth. “You’ve done it your whole life.”

“Rook,” Dominic said. “Perhaps you aren’t thinking clearly about this. The unfortunate truth is, we could use the help.”

Rook shot Dominic a glare. “I’m thinking clearly, all right. Jamie, this is a terrible decision. I know you’re desperate to do something. But you don’t know my brother.”

“Nick wants to get justice for Wyatt,” Jamie said. “As well as for the other dead ferals. What else do I have to know?”

“Nick isn’t looking for a partnership,” Rook said. “He wants to use you to get a foot in the door at the MWP. The moment he has access to our case notes, and a badge to wave at suspects, he’ll gallop off and leave you in the dust.”

Jamie wavered. Rook did know his brother best. But if he didn’t take Nick’s offer, Wyatt’s killer might get away.

“Did you ask yourself why Nick chose you, out of all the potential witches?” Rook turned his gaze pointedly to Jamie’s left leg. “Do you think it might be because he assumed you’d be grateful for the opportunity?”

All the air left Jamie’s lungs, as if he’d been slapped. “Rook!” Dominic exclaimed in shock. Cicero’s eyes widened, and Tom looked horrified.

They saw him the same way Muriel did. As an invalid. Someone not up to the job.

Which meant Ferguson probably did too. Even if Jamie found a permanent familiar, once Nick was gone, he’d end up on a desk somewhere, shuffling papers.

He turned to Nick, half-afraid he’d see pity etched there. But Nick’s thick brows had drawn low into a scowl. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?” Jamie asked.

“What, that you’re some kind of fucking war hero? A Rough Rider?” His lip curled on the last words. “I imagine you’ve got your pick of familiars. There are always fools searching for a bit of reflected glory, but Rook ought to damn well know I’m not one of them.”

Instead of replying with words, Jamie jerked his left pant leg up, over the shoe and sock meant to make the foot look normal, exposing the smooth wood of his calf.

Nick’s dark eyes took in the sight—then he snorted. “If you’re looking for pity, look elsewhere, witch. At least you volunteered for it.”

“I ain’t looking for pity,” Jamie snapped, stung. He let the pant leg fall.

“It seems you underestimated Nicholas, Rook,” Cicero said. “If he didn’t know about James’s injury, he couldn’t have been planning to take some sort of advantage of him.”

Before, maybe. But now that he knew, would he view Jamie as not up to the task?

Rook folded his arms over his chest. “It’s still a terrible idea.”

Tom’s brow was furrowed. “Jamie ain’t your witch, right, Nick?”

Nick’s mouth thinned. He shifted his weight and looked away. “No.”

“Don’t you see?” Jamie asked. “If Nick was looking to use me, as you say, surely he’d lie about it and say I was.” He levered himself to his feet. “Besides, I can make my own decisions. So are you going to let us help with the investigation, or not?”

“You do need the extra hands,” Cicero pointed out.

“No one asked you,” Rook snapped.

Dominic put a soothing hand to Rook’s arm. “Cicero isn’t wrong. If Jamie is sure…”

“Aye,” Jamie said firmly. “I’m sure.”

Nick turned his glare on Tom and Cicero. “You swear to break the bond in one month, no matter what.”

“Unless both of you ask us not to,” Cicero replied.

“Aye,” Tom said, holding out his hand to shake on it. “I promise.”

Nick ignored the hand. “Fine. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Come on, Jamie.”

“Where are we going?” Jamie asked.

“Outside. I need the room.”

Jamie led Nick toward the interior courtyard, his gut a jumble of emotions. “Shouldn’t we ask Ferguson first? Make sure he’ll agree to this?”

“It’ll be harder for him to refuse if we’ve already bonded,” Nick replied. Jamie wasn’t entirely certain of that, but he didn’t say anything until they reached the yard.

A wagon clattered past and into the street, the morning shift driver hastening out on a job. Otherwise, the area was quiet, save for the horses stirring in the stable.

Nick took in the courtyard, then nodded at the stable. “In there, to start. In case someone else comes into the yard.”

The remaining horses lifted their heads and watched them curiously. “I spend most of my shift here,” Jamie said, pointing at the nook with a chair and stove, unlit for now. “Or I did. I suppose I won’t be back for a while. Until next month.”

“Or less,” Nick said. “If we’re lucky.”

“Aye.” Jamie turned to face him. “Now what?”

Nick looked as though he nerved himself to do something. He stepped closer, right into Jamie’s space.

Jamie swallowed hard. His prick twitched at the nearness; he fancied he could almost feel the heat of Nick’s body through the chilly fall air.

He forced himself to crane his head back and look up at Nick, to focus on his face alone. Not that it helped. Nick was a real stunner, with those generous lips and broad nose. And his eyes, so dark that the dim light hid the boundary between iris and pupil. Jamie sucked in a lungful of air, smelled hay and horses, the comforting scents of the stable. But something else, too. A trace of sweat and musk that went right to his groin.

Wyatt had smelled of feathers, like dust and sand. Some people had found his pale yellow eyes unnerving, but Jamie had loved them, from the first second he saw them.

Nick stared back at Jamie, lips parted. Then he pressed them together, swallowed. “Close your eyes.”

Jamie obeyed. He sensed Nick looming over him, closer and closer. Hot breath feathered over his face, coffee and mint. Strong fingers cupped his jaw, and the shock of it went through him, stoking the embers of desire into a flame. An involuntary moan escaped him, and Nick’s breath caught audibly.

Warm lips brushed against one eyelid, then the other. “Let me in, Jamie,” Nick whispered.

The taste of blood filled Jamie’s mouth. The wild thought came to him that he could tilt his head back just a little farther, catch Nick’s mouth with his own.

He sensed Nick step back, cool air rushing into the gap between them. He opened his eyes; Nick’s cheeks had flushed darker, his lips parted again. For a moment, he thought Nick would shove him down into the nearest pile of hay and fuck him senseless.

Maybe he shouldn’t want that, but Saint Mary help him, he did.

Then Nick tossed his head, hair flying, as though shaking something off. “Come on,” he said gruffly, and stomped out to the tiny yard.

Jamie welcomed the cold even more than usual, because it at least took the edge off the erection tightening his trousers. He followed Nick, until Nick stopped abruptly and turned to Jamie.

“A few things, before I let you look through my eyes,” he said. “You might fancy yourself a rough rider, but don’t even think about breaking me.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “I ain’t—I wouldn’t!”

“Also, use my magic without my permission, and you’ll get a fist to the face. Understand?”

Whatever had been between them in the stable had evaporated. Jamie should have been relieved. “I promise.”

“And another thing—don’t think you’ll be riding anywhere on my back. Ever.”

Jamie held up his hands. “I won’t. I swear it.”

Nick’s brows drew down. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Then he was gone, replaced by one of the biggest horses Jamie had ever seen, at least seventeen hands of solid muscle.

Jamie stepped back, realized his mouth was hanging open, and shut it. But Saint Mary, Nick was just as gorgeous in his horse form as he was in his human. Though big and solid, Nick was no draft horse. This was a warhorse, nimble despite his size. His coat was black, not a single white hair anywhere on him. The mane and tail streaming in the autumn wind had a slight waviness to them, much like Nick’s human hair. Thick hair—feathers, though that had always struck Jamie as an odd word to use in conjunction with horses—concealed most of his hooves.

Nick swung his head around and stared at him. “Close your eyes.”

Jamie blinked at the voice in his head, then obeyed. The view that bloomed behind his eyelids was disorienting, to say the least. He could see most of the yard—far more of it than he was used to seeing at once. The colors seemed oddly dull. The sight of his own face, eyes closed, was even stranger.

Then Nick reared, stretching up and up, as if to emphasize just how much smaller Jamie was than him. Enormous hooves churned the air—then came down again on the bricks with a decisive crack.

“Message received,” Jamie muttered, and opened his eyes.

Nick transformed back into his human shape. “Good,” he said. He looked away, staring at the open gate, as though he considered bolting through it. “Finish it, then.”

Jamie took out his notebook and flipped to an unlocking hex he’d drawn. For practice, he thought, but it was good enough to serve as the real thing. His hand hovered over it, but he paused. “May I use your magic to charge this unlocking hex, Nick?”

Nick’s head snapped around, as if he thought Jamie mocked him. Then his scowl relaxed. “Yes. You may.”

Jamie wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. He laid his fingers on the hex, concentrated on Nick, and felt heat bloom behind his heart. An odd sort of flow, from the warm spot to his fingers, and into the hex.

He shut the notebook. “It’s done,” he said.

Nick rubbed at his chest. So he felt something too. “Let’s go tell Chief Ferguson. The sooner we get started with this, the sooner we’ll be done.”

“No.” Chief Ferguson said. “Absolutely not.”

Nick’s nostrils flared, and he sucked in a deep breath. He knew he’d been stupid to put his trust in witches, but he hadn’t expected it to come back on him quite so soon.

At his side, Jamie stiffened. “Sir—”

“I’m not done, MacDougal.” Ferguson rose to his feet, glaring at them both. His owl familiar clacked her beak and puffed up her feathers angrily on her perch. “You don’t come to me beforehand. You don’t ask for permission. Instead, you stroll in here and tell me about this plan of yours, after you’ve already bonded? Have you forgotten who’s in charge here?”

“No, sir,” Jamie said, but his lower lip stuck out mulishly.

There had been a moment—more than a moment—in the stable, when Nick had wanted to bite that tempting lip. Jamie had shut his eyes and tipped his head back, exposing his long throat, and the sight had gone right to Nick’s cock. He’d wanted to put Jamie over the little desk in the corner and hear him moan again and again.

He took a deep breath and focused on Ferguson’s reddened face. That ought to be enough to kill any desire, surely.

“Is it you in charge, MacDougal?” Ferguson demanded. “Is it your uncle?”

“No, sir,” Jamie repeated.

Well, he wasn’t about to let Jamie take the full brunt of abuse alone. Nick put his shoulders back. “We’re trying to help you, witch,” he said to Ferguson.

“Maybe I don’t want your help.” Ferguson didn’t look the least intimidated. “I’ve heard things about you, Nick. Things that don’t incline me to let you join the MWP, no matter who you’ve bonded with.” He sat back in his chair. “This isn’t your saloon. You can’t just stroll into my office like you own the place. Working here means you have to take orders. From me. A witch.”

Nick had been a fool to imagine the MWP would cooperate. “I should’ve known you don’t give a damn about dead ferals.”

“Don’t try that with me, horse. You can’t manipulate me that easily.” Ferguson glanced at Jamie, then back at Nick. “If you think I’m going to let you take advantage of MacDougal here, you’re wrong.”

Not this again. Before Nick could protest, Jamie said, “The shell hit my leg, not my brain. Sir.”

At least Ferguson had the grace to look guilty. “I didn’t mean…You’re right, MacDougal. That came out wrong. I understand you’re eager to make detective. But this isn’t the way to go about it. We have some unbonded familiars in the MWP whose time to choose a witch is almost up. Go find Halloran, have him break this bond. Talk to the unbonded. Get to know them. Find out if any of them are interested. You’ll have a desk up here in no time.”

“With all due respect, this ain’t about my career.” Jamie’s spine was ramrod straight, his jaw hard. “Nick and I will work together. He didn’t ask me to do this with him just for show.”

“Damned right I didn’t,” Nick said. He shouldn’t care one way or the other what Jamie thought of him, but the idea rankled. In theory, he’d use a witch if it suited him—witches certainly never hesitated to use familiars, after all. But given the man had turned down his offer at first, Jamie didn’t strike him as the type to let himself be used.

“I know the feral community, better than any of your tame familiars,” Nick went on. “I can get answers no one else can.”

Ferguson’s jaw firmed. “No. That’s my final—”

There came a frantic knock on the door. “What?” Ferguson barked.

A pale young witch stuck her head in cautiously. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I thought you should know. There’s a woman here who says she might have some information on the feral killings.”

“I was riding my bicycle through Central Park,” the woman said. She clutched a hot cup of coffee without drinking it, as if drawing strength from its warmth. “The best time for bird watching is early morning, you see.”

Nick leaned against the doorway to the interrogation room, arms crossed over his chest. Ferguson and Athene had collected Rook and Dominic on the way down to interview her. Nick followed without asking for permission, and Jamie did the same. Ferguson hadn’t yet remarked on their presence, though Nick didn’t doubt he was aware of it.

“What did you see, Miss Clayton?” Athene asked. She’d taken human form, and sat across from the woman.

“The weather was fair, so I went up to the Blockhouse. I thought it would be a lovely view, with all the turning leaves painting the park in orange and red and yellow. But as I approached the ruin, I saw a smear of blood on the stones of the doorway, and another on the steps.” She swallowed. “I remembered reading something in the papers about a murder. Well, my first thought was the killer might have been lurking about, waiting for a new victim, so I snatched up my bicycle and left as quickly as possible.”

“Did you touch anything?” Athene asked. “Take anything away?”

“No.” Miss Clayton shook her head. “I know better than to disturb a crime scene.” She lowered her voice. “I read the Howl and Roger dime novels, you see.”

Nick barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

“Thank you, Miss Clayton,” Athene said. “We’ll look into it as soon as we can.”

Once the woman had left, Jamie said, “How soon will that be?”

“We could put off looking at illegal hexes and go now,” Rook suggested hopefully.

Ferguson rubbed at his face. “No. The reformers have got the papers in a frenzy, which means the Police Board is pressuring me in return. We need arrests, but we also need convictions.”

Jamie’s eyes flashed like green fire. “This can’t wait! I know the Police Board are threatening to replace you with a non-witch, but in the meantime we have a killer on the loose.”

“This might not have had anything to do with the murders,” Athene pointed out. “The blood could have come from anything.”

“Or there could be another body inside,” Dominic said unhappily. “We can’t just let this go, Ferguson.”

“Jamie and I could look into it for you,” Nick pointed out.

“Aye,” Jamie said. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, chief.”

Rook let out a cawing laugh. Ferguson sighed, as though asking himself why he put up with any of them. “Fine. I’ll let MacDougal and Nick take a look at the Blockhouse. On one condition.” His gaze shifted to Nick and turned into a scowl. “You take any order you’re given. From me, from Kopecky, from your brother—it doesn’t matter. Rook and Kopecky are still the ones officially in charge of the investigation, so they’ll tell you what to do. And you’ll do it. The first time you disobey, you’re gone.”

Nick ground his teeth. He wanted to argue. To say he wasn’t going to let a damned witch boss him around.

But maybe it was already too late for that. He could feel warmth burning behind his heart, the spot where the bond with Jamie lived. He wanted it gone.

He’d always told himself he’d do whatever it took to protect ferals. To keep them safe, so they didn’t have to bow and scrape to witches just to get by. So instead here he was, doing the bowing and scraping for them.

Fur and feathers. They needed to catch the killer so he could put all this behind him.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Ferguson nodded and made for the door. Athene took on owl form and followed him out.

“Why am I having trouble believing you’ll do what anyone tells you?” Rook asked, once Ferguson was gone. “Jamie, I know it’s asking a lot, but please rein him in.”

Nick snorted. “Just don’t try to do it literally.” He let his arms fall. “Can we go, witch?” he asked Dominic.

“Yes.” Dominic glanced at Jamie and grimaced. “Good luck.”