“Magical education is purely extracurricular. Some wizards teach their own kids, but most of us go through this kind of program. I should have thought of this earlier. It’s one of the best ways to learn remedial spells, and their spells are sound on a theoretical basis.”

I noticed that there were notes scribbled in the margins in a childish version of Owen’s textbook-perfect handwriting. Even as a little kid he’d been modifying and correcting the text. “Should I learn it as printed or with your version?” I asked, unable to hold back a smile at the thought of little Owen learning magic. I’d seen the pictures at his foster parents’ home of a tiny boy whose eyes were owlishly large behind thick glasses.

He blushed and started to answer, but his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID readout, frowned, and flipped it open to answer. “Hi, Earl,” he said, then he paused, frowning more deeply. “Earl? Hello? Hello?” He moved the phone away from his ear to look at it before flipping it closed. “Strange.”

“He may have just pocket dialed you,” I suggested.

“But he hasn’t called me today, so I doubt he accidentally redialed.”

“Does Earl call you often?”

“He’s been consulting me some on this case. He’s been running into some unusual magic.”

A “ding” came from his computer, and he turned to check his e-mail. I took that as my cue to return to my studies. “That’s weird,” he murmured.

“What is?”

“Earl sent me an e-mail from his phone.”

“Does it explain the call?”

“I don’t know. There’s no text to it, just a photo.”

“Of what?” I said, putting down the book and going around his desk so I could look over his shoulder. The photo showed a building—the kind of late-Victorian brick industrial-type buildings that were all over the city. “Why did Earl send you a photo of a building?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but let’s find out.” He picked up his phone and dialed, listened for a while then shook his head. “No answer.”

“That’s not good,” I concluded. “Do you think he disappeared like those others? He must have found something.”

“Or he could be in a dead zone.” He dialed again and left Earl a message to call him. I got the feeling he didn’t believe the dead zone theory because he then called Sam to update him.

Both of us went back to our respective tasks, but I doubted either of us was really getting anything done. Our heads popped up in unison when Owen’s desk phone rang. He answered it and said, “Yes, sir. I’ll be there in a moment.” He hung up, leaned over his computer keyboard for a moment and clicked a few keys, then said as he rose from his chair, “The photo must be something because the boss wants to talk about it.”

I jumped up to tag along with him because while I hadn’t exactly been invited, I hadn’t specifically been excluded, as far as I knew. At least, Owen made no move to tell me not to come with him.

When we reached Merlin’s office, he was studying his computer monitor. “Does this photograph mean anything to you?” he asked Owen, as though he’d been there all along instead of just having arrived.

“I don’t recognize it,” Owen said.

“And he attempted to call you at approximately the same time he sent this?”

“From what I can tell, yes.”

Merlin stroked his beard. “Interesting. I suppose this is a clue, but I can’t imagine what it’s meant to tell us.”

Sam flew in then and alit on the back of a chair. “Still no word from Earl.”

“We need to look into this,” I said. “Something must have happened if he sent us a clue.”

Sam shook his head. “There’s no ‘us’ about it, doll. You’re not a part of this one. Neither of you is.”

I would have argued, but Merlin’s stern glare shut me up immediately. “Sam is correct,” he said. “You two have done more than enough this year, and this particular business doesn’t concern you.”

“But Perdita’s my assistant, and Earl wouldn’t have been working with MSI if it weren’t for us. It’s partly our fault if they’re in danger.”

“Earl was an undercover agent in the court of the Elf Lord, so he was hardly out of danger,” Merlin said dryly. “In fact, his association with us may have kept him safer until today.”

I didn’t have a good argument as to why I should be involved. Even at my most creative stretching of my job description, I couldn’t rationalize it. Still, I felt like I ought to be doing something.