Street Magic

are always a bother, miss. Usually, they make appointments. Out of respect for Mr. Grinchley's status in the community."
    "No offense meant," said Pete, "but Mr. Grinchley's
status
is exactly why I came here." She stepped over the threshold and extended the bags, but before the butler relieved her, pain hit like an iron pipe across her skull.
    Pete dropped to her knees on the Persian carpet in the front hall, head bulging with agony. It was as though everything she felt and heard, all those little inklings of magic that she tried to push away, were hugely amplified and splitting her forehead apart.
    A pair of black leather driving shoes drifted into her field of view, rapidly blurring as she clutched her head, trying to shut out the avalanche of whispers, the sheer pressure of power causing a trickle of blood from her right nostril.
    "Those are my home's protection hexes," said Travis Grinchley. "Designed to keep out unfriendly persons and things."
    "I know what a protection hex is," Pete ground out.
    One of the shoes, smelling of hide and polish, went under her chin and lifted Pete's face to gaze into Grinchley's. He wore spectacles and had the jaw of a matinee idol. "Interesting. I must say, you don't look terribly unfriendly, miss. Does she look unfriendly to you, Perkins?"
    "The inspector asked to speak to you on a matter of some import," said Perkins. "And I got your curry for tea, sir."
    Grinchley shoved his spectacles up his nose and reex-amined Pete. "An inspector. Goodness. A vast improvement over the last clod the local constabulary sent out." He smiled, lips closed, stretched and bloodless. "In that case, Inspector… do come in."
    The scream of feedback in her head ceased immediately, and Pete went on all fours, feeling sweat along her back sting the scratches left by the bansidhe. "Are you this hospitable with all of your visitors, Mr. Grinchley?"
    He took her hand, laid a kiss that crawled along her skin on the back of it, and helped her to her feet. "Only with lovely ones."
    Pete took her hand away too quickly and shoved it into her pocket. "Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"
    Grinchley's eyes glittered darkly. "Of course. Perkins, bring in a tray when the tea's ready."
    Perkins inclined his head and shuffled away like the macabre monster given life. "That makes you the mad doctor, then," Pete whispered at Grinchley's back as he led her into his study. A fire burned in the grate, gas whooshing in the closed space, heating the low-ceilinged room to incubatory temperatures. Grinchley kept his curtains drawn. They could be anywhere, in any time or place. Pete felt her skin dance with chill despite the fire.
    "Something stronger than tea?" Grinchley held up a crystal decanter and a cut glass.
    "I'm on duty," Pete lied. Grinchley poured himself a tipple.
    "Pity." He swirled the whisky and swallowed.
All he needs is a bloody monocle and tailcoat
, Pete thought. "What did you want to speak with me about, Inspector?" said Grinchley. "I can hardly have witnessed a crime or been privy to confidential information. As you can see." He gestured at the dark oak bookshelves filled with artifacts and leather tomes. Jars and animal skulls shone in the firelight. "I'm quite comfortable within my four walls."
    "I'll be blunt," said Pete, turning her back on the rows of curiosities. "Four children have been snatched in the past three weeks. Three have turned up blinded and traumatized beyond speech. The fourth is still missing." She pulled Margaret's picture from the pocket of her jacket and thrust it at Grinchley, who took a disdainful step back. "This child is ten years old, Mr. Grinchley. A close friend of mine believes you have the means to assist in finding her."
    Grinchley frowned, a studied gesture with just the right crinkling of skin between his eyes and thoughtful concern twisting his mouth. Pete saw it then—the flatness behind Grinchley's blandly handsome face. Jack did something similar when he lied, but the difference was that Jack
did
feel, underneath his calculated masks. Grinchley was simply empty.
    "You know what a protection hex is and you haven't asked me about anything in my collection that would indicate your unfamiliarity with the arcane, so I can hardly play innocent, Inspector. How can I help with your esoteric problem?" Grinchley inclined his head.
    "Your Trifold Focus," said Pete. "Give it to me."
    Just for a moment, Grinchley tensed, the lines around his eyes growing darker. Then he