The little admission let her see beneath the self-assured mask for a second, and she froze, seeing the doubt and uncertainty there.
“I won’t turn you in,” she relented with a sigh. “Just behave yourself, okay? No growling at other men, even… and I mean it… even if I smile at them.”
He nodded and then grinned. “If you smile at other men, but don’t smile at me, that means I am special anyway.”
For the love of… “Yeah, handsome. You’re special. You’re certainly special.”
He grinned so she didn’t clue him in and turned at the sound of footsteps. A polite smile crossed her face as Ms. Whipsnide marched toward them, trailed by Sergeant Abberline.
“Security! Security!” she called out, her voice sharp and strident at the same time, kind of like a shrill foghorn. Daffi winced and resisted temptation to shove her finger in her ear and wiggle to make sure she hadn’t busted an eardrum.
Dave quickly shoved a security hat on and ran to her side. “Yes, ma’am! How can I help?”
“Where’s Iggy?” Whipsnide asked sharply.
“On nightshift, ma’am. And he called in sick. I was on rota for backup.”
She huffed and gestured toward Daffi. “I want this woman and her companions removed immediately!”
Dave shifted from foot to foot nervously. “For what reason, ma’am? I mean… they bought tickets and everything.”
“I don’t care!” Her voice got higher, threatening the windows in the lobby. Several visitors looked their way, all sneky-necked with the chance of drama. “They’re banned. Sergeant, arrest them for trespassing!”
The sergeant blinked and started to take a step forward, only to be stopped by Garlick as he pushed to the front of the group with his tail swishing in warning.
“Actually, he can’t. Statute seven four three of the Old City bylaws give all magical residents of the city right of access to the medical records kept here during business hours.”
The sergeant blinked and looked at Whipsnide. “He is quite correct. Those bylaws were never rescinded.”
Whipsnide’s expression turned sly. “Ah… but they’re not. Miss McGee was evicted from her apartment last night.”
Surprise rolled through Daffi. “How do you know that?”
“If that’s true…” Sergeant Abberline straightened his uniform jacket. “Miss McGee, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.”
Garlick swished his tail again with all the authority of a sergeant-major with his pace stick. “Hold on a moment.”
Abberline looked down. “What now?”
Garlick looked up at Daffi, golden eyes flicking to her badge pointedly.
“Oh, right… yes.” She lifted it from the lanyard around her neck and handed it to him. “I think you’ll find that those registered as MPIs have right of access anywhere in the city—apart from the Tower and the Royal Mint of course.
“And Buck House,” Garlick added.
“Of course. It would be rude to barge in on the queen without a formal invitation.”
Oberon blinked. “Queen? A cousin! I must send my regards and notify her of my arrival in her glorious lands!”
“Cousin?” Abberline asked, eyeing Oberon in confusion.
Daffi stood on Oberon’s toe to shut him the hell up. Block heels weren’t as effective as stilettoes for that maneuver, but his small squeak assured her that she had, in fact, gotten her point across.
“Don’t mind him,” she said quickly. “Method actor. He’s rehearsing for Richard III at the Underglobe.”
“Ahhh… excellent. I do like a good play.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little, as Abberline nodded and seemed to buy it… but only a little as the sergeant studied her badge. He handed it back.
“Seems perfectly in order. Good luck with your investigation.”
“MPI my broomstick, we’ll see about that!” Whipsnide snatched the badge before Daffi could take it back. “Sergeant, wait here. I’m sure you’ll soon be arresting Miss McGee for impersonating an investigator as well as trespassing, just you wait and see!”
10
“Seriously? You’re telling me the girl is actually a legal investigator? Surely you can do something about that?” Whipsnide’s furious voice reached through the thick wood of The Office door to assault the ears of the small group waiting out in the corridor.
Whipsnide’s office was on the second level, the corridor a balcony that ran all the way around the entrance hall. It gave them an eagle-eye view of all new arrivals and the ticket booth/shop where Dave was currently being questioned by Sergeant Abberline. The Shifter seemed a little agitated, running his hands repeatedly through his shoulder length, surfer blond hair.
“What? I don’t know, Duncan. You’re a moons-damned High Circle Judge. Surely there must be something you can do! Have her registration revoked! Do I have to do everything myself?”
Daffi was leaning against a pedestal with a bust of Mother Shipton. More a seer than an actual witch, she still had a place in British Magical History. The Shipton family had patented her revolutionary foresight method, and it was currently sold as a smartphone app. Reviews varied from the truly impressive to gummy bears on Amazon level.
She raised an eyebrow. “Anyone else think Ms. Whipsnide really doesn’t want us on this case?”
“Indeed.” Garlick looked up from his self-appointed task of covering Oberon’s black jeans in silver fur from the knee down. The big fairy was currently ignoring him, instead watching the video on the big screen in the lobby.
“She won’t get far though.” The cat studied his handiwork and, apparently satisfied, sat down, wrapping his floofy tail neatly around his paws. His fiery eyes glowed with amusement. “For a guess that’s Duncan Fozedyke she’s talking to and there’s no way he’ll revoke your MPI registration.”
“There isn’t?” She blinked, hiding her smile as Oberon casually waved a hand and all Garlick’s carefully applied cat hair disappeared as if it had never been.
“Nope.”
The cat yawned so widely that she practically saw his breakfast and grinned. “Who do you think I got to sign off on your registration?”
“Right. I see. Well, thanks for nothing. I’ll just have to deal with this myself. As. Usual.” There was a ringing clatter followed by the stomp of angry footsteps, and then the door was yanked open to reveal a furious-looking Whipsnide.
“Since
