with Jumoke, even for a few months, is going to be hard.”
“I owe Trent a favor,” he said as he wedged the end of the clip into the crack of a drawer and bent a fold straight. “This might help.”
“Trent? You’re doing this for him?” I blurted, and Jenks shrugged.
“The man needs a major PR boost,” he said as he unbent a second curve and then the last. “A couple of human-interest stories with me on his shoulder, and the enclave will lighten up,” he added, sighting down the length of metal before heedlessly throwing it away, dissatisfied. “Suckers. All them elves are suckers for pixy dust.”
I leaned back in the chair and swiveled from side to side. “You noticed that, too, huh?” I said, then we both looked up at a soft thump from the back. “You okay?” I said as I rose, but it was only Ivy, opening the door to hold out a lab coat.
“That will help. Thanks,” I said as I shrugged into it, rather enjoying the scent of Were that clung to it. “You got him okay?”
Ivy smiled and buttoned her blouse. “I’m fine. He slipped and hit his head when he thought I was going to bite him. I’ll sit with him and make sure you aren’t interrupted.”
“Thanks,” I said, and after giving Jenks a look to keep his mouth shut, she slipped back inside and closed the door but for a crack.
“What do you think?” I said, modeling the lab coat for Jenks, and he gave me a once-over.
“Try his glasses,” he suggested, and I went to get them from where Ivy had left them on a gurney. Mr. Were was nearsighted, and I squinted at myself in a one-way mirror and wondered if my mother had wished I’d taken up the nursing profession instead of the kicking-ass profession—though the best nurses did both.
A knuckle knock at the door brought me spinning around. Jenks hit the floor in a burst of dull green. A tired-looking woman in flannel pajamas and cuffs was standing before the desk, escorted by a uniformed I.S. cop. My pulse hammered and I came forward.
“Where’s Wally?” the cop asked, and I adjusted my glasses so I could look over them.
“Family emergency,” I said, then cleared my throat to hide the sound of Jenks’s wings. “They called me to sub. Paperwork?”
I held out my hand, and the cop’s suspicion eased. I had no idea what their protocol was, but paperwork was a good bet. “Gurney, please?” I said as I looked it over. Sandra. Witch. Married. Thirty-three. Worked retail. Accused of assaulting her wife at ten this morning. But the real story was in the woman herself. By the looks of it, she’d been crying, gotten angry, and then probably scared. Too many people at the I.S. liked to play with their food.
“Uh, you’re going to lock her down, right?” I said when the cop began fiddling with the equipment on the counter. I wanted him to go, and he wouldn’t if she wasn’t cuffed to something.
The woman made a bark of sad laugher. “I’m not going to hurt anyone,” she said, her voice sounding raw. “I’ve never been in trouble a day in my life.”
Which was true, according to Sandra’s report. “That’s why I’d feel better if you were restrained,” I prompted, and the cop groaned dramatically and reached for the tether. Unrolling it, he locked one end to her cuffs, the other to the gurney’s grab rail.
“Better?” he said. It was a lame place to cuff her to. All the woman had to do was hop down and push her way to the drawer, where she could find something to jimmy the lock. It wouldn’t matter how many stars, moons, and clovers the officer had on his cuffs.
“Thanks,” I said, not caring if the guy thought I was scared. “Okay, can you tell me your name?” I said to the woman, and she sighed.
“Sandra Betric-Tenson,” she said, blinking fast at the hyphenated name.
“Thanks, Sandra. A contusion over your left eye. Multiple minor lacerations on your arms. When was your last tetanus shot?”
“Ah, five years ago?”
Sandra seemed to rally, probably appreciating a question that didn’t hinge on her wife or why she’d thought starting her morning by trying to decapitate her was a good idea.
“This might take awhile if you want to get a coffee,” I said to the cop, not surprised when he sauntered forward and jingled the woman’s tether.
“Sure,” he said, leering. “Be a good little witch.”