Cornelius was already at his desk. He wore a dark grey suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. His blond hair was neatly brushed back. Even at his worst, Cornelius always had a certain style. He was trim, neat, and calm. You’d never guess that the same man sang a horde of rats into devouring a living human being.

Today no rats were in attendance, but Talon, his chicken hawk, perched on top of the bookcase, glaring at me with amber eyes.

Cornelius raised his head from his laptop. His serious blue eyes widened. I was wearing a black Armani pantsuit over an expensive light grey blouse and Stuart Weitzman pumps, which had the wonderful advantage of being comfortable enough to run in, if the occasion required. My hair was straightened and pulled back from my face into a knot. My makeup was applied with all the skill I could muster, considering my headache.

“You look like a CIA agent,” Cornelius observed.

“Have you ever met any CIA agents?”

“No. But I would imagine they would look like you.”

“This is my inspire-confidence-in-clients look,” I told him. “I own two expensive suits. I wear one to the initial meeting and the other when I come to close the case and collect my payment. The rest of the time the suits hang in plastic in the back of my closet.”

“Are you planning to impress a client?” he asked.

“We already have a client. I need to impress her House. Her husband is missing, and if his family had something to do with it, I’d like them to consider me a serious threat, so they can focus on me instead of her. I would like you to come with me. It would be a good experience for you, and it would help my credibility.”

“Of course.” Cornelius rose.

“Our client is Rynda Sherwood. Formerly Rynda Charles.”

He froze.

“She showed up here last night,” I explained. “Her husband is missing.”

Cornelius found his voice. “Does she . . . know?”

“She knows that Rogan and I were present. She doesn’t know exactly how Olivia was killed or who did it. I understand if you would rather stay.”

“But why would she come to you?”

“Because all of her mother’s friends abandoned her, and House Sherwood doesn’t seem to be concerned about her husband’s disappearance. She truly has no place to go.”

“Do you think this is connected to the conspiracy her mother was involved in?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe her husband is a stressed-out workaholic who snapped and decided to disappear for a few days.”

Cornelius pondered it.

“I also should mention that I filed to be recognized as a House.”

He blinked again. “Congratulations.”

“Victoria Tremaine is my grandmother,” I continued. “She was none too happy about this development, and while there are rules which prevent her from interfering, I can’t promise she won’t try something.”

“Are you nervous?” Cornelius asked.

“Yes.” There was no point in lying. “Given a choice, I would rather hide here until the trials, but I promised Rynda I’d look for her husband.”

“You can’t hide,” Cornelius said quietly. “Your name is in the book. People are watching all of you, but especially you, to see what sort of House you’ll become. First impressions matter.”

“First impressions?”

Cornelius paused. “When the petition of House formation is filed, it’s read before the Assembly and, more practically, it’s announced in their internal newsletter.”

Great. Every House in Texas would see our name in their email box. “So everyone knows?”

“Yes. This is done to discourage interference from other Houses.”

“Will they know what talents we are requesting to be tested?”

“Yes.”

So the cat was out of the bag. I had announced myself as a truthseeker to the entire state of Texas.

“You will be watched,” Cornelius said. “The way you conduct yourself now is very important.”

He was right. Hiding was out of the question. We couldn’t afford to look like cowards.

I looked at Cornelius. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you in or out?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “In. Let me grab a travel cup for my coffee.”

BioCore occupied a rectangular building of black glass off of Post Oak Circle, across from the Houstonian. Unlike the towers of downtown, this building was long, eating up a lot of real estate, but only a few stories high.

Cornelius and I parked in front of it. A few weeks ago Rogan had destroyed my Mazda minivan by ripping it in half and throwing pieces at some mages who were attacking us. He’d replaced it with a blue Honda CR-V, which, I discovered after the fact, was armored to the gills. Grandma Frida had tons of fun tweaking it. If we faced magic and bullets, I’d just sprint to my car.

I realized I was scanning the building, looking for hidden danger. My adventures with Rogan had made me paranoid.

I crossed the lot to the heavy glass doors. Talon settled himself on Cornelius’ shoulder. Cornelius wore a pinched expression. I couldn’t tell if he was concentrating, nervous, or both. This wouldn’t do. I needed him to be calm and professional.

“Have you thought of investing in a wooden leg and a tricorn hat?”

He blinked. “No, why?”

I pointed at his reflection in the glass door. He studied it.

“I suppose Talon does very slightly resemble a parrot. I’m afraid I’m not much of a pirate though.”

“It’s all in the attitude,” I told him. “Just imagine that this building is a Spanish galleon loaded with stolen treasure, and you are a captain of a pirate crew.”

Cornelius studied himself some more, taking in his perfectly styled hair, his clean-shaven face, and his expensive tailored suit, opened his mouth, and said, “Arrr.”

I grinned and pushed the revolving door.

Inside, a sterile, crescent-shaped lobby greeted us: white walls, ultramodern lights, and black marble floors. At the widest part of the crescent, a barely visible outline in the pale wall indicated a double door. To the left of it, two guards in olive green uniforms sat at the reception desk. The guards looked at us and gave Talon the evil eye. We approached the desk. I gave the guards my name and my card and asked to speak to Edward Sherwood. The shorter of the guards picked up the phone and spoke into it quietly.

We waited.

The doors whispered open and a tall man emerged. He was in his late thirties, with brown hair, light hazel eyes, and a square jaw. He moved like a former jock who hadn’t quite gone soft, mostly because he didn’t know how. The tailored grey suit made his shoulders even wider. You had a feeling that if you stood between him and something that really mattered, he would go through you, and he wouldn’t lose his cool, because it wouldn’t be personal. He also matched the photographs I’d looked up this morning. Edward Sherwood, Brian’s older brother.

Calm eyes, assured walk, no hint of tension in the jaw or in the line of his shoulders. If he had something to do with his brother’s disappearance, he was either completely confident that he would get away with it or an excellent actor.

“Ms. Baylor,” he said. His voice was measured and calm like the rest of him. “Rynda told me you would be coming.”

“Good morning.”

We shook hands. He had a firm handshake. The real question was, did he read the Assembly newsletter and would he remember my name?

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.” I turned to Cornelius. “One of our investigators, Cornelius Harrison.”

Cornelius also got a handshake.

“Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable. Please follow me.” He headed for the door. It slid open at his approach, we stepped through, and it hissed shut behind us. I gaped.

An enormous atrium spread in front of us, a labyrinth of raised beds and planters, so many that the floor formed a curving stone path between them. It had to have taken most of their first three floors. I couldn’t even begin to guess at the square footage. You could fit our warehouse inside several times over.

Edward strolled down the path and I moved to keep up with him. Several old trees grew in raised beds, each covered with various mushrooms: a huge mass of white dangling threads that looked like an odd mop or an ultramodern chandelier; turkey tail mushrooms in a dozen colors I had never seen before, from granite grey to vivid green and intense burgundy; a nest of orange snakes that was probably a fungus or maybe an alien from outer space; a huge mass of bright yellow mushrooms, and on and on.