A stocky, white man stepped into the office. He appeared to be in his early forties. His tousled dark hair stuck out from his head in all directions, as if he’d rolled out of bed and hadn’t even bothered to drag a comb or even his hand through it. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He wore khaki shorts, work boots and a blue T-shirt with a pointy hat printed in white ink. The words below the hat said Keep calm, I’m a wizard.

The firebug stopped slouching and stood straight, suddenly looking alert and professional.

“Crap,” Stella muttered.

Luther Dillon. When I left, he was a higher-up in Biohazard. Whenever Kate had to report something to them, she called him first. I’d met him a handful of times, twice because Kate asked for my help with a crime scene and on a few occasions at family gatherings, like Kate and Curran’s wedding. All I remembered about him was that he called Kate a heathen and pretended she bothered him, while helping her in every way he could, and he was brilliant. On the recognition danger scale, he ranked pretty low.

Luther gave me a cursory glance and focused on Stella. “Knight Davis.”

“Assistant Director Dillon,” Stella squeezed through clenched teeth. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

She winced as soon as she said it.

“I’m a wizard, Knight Davis. We are always exactly where we’re supposed to be. You, however, are not where you’re supposed to be. I was wondering who was cavorting around my crime scene, asking smart questions, and imagine my surprise when it turned out to be you.”

Uh-oh.

Luther crossed his arms. “Do you remember the song I taught you last time you interfered with one of my crime scenes?”

Stella looked like she’d swallowed spoiled milk. “Yes.”

“Splendid. Let’s sing it together. I’ll start. Biohazard is a law enforcement agency, yes, yes, yes. Your turn.”

Stella unlocked her teeth. “The Order is not a law enforcement agency, no, no, no.”

“All the crime scenes in Atlanta Metro are mine, mine, mine.”

“All the crime scenes in Atlanta Metro are yours, yours, yours,” Stella intoned.

“When are you allowed into one of my crime scenes?” Luther continued.

“When I’m personally invited, invited, invited.”

Wow. What did she do to make him that mad? I’d never seen him like this.

“Knight Davis,” Luther said without any trace of humor. “Were you invited to this crime scene?”

“No.”

“Begone, ye unfortunate.” Luther pointed at the door. Stella headed straight for it without another word, and I followed.

We walked down the hallway with Luther about twenty feet behind.

“What did you do?” I whispered.

“Later,” Stella ground out.

“No, no, Knight Davis,” Luther called. “Don’t be shy.”

Stella shut her eyes for a second. “We were working a murder case jointly. Several people died standing up with strange bulbs growing out of the bodies. One of them came to life.”

“And in blatant violation of the safety procedures established over the last four decades, Knight Davis didn’t give way to the pyrokinetic specialists. Instead, she had a lapse in judgement.”

We turned onto the staircase and headed down.

“I hit the corpse with a sword,” Stella said, her tone resigned. “It exploded.”

“And because Knight Davis was in the way, the explosion couldn’t be contained in time.”

“What do you mean, exploded?” I asked.

Stella grimaced. “I mean its insides, suddenly and with great force, became its outsides. People got splattered, nobody died.”

Luther’s voice held no mercy. “Nobody died because they were in the ICU for five days receiving cutting-edge medical care. Many of them wished, loudly, that they had died, and some even asked us to kill them. And this is why this particular Feldman minion is not permitted at any of my crime scenes.”

Okay then.

“Stella, did you get sick?” I asked.

“I don’t get sick. Ever.”

“Accurate,” Luther called out. “She was covered in gore. Some of it even made it into her mouth. She didn’t have a single symptom. No agonizing pain, no projectile vomiting, no bloody diarrhea. Fresh as a daisy.”

“You really don’t have to walk us out,” Stella said.

“On the contrary, I really do.”

We ran out of stairs, and the big double doors loomed in front of us. Stella and I opened them at the same time, she on the left and I on the right.

Ten feet away, in a pool of light from the nearest fey lantern streetlamp, stood Nick Feldman.

Oh shit.

Nick looked like a statue from Easter Island, whose eyes were on fire with ice-cold fury.

Stella turned and tried to go back inside. Luther blocked the doorway and shook his head.

Nick’s voice was ice-cold. “Knight Davis.”

Stella turned and faced him. “Yes, sir.”

“Follow me.”

He turned and marched down the path. Stella sprinted after him.

I halted. Nick was having a terrible night. I wasn’t sure if Stella would survive.

Should I go and try to explain? I could lie and say I dragged Stella here. But then he might get angrier that a complete stranger somehow convinced her to disregard his orders. That would make it even worse.