The door swung open and Jeremy Wagner walked in. Just like in his pictures, which I had reviewed when we vetted him, Jeremy was a tall, dark-haired Caucasian man in his midtwenties. He had one of those generic faces, neither ugly nor handsome, but overall pleasant. There was something soft and sheepish about his demeanor. He seemed like a timid man who knew he was timid and decided to use it to his advantage.

He should have been nervous, concerned at the very least, possibly defensive. Most people would have their guard up. Instead he looked slightly sleepy. It might have been because he’d spent the night breaking into the bakery, but his pictures confirmed that he always looked that way.

“Please sit down,” I said.

“Hi.” He sat and gave me a smile. Even the way he smiled at me reinforced the sheepishness, as if he were trying to say, “Boy, I’m a mess, but aren’t I cute?”

“You are here because someone broke into the shop last night.”

“Oh yeah? Did they take anything?”

When my magic was evaluated by a panel of Primes, the Keeper of Records, who registered the members of every House in Houston, had to come up with a name for my brand of power. He called me Siren. Most people thought of sirens as mermaids, but in the original myths, they had feathers and wings. I had wings too. Mesmerizing, beautiful wings that glittered with magic. Nobody ever saw them, except me, but when I opened them, people focused on me and forgot about everything else.

For most people using magic required conscious thought and effort. Like punching a bag or doing a push-up. They practiced and got stronger. For me, it was the opposite. Keeping my wings closed when I was around strangers was like always holding my breath. Opening them was effortless.

I didn’t need my full power for Jeremy. I only need a tiny bit of it, so I let him see a bare hint of my feathers. He blinked and smiled at me.

I opened my mouth and my magic stretched forward, fused with my voice, and wound about him, an invisible thread that lured him in. The effort to hold back my power, only letting a tiny bit through, was exhausting.

“They smashed some wine bottles. Do you like wine, Jeremy?”

He was focused completely on me now. “I’m more of a beer guy. I like all kinds of beer. I like IPAs the best. You know, when you can really taste the hops. It’s a real beer. It’s like studying surrealism. You drink an IPA and there is nothing abstract or vague about it. It’s citrus and hops . . .”

I had him. In the corner Runa sat up straighter and put her photo book down.

“. . . a baseline against which all other beers should be compared. Like is it stronger than an IPA? Is it sweeter or less hoppy? Do you like beer? There is a great biergarten we can go to right now and I will buy you an IPA.”

“Jeremy, are you good at decorating cakes?”

“I’m the best at decorating cakes. Better than people on tv.” Jeremy’s eyes went wide. “I watch The Cake Tournament and most of that shit is pure crap. I am a fucking wizard with fondant. If we had some fondant right now, I could really show you something.”

“There is fondant in the bakery,” I said.

“Oh no, we can’t use that. It’s poisoned.”

Leon smiled.

“That’s weird. Who poisoned it?”

Jeremy waved his hand. “My younger bro and two of his buddies from high school. That’s not important. I did all the hard work. I set this up.”

My voice wrapped around him, seductive and reassuring. “Wow, you must be very smart, Jeremy. Why would you set it up?”

“I never liked Primes. They act like they’re so much better than us. Oh, and this woman paid me a hundred grand in cash. I’ve got it buried in my backyard. I’m rich. I don’t have to work here. You should let me take you out. We could go to South Padre.”

I turned my tablet on and showed him the picture I had pulled up.

“That’s her,” he said. “Do you know her? Did she give you money? I would give you money. I’ve got money.”

“Do you know how she’s getting into the wedding?” I asked.

“Nah. She just gave me a bunch of syringes with stuff in them and said to inject the fondant. And she told me not to poke myself with them and to wear plastic gloves.” He rolled his eyes. “Duh, like I’m stupid.”

Now came the most difficult part.

I opened my mouth and sang. The words didn’t matter, only the magic did. Jeremy listened, his jaw hanging slack. The magic wrapped around him, like a glittering veil, and he began to sing with me. “Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool, yes sir, yes sir, three bags full . . .”

I fell silent and gently untangled my magic from him, as it whispered into his mind. Forget, forget, forget.

His head drooped, his chin falling to his chest. He pitched forward slowly. His stomach touched the table. Jeremy jerked awake. He blinked at me, his eyes looking wild.

“They smashed some wine bottles,” I said. “Do you like wine, Jeremy?”

“I’m more of a beer guy.”

“Did you have anything to do with the break-in?” I asked him.

“Nope. It’s a shame though. I mean who would be dumb enough to break into a bakery?”

“Where were you last night between one and two?” I was so tired now. My voice was shaking.

“I was home. My brother will vouch for me. We stayed up playing video games.”

“Okay, Jeremy, you’re free to go.”

“Great.” He got up and offered me his hand. I shook it. His handshake was limp. “Great to meet you.” He walked out.

Nobody said anything. Rivera stared at his phone. Leon was grinning at me like a lunatic and holding two thumbs up.

Rivera looked up. “Okay, he went into the kitchen.”

“Well, that was something else,” Runa said.

A wild thought occurred to me. I stuck my hand out. “Catalina Baylor, of House Baylor, Prime Siren.”

Runa looked at my hand, took it carefully, and shook it. “Stay out of my head.”

“Don’t poison anybody I know, and I will.”

“Is the memory loss permanent?” Rivera asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“We’re going to watch him,” Rivera said. “My guess is he told you everything he knows, and she’s too smart to give him anything that could lead us to her. We’re going to proceed as if we bought the teenager wine story. We’re going to put guards here, because it’s expected.”

“If she wants to get into the wedding, it will have to be the waitstaff,” I said.

Rivera nodded. “That seems most likely.”

Leon stirred. “Carlos will be a problem. If he suspects Jeremy did this, he won’t be able to control himself.”

Rivera smiled. “We will tell him that he passed with flying colors. You already got them to sign the NDA.”

Rogan had emailed me a nondisclosure agreement that forbade Valentina and Carlos to even mention the word poison for the next two weeks. If they broke this agreement, we would immediately terminate our contract. If they managed to stick to it, Rogan would pay for the smashed wine bottles. I had to explain to them in excruciating detail that they, their online communications, and their phone calls would be monitored until after the wedding. It made me feel like a corporate gangster. Like I had come into their shop and smashed it demanding protection money, but it was all legal and binding.

“I think I would like to go now,” I told Leon.

Leon drove, while I fought my way through my text messages. Mrs. Rogan wanted to know if there was any progress on finding Sealight. There wasn’t, so I told her we were working on it. Rogan wanted to know if I was okay. I wasn’t, so I told him I was fine. Mom wanted to know if we were coming home for dinner. We were, and I said yes. Arabella wanted to know if she could put a piece of duct tape over Nevada’s mouth and fingers, so she would stop changing the stupid wedding. I told her no. I got a very nice email from Mia Rosa typed by her mother, which thanked me for the bedazzler. Which was awesome. Someone had asked me for something, I did it, and they were happy and said thank you.

The last text was from Bern. “Where are you?”