I sent three more files to the printer—the case Tori had given me and the two linked ones. Crossing to the corner, I gathered my stack of papers off the printer tray and waited for the final pages to spit out.

With a grinding sound, the printer jammed.

“No,” I groaned under my breath. I leaned from side to side, examining the machine, then looked helplessly toward the other end of the room where the others were working.

“Need help?”

At the smooth, unfamiliar male voice, I smiled in relief. “Yes, please. I have no idea how to …”

My mouth sagged open, words forgotten as I stared up at the man beside me. Six feet tall, messy brown curls, bronze skin, and a white scar running from his temple down to the hollow of his left cheek. His right eye was chocolate brown, but his left, the scarred one, was pale white with a distinct limbal ring defining the colorless iris. The asymmetry was disconcerting.

“Ezra,” I gasped.

He smiled. “Hi.”

I inched backward, trying to think of a good excuse to flee. He stepped into the spot I’d vacated and opened the printer’s side panel. He stuck his hand into the machine’s innards, prodding different bits and bobs.

He tugged, and with a rasping sound, the page came free. He smoothed it out. “You might need to print it again.”

I nervously took the paper—the photo of young Claude and the albino sorcerer. A bit crumpled, but good enough.

“This is fine. Thank you.” Clutching my printouts, I ducked away from him and hurried back to my chair. As I set the papers on the tabletop, a shadow cut across the light.

Ezra pulled a chair over and sat beside me.

Steadying my breathing, I flattened the crumpled page on top of the pile. “Um … is Tori around?”

The fiery bartender was rarely far from her friends, and if I could steer Ezra back to her, I could sneak out and go back home. What had I been thinking, coming here to work?

“Tori’s out of town.” He propped his chin on his hand. “Zora sent me an email on Saturday night.”

Oh, right. The email. I considered prodding him about where Tori was and why he wasn’t with her, but instead, I asked, “What did Zora’s email say?”

“That you had information for me. Something about a rogue summoner?”

My blood rushed in my ears, nervous indecision pulling my thoughts in every direction. Though I had no real evidence, the fact that Claude had printed out Ezra’s profile suggested the aeromage was the source of the demon scent Zylas kept detecting. I didn’t want to involve him in anything I was doing.

But he was here, he was asking, and he might know something about Claude.

“I’m investigating the summoner behind the escaped demon on Halloween,” I told him, tweaking the truth. “While searching his house, I found a copy of your MPD profile near his desk.”

“My profile?” His face gave nothing away, as unreadable as Zylas’s when he locked down his thoughts. “Hm.”

“Does the name Claude Mercier mean anything to you?”

“No. Do you have a photo of him?”

I smoothed the crumpled page. “This man. The photo is from 1997.”

He squinted at the page, the dark ink marred by white crinkles. “I don’t think I know him, but it isn’t a good photo.” He waved at the stack. “What’s all this?”

I blew my bangs off my face, wishing Zylas was out of the infernus to play lie detector for me. “I think Claude made a deal with Varvara. On Saturday night, I encountered this man”—I pointed to the albino sorcerer—“with one of Varvara’s golems, and he seems to be Claude’s minion.”

Ezra listened attentively as I explained the case of the murdered girl who’d been stalked by a demon, as well as the other two missing girls who may have been targeted by the same killer.

“So,” I concluded, “I’m looking for similar cases of missing girls, either here in Vancouver or in Portland, that could be linked to this sorcerer in the hopes they’ll lead me to him, and that he’ll lead me to Claude..”

“In Portland …” Ezra mused. He turned the photo of Claude and the albino man toward me. “Varvara Nikolaev, a rogue summoner, and a possible serial killer is a dangerous combination. I think you’re right that the albino sorcerer is the one to focus on first.”

I nodded uncertainly.

“Do you want some help?”

“H-help?”

“Aaron, Kai, and I earn our paychecks with bounty work. We’ve conducted more investigations like this than I can count.”

I blinked. This guy had some sort of terrible Demonica secret, didn’t he? Why would he want to work with me? What was he after?

Pulling the original missing women cases closer, he reviewed them carefully, then arranged the pages in a row. He gestured to the photos of the three missing girls. “Notice anything?”

I looked from one to the other. “They’re all Arcana. They’re also young and pretty.”

“With dark hair,” he pointed out. “And petite. The tallest one is five-foot-two.”

“Oh … you’re right.”

“Know who else is a young, pretty, petite girl with dark hair?”

“Who?”

“You.”

Ice plunged through my gut. “He said … the sorcerer told me … ‘You have the look.’”

“You’re his type.” He split the stack of cases in half. “Let’s see if any of these women are also his type.”

It took us two hours to sort through all the cases, but we only found a handful where the missing women matched the sorcerer’s preferences, and they were of no use. They’d all been solved—the women found or their killers caught.

“Nothing,” I sighed.

Ezra leaned back in his chair and rubbed the scruff darkening his jaw. “The suspect disappeared two decades ago when guilds started investigating. Maybe he learned his lesson and changed his MO.”

“Based on what he said to me, I don’t think he’s changed his … tastes.”

“No, but maybe he doesn’t require a specific mythic class … or even a mythic.” He pushed his chair back. “Come on.”

I followed him out of the workroom and up the stairs to the large office with the guild officers’ desks. He tapped on the open door as he walked in.