She dropped her badge back in her bag. “You mentioned Quentin. Do you know him well?”

“He is a regular client,” Jenkins stated flatly.

She flicked another glance at me, then asked, “Have you seen him recently?”

Jenkins crossed his arms in response. “I can’t be sure. However, I find my memory is much sharper after a reading. Or two.”

The message was clear: to get information, we needed to pay up. Businessmen like the Kitsilano Klairvoyant didn’t work for free. Lienna shifted her weight as though debating her options, then sighed.

“Do you take credit?”

Chapter Five

Jenkins’s reading room hid behind a purple curtain—velvet, of course—at the back of his house. Salt lamps and herb-scented candles softly lit the massive bookshelves that lined the walls. In the middle of the space was a low, circular, glass-topped table surrounded by a trio of wooden chairs.

Three chairs … almost like Jenkins had predicted he’d soon have two guests.

“Please take a seat,” he murmured. As we obeyed, the diviner narrowed his eyes at me. “I did not expect you to be in league with the MPD, young man.”

Lienna opened her mouth, possibly to explain how I was a subjugated prisoner coerced into aiding my captors at the risk of an eternity in solitary confinement, and I snuck her a warning look. She shut her mouth.

If we wanted answers from this guy, I needed to control what we shared with him or he would clam up like Al Capone’s most loyal lackey. Not that him clamming up was all that big of a deal, but I had an act to maintain.

“Special circumstances,” I replied quickly. “Quentin is in danger. I’ll do anything—or work with anyone—to help him.”

Jenkins frowned. “In danger? What kind of danger?”

“He escaped MPD custody yesterday—but you know that, because he came to see you.”

Jenkins blinked in surprise, and I suppressed a triumphant grin. What do you know? I’d guessed right.

I leaned forward. “Did he tell you what he’s after?”

“After?”

I studied his startled expression, weighing the likelihood of sincerity, and decided he was totally out to sea. Good.

“He escaped for a reason,” I continued smoothly. It was entirely possible I wasn’t lying. Quentin always had a plan. “And whatever he’s going for next—it’s gonna be nasty stuff. Plus, Quentin wrecked the precinct on his way out. He’s this close”—I held up my finger and thumb an inch apart—“to a big fat bounty on his head.”

“Once the guilds start hunting him, he won’t stand a chance,” Lienna added, catching on to my tactic. “But if we find him first, we can protect him—from the MPD, from a bounty, and from himself.”

Worry creased Jenkins’s forehead. “I see.”

“What do you know about KCQ?” she asked.

“They are a psychic guild parading as a law firm—or were, I should say. They were disbanded, were they not? Hardly a shame. Thieves and con artists, the lot of them.” He clicked his tongue. “I advised Quentin more than once that he should extract himself. It was foolish of him—and you as well, Kit—to get involved.”

A little late for that advice, Judgy McJudgerson.

“The guild’s fall was quite dramatic,” he went on in a reminiscent tone. “A guild master murdered by another guild? The celestial spirits were in a tizzy.”

Quite dramatic was a massive understatement. Around a month ago, another guild, the Crow and Hammer, had caught wind of KCQ’s more creative endeavors. Quentin had ended up in MPD custody as a result—and our guild master, Rigel, had proceeded to lose his mind. He’d been obsessed with Quentin’s power and blamed the interfering guild for his super-empath’s arrest.

And, like a genius, he’d launched a vendetta against them.

We psychics have cool powers and all, but in direct combat, mages and sorcerers kick our asses every time. Needless to say, our GM’s attack on the much grittier Crow and Hammer had been an unmitigated disaster-circus. Rigel had been killed, our new office had burned to the ground, and our guild had been disbanded. Cue my doomed flight from the city.

The whole thing was insane. You could write an entire book about that shitshow.

“You don’t know the half of it, man,” I told Jenkins. “Now MagiPol is trying to save face, and if Quentin causes any more trouble, they’ll make an example of him whether he deserves it or not.”

Ignoring my badmouthing of her precious employer, Lienna kept her focus on the diviner. “If we can get to Quentin first, we can help him escape serious charges and get his life on track.”

Jenkins pondered everything we’d said, and I let him stew over it. Silence was a powerful tool if you knew how to use it. As it stretched into uncomfortable territory, Lienna glanced at me. I gave my head a tiny shake. Just wait.

“I saw Quentin yesterday at around nine p.m.,” Jenkins admitted. “He came in for a reading.”

Lienna leaned forward. “Do you know where he is now?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion.”

“What sort of reading did you do for him? Tea leaves? Tarot cards?”

Jenkins wrinkled his nose. “Nothing so crude. For Quentin, I typically employ a more complex methodology.”

“Scrying?” she guessed.

“Bibliomancy.”

I was sort of insulted. During my few visits with Jansen Jenkins, I’d qualified only for his “crude” tactics.

“Oh.” She hesitated. “How does that method work?”

“Perhaps you would find a demonstration educational. You have already paid for a reading, and you may gain some useful insight for your investigation.”

She opened her mouth.

“Sure,” I said before she could turn him down.

She threw me a “don’t you dare” glower, but Jenkins was already nodding agreeably.

“Perfect,” he said. “Please select a handful of books from anywhere in the room.”

I looked around. There were a shit-ton of books in here. “Does it matter how many?”

“Whatever speaks to you.”

Standing, I headed for the bookshelves, Lienna’s gaze following my every move.

As I pretended to contemplate the leather spines, I considered the real reason I was here. Regardless of my and Lienna’s story weaving—which had been surprisingly fun—finding Quentin was extremely low on my priority list. The dude could take care of himself. He’d made his escape and I had zero desire to see my friend locked up again.

The real reason I was out in the burbs, across the inlet from the MPD precinct, was to manufacture my own escape.

All I needed was a solid distraction where I could slip the shark-tooth artifact off my neck. My powers would return, and I could be gone in a blink. The problem, however, was what came next—I’d be on foot in a residential neighborhood I didn’t know well. And Lienna and her collection of weaponry would be right behind me.

Maybe it was best to bide my time.

I returned to the table with three books: a collection of Shakespearean plays, because one of my foster parents had shipped me off to theater camp one summer and I’d returned home speaking exclusively in iambic pentameter; an illustrated edition of the Kama Sutra, because I wanted to see Lienna’s and Jenkins’s faces when I handed it over; and a leather-bound Bible, because … did it really matter? I had my reasons.