“Are you sure you want to do this?” Casey asked, looking down at Avery’s bare wrist, where he had been wearing the watch. “We might be able to figure out something else. I could try having my mom talk to yours.”

  Avery sighed at his brother. “I know what my dad would say.”

  “He would have yelled at your mother.” Casey couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice.

  “After he yelled at her, he’d tell me I needed to keep my priorities straight. People matter more than things.” Avery kicked at a pine cone lying in a pothole as they crossed the parking lot to the Rockin’ Road’s front door. “It’s just a watch.”

  Casey opened the bar’s door and held it for Avery and Simon to pass. Music poured out, along with some rather amateur vocals. They’d arrived on karaoke night, and the current singer was breathing too hard into the microphone. She sounded very drunk as she chewed her way through ‘Margaritaville.’

  The host, a little old lady with a greying bun and sparkly rings on every finger, looked up as they entered. She did a visible double-take when she saw Avery and exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, Avery!”

  “Hi, Mae,” Avery said, returning her hug with wary caution. He was very rapidly showing fewer and fewer symptoms of his injury, but he clearly remembered hurting.

  “Oh my gosh!” Mae repeated. “We heard you died! Then I saw you posting on Facebook, but I didn’t expect you’d be back so soon. Avery, damnit, we’d miss you so bad!”

  Avery grinned. “You just want me to sing.”

  “No, you towering idiot, not just that,” Mae reclaimed a notepad from the floor where she’d dropped it in her haste to greet them. She added, “Though... Will you sing? Are you up to it?”

  “You couldn’t stop me.” Avery smiled at her. She beamed back.

  A man replaced the woman on the stage, and the opening chords of Queen's ‘Under Pressure’ filled the room.

  Casey glanced around and didn’t recognize most of the people. It looked like there were several large groups, but very few regulars. Raucous laughter rose from one table, nearly drowning out the man’s attempts to sing both Bowie and Mercury’s parts, with Mercury’s done in a tastelessly high and cracking falsetto.

  Simon looked like he was gritting his teeth. Casey tried to remember if he’d heard much Earth music before this. Perhaps he’d found some on YouTube or caught snatches on TV shows and commercials. He hadn’t turned the radio on when Simon rode in the truck because talking to the man was more interesting than the local music stations. He hoped bad karaoke at a small-town dive bar wasn’t Simon’s first introduction to Earth’s music!

  In reaction to the high-pitched screeching coming from the stage, Mae suggested to Avery, “It’s been a while since you sang anything by Queen. You could show them how it’s done.”

  Avery grinned in commiseration just as she visibly flinched. The current singer had hit a spectacularly high and amazingly off-key note. “Maybe in a bit. Can we get a booth in the back? I’m meeting a man.”

  “Oooh, you mean I have competition now?” Mae giggled as she led them to the back, past the largest family.

  “There is nobody who is your equal,” Avery assured her, eyes bright. “And he’s just a friend of my father’s.”

  “In that case, honey, you know I’m still available...” Mae favored him with a distinctly playful smile. Casey never ceased to be amazed at Avery’s ability to find people of all genders to play the ‘outrageous flirting game’ with. Mae had started working here a few years earlier, and she and Avery had relentlessly teased each other since the day they’d met. It was all in good fun, and Avery enjoyed it enough to deliberately stop in for a meal and a drink on nights he knew Mae was working.

  “I couldn’t handle you, and I know it.” Avery laughed as he eased himself into the booth.

  “Your usual, sweetie?” she asked. Avery’s drink of choice was a frothy pink thing that Casey found cloyingly sweet.

  Avery cheerfully agreed to her suggestion. Casey ordered sodas for himself and Simon; he was driving, and Simon was abstaining due to the interaction between alcohol and the spell. At the table next to them, in a group of eight people, an older man with a ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ baseball cap nudged the woman sitting beside him and pointed at Avery. She pushed his hand down, and several other people at the table frowned, but his voice carried to them, “Look at that. Didn’t think I’d see freaks in a hick town like this.”

  “Sorry,” the woman, probably his wife, mouthed in their direction.

  Casey’s Gift flared. That man could be trouble, it hinted, but also, there was a teenager at the end of the table that his Gift had lasered onto. They looked about sixteen, with buzz-cut hair, a miserable expression, and extremely girly clothes. The man’s wife’s style was excessively identical to the kid’s. He guessed that was their mother and, since few teenagers enjoyed dressing like their parents, somebody else -- mom, dad, or both -- were dictating what the kid wore.

  He nudged Avery with his toe. “You haven’t sung ‘True Colors’ in a while.”

  Avery looked up, an unspoken question in his eyes.

  He said, very low, “Somebody here needs to hear it.”

  The teen’s orientation and gender had some nuance beyond what he could sense, but Casey’s Gift’s gaydar clearly indicated they were, at their core, neither heterosexual nor cisgender, and he didn’t need an empathic sense to see that they were exceedingly unhappy. Their expression and body language said it all. However, he wouldn’t out them, not even to Avery; that was never cool.

  The bar wasn’t exactly an appropriate setting for a kid, but it wasn’t illegal for them to be there. The rest of the group looked to be in their forties or fifties, and the women appeared related. He guessed this was a family outing.

  The man whispered something to his wife. She said loudly, “You’re drunk, Jeremy.” Several other people at the table were scowling at him.

  Her husband answered, “It’s a bar. Duh.” Then, louder and staring at Avery, he exclaimed, “And it’s a he-she!”

  “Wow, thanks for noticing. If you’re so interested in what I’m wearing, I’d be happy to give you a few fashion tips,” Avery shot back, theatrically trained voice pitched to carry throughout the room, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear but didn’t reach his eyes. He looked relaxed and calm, which meant he was falling back on his acting skills. Casey expected he’d vent furiously later.

  The room went dead silent as all heard Avery's "offer." The only noise was the clink of a spoon against a plate, and the whoosh of water running at the bar, until the bar tender shut it off.

  Beside Casey, Simon had gone tense, and he reached out and not-so-casually picked up a bottle of ketchup from the tray on the table. Casey, watching him out of the corner of his eye, saluted Simon’s reflexes; a half-empty glass bottle of Heinz was a better weapon than nothing at all. Hopefully, this wouldn’t come to a fight. Where was the bar’s bouncer? Casey wondered.

  Casey planned on relying on his fists if it came down to a brawl, but Simon was less than half Casey’s size and still severely underweight from starvation. The man didn’t have the weight or power to throw a punch effectively.

  The man’s wife smacked him. “If you don’t stop right now, I swear to God we will leave you here.”

  A couple at the other end of the table rose. One threw some folded bills down on the table with an impatient flick, presumably to pay for their share, then they hurried out, steps quick and expressions mortified. Casey watched them go and wished they’d stayed. The man’s table had just lost a quarter of the peer pressure that might keep him in check.

  However, for the moment, the man subsided with a muttered, “Nobody has a sense of humor anymore.”

  Avery’s eyes had a sharp gleam. He was angry about the comment, even if he wasn’t showing it in any other way. Casey simply hoped the rest of them would leave soon. His own anger was mixed with frustration and concern for the teenager and the man’s wife.

  At that moment, a tall, grey-haired man entered the bar and headed in their direction with long, leggy strides. “Aves!”

  “Miguel!” Avery rose, hugged him, and then ushered him into a seat. All signs of Avery’s temper vanished as quickly as it had come.

  The drunk’s wife poked him in the arm with a finger and hissed, “No!” Casey had missed what prompted that, but he mentally thanked her for her efforts. He would have suggested leaving to avoid trouble, but Avery was stubborn enough to defiantly stick it out. He understood the impulse, but he worried that sooner or later, Avery was going to get hurt.

  Oblivious to the byplay behind him, Miguel said to them, “I haven’t seen you kids in four or five months. It’s been too long. Who’s this? Love the ears.” He turned his attention to Simon.

  “Simon,” Avery introduced them, “This is Miguel, one of my father’s business partners and my uncle by choice. Miguel, Simon is a friend of ours.”

  “Just a friend,” Casey emphasized when Miguel gave him a sharp look. The man had known both of them for their entire lives, and he was well aware of Casey’s attraction to shorter blond men — he was as bad as Avery was about pointing cute blond twinks out to Casey just for the reaction.

  Avery and Simon chatted with him a bit while Casey kept a discreet eye on the drunken man. The bar wasn’t giving him any additional alcohol, but he’d snagged his wife’s glass of wine and drained it. Where was the bouncer? Normally, they’d have tossed the idiot out by now.

  “... you sure you want to sell this?” Miguel asked, voice low, as Avery pulled the watch, now tucked carefully back into its original box, out of his pocket.

  Avery set the box down on the table in front of Miguel with a click. “Yeah, I’m sure. My dad would have told me to do it.”

  “Your dad loved that watch.”

  “He did. But he supported my dreams and always told me to help others. There’s stuff I need to do that takes money, that will help other people out and add to the business, and if I didn’t sell this to make it happen, I’d feel guilty every time I looked at it. You can feel proud to own it. You’re really helping several people.” Avery added, after a second, “Besides, I know you’ve got quite the collection of watches yourself. You and my dad used to talk about them all the time after dinner. It’s fitting that it’s yours now. You know it was his favorite, and you’ll love it even more because he did.”

  “I ever tell you your mother’s a piece of work?” Miguel said as he tucked the watch into the inside pocket of his sports coat. “I’ll wire you the money in the morning.”

  “Thanks. And my mom loves me. She’s just difficult.” Avery sighed.

  Avery briefly glanced in the direction of the stage as the current singer departed. Miguel chuckled, “Go. Sing. You know you want to, and I want to hear.”

  His brother rose, and the handful of people in the room who knew him perked up. Mae nudged the bartender, who grinned. Avery padded past the drunken man, took the four steps up onto the stage in two leggy strides, and fussed with the old karaoke machine for a second.

  “This song,” Avery said, “is for everyone who needs to pretend to be something they aren’t.”

  A startled silence fell as Avery poured two decades of voice training backed by world-class talent into the performance. Soaring, clear, pure tones filled the dive bar’s room to the rafters, and by the second stanza, anyone not paying attention had turned to look.

  “He’s amazing,” Simon whispered as the last lines of ‘True Colors’ filled the room. The teenager smiled as they watched Avery, with his purple hair, hoop earrings, eyeliner, a kitten-print t-shirt, and sparkly pink jelly sandals.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Miguel replied softly, “His talent is wasted in this little town.”

  Avery, prompted by the crowd's cheers and a few whistles, moved on to another song. There were one or two knowing grins as he sang about surviving from those who were aware of his recent history. He threw in a few dance moves, though to Casey’s experienced eye, he was very stiff and in pain. Still, even slowed by his injuries, his style was impressive enough that a woman at the back of the room whooped.

  Miguel, whose family money came from Hollywood investment and partial ownership of a major record label, leaned forward and said, “He’s got that special something, you know? That magic spark. We’ve all seen it since he was knee-high. If I showed a demo tape to certain people...” The man trailed off.

  “He could be a lot of things. But, here’s the thing...” Avery’s voice drowned out their conversation for a moment, and Casey waited patiently for the quieter refrain. “The world can live without another Bowie or Mercury. Avery wouldn’t survive being a star. The last time he tried, he ended up in a psych ward.”

  “I’d like to kill his mother. She pushed him too hard, too early.”

  “Her pressure on him didn’t help, but there’s more to it than just that. He’s totally fine in little venues like this, where it doesn’t matter if he screws something up. He’s gorgeous, and funny, and can be super charismatic, so sometimes people are willing to look past the fact that he’s usually struggling socially with odd faux pas, or they find it cute — but sometimes, they aren’t, and it goes badly for Aves then.” Casey shook his head. “I’m afraid his story wouldn’t end well if he found real fame and spent the rest of his life terrified that he’d say or do the wrong thing. Even just not getting eye contact right and talking about one of his passions for too long would be weird if he were a star, and pretty noticeable, and he knows it.”

  “I just wish he could follow his dreams...”

  “Are they his dreams, though?” Casey watched as Avery gave up on dancing while wrapping an arm around his ribs. He kept singing. Casey had seen him compete once, as a kid, on a foot that later turned out to have a stress fracture. “I know they’re his mother’s. He says the anxiety it would cause makes fame not worth it. He doesn’t need to be famous to sing.”

  The drunk man wolf-whistled at Avery and shouted, “Hey, babe!” He threw an ice cube at Avery. His wife smacked him upside the head.

  Avery stopped singing in mid-note as the ice bounced across the stage. Several people booed, and a burly man with tattoos at the next table snarled, “Dipshit! Leave the man alone!”

  Casey feared this could become dangerous. He looked again for the bar’s bouncer, but the man wasn’t visible.

  After a long, cool second of glaring at the drunk, Avery finished the set. Then, to a round of cheers and shouts begging for an encore, he shut off the karaoke machine, waved at the audience, and returned to his seat. “Let me hang out with my friends and family, then I’ll sing again later,” he promised, loud enough for everyone to hear. Despite the harassment, he was grinning ear to ear in what Casey suspected was a very fake expression.

  “Pedo,” the drunk hissed as Avery walked past. “My daughter shouldn’t have to listen to crap like that. Corrupting our kids!”

  Avery stopped short, smile instantly vanishing. He turned and said incredulously, while peering over his glasses, and with both purple eyebrows arching high up his forehead, “You brought your kid to a bar on karaoke night, and you’re complaining that I sang a Cindy Lauper song?”

  Casey winced; Avery was deliberately adding an exaggerated lisp not present in his natural speech and pitching his words far higher than normal. He was angry enough to bait the man a little by sounding stereotypically queer.

  The man rose, pushing his chair back from the table with a screech.

  Simon was on his feet, ketchup bottle still in hand, before Casey could blink. Avery saw the motion from the corner of his eye and held a hand out, blocking Simon from stepping forward. Simon took two steps sideways, picked a steak knife up off a table that hadn’t been cleared, and transferred the ketchup bottle to his other hand. Casey hissed, in as low a voice as he could, “Do not stab anyone unless our lives are actually in danger. Avery's going to hand that man his ass in about two seconds.”

  Simon went pale from the geas but nodded in agreement.

  Rockin’ Road’s steak knives were dull enough that they’d be more likely to leave a bruise than a puncture wound, but Casey did salute the man’s instincts. It was probably a better option than the tiny pocket knife he knew was in Simon’s pocket.

  Avery said, “Dude. I sang a G-rated song on karaoke night at a bar. I don’t see what you’re upset about.”

  Casey realized Avery sounded like PeeWee Herman, and that was certainly deliberate. It was a very good impression.

  “It’s men like you that are ruining this country—” the man stomped towards Avery. “—and I’m fucking tired of it!”

  Avery shifted his weight back onto one foot and crouched a bit. Anyone who knew anything about fighting would have recognized that as a defensive stance, but Avery continued to use that distinctive high-pitched ‘gay accent’ voice. “C’mon, man, don’t be an asshole.”

  Casey grinned despite himself.

  The man swung a sloppy roundhouse punch so slow that Avery simply leaned out of the way. His kid screamed. His wife swore. The rest of the family at his table scrambled to their feet.

  Avery moved back, though he wasn’t retreating. His quick glances sideways suggested he was picking a spot to make a stand. He stopped when he reached the end of the table, where he had a bit more space to maneuver. He repeated, gay accent gone, and in his normal tenor, “I don’t want to hurt you. Back off.”

  The man followed and tried to shove him, planting both hands in the middle of Avery’s chest and giving a push. Avery was easily six inches taller and solid muscle. He transferred his weight to his leading foot and didn’t budge. In frustration, the man spat in Avery’s face.

  With an almost resigned air, Avery stepped swiftly sideways. The drunk, still trying to push Avery, was unbalanced by the move and stumbled. Avery, protecting his ribs, moved with teeth-gritted efficiency and stuck a foot out in the man's path. The man tripped over it, hit the ground hard, knocking over a chair and sending an empty table skidding sideways. Avery had never struck him.

  Avery wiped spittle from his face as the bar’s bouncer finally arrived. The bouncer helped the drunk to his feet and then, with little ceremony, hustled him outside. Mae hurried over. “You okay, Avery?”

  “Fine. Dandy. Casey, let’s go home.”

  Most of the man’s family was leaving, but his wife and the kid remained. They approached Avery as he tried to exit, and the woman said softly, “I’m sorry for my husband. He was drunk. He’s not usually like that. You’ve got an amazing voice.”

  Avery scowled. “Don’t make excuses for him. I’ve never picked a fight with a complete stranger in my life, drunk or not.”

  “I, uh, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s also not your place to apologize for him.” Avery pressed his lips together so hard that the skin around them went white before adding, “You don’t have a responsibility to manage his behavior.”

  Casey said unhappily, “We should get out of here.”

  Mae sighed. “Sorry, guys. Sweetie,” she addressed the man’s wife, “tell your husband he’s banned. And Avery’s right. That wasn’t your fault, it was his, and I don’t put up with that kind of crap here.”

  The woman looked like she was about to cry. Quickly, a hand on her kid’s back, she hurried out.

  “Don’t let this stop you from returning,” Mae said, squeezing Avery’s arm as she walked past him toward the register. “We love you here.”

  “I know you do. I’ll be back.” Avery sat down on a chair suddenly, looking pale. “Damn, that hurts.”

  “Your ribs?” Casey offered him a glass of water.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. I just moved too fast.”

  “Take a minute. There’s no need to rush out of here.” He didn’t see anyone else who might be a threat. The other patrons all looked various combinations of appalled, sympathetic, or angry. Simon, beside him, was downright twitchy as he watched the room, so assuming the elf would warn them of additional trouble, Casey crouched down and looked up at his brother. “This sucks. We were all having a good time, and some asshole had to ruin it.”

  Avery said, “I just want to be able to have fun sometimes and not worry about shit like this.”

  The front door opened, admitting a cop — the same short-haired, stocky woman who had been at the shop the day that Avery had been stabbed. The bar went immediately silent.

  The lady cop pointed at Avery, then the floor, a clear gesture for him to come to her. Avery glanced at Casey, who ran a hand over his face. His Gift was intrigued by the cop. He got hints of subterfuge and cynicism, which was not, he thought, especially surprising from a cop. She wasn’t a current threat, however, so Casey said, “It’ll be fine. Just charm her.”

  At Casey’s confident words, Avery relaxed, rose stiffly to his feet, and headed her way with one arm still wrapped around his ribs. She looked him over. “For a dead man, you look fabulous. Can I see your ID real quick?”

  He grinned, appearing to relax the rest of the way at her teasing emphasis on the word fabulous. He’d pulled his wallet out and casually handed it to her. To Casey’s experienced eye, and his mojo, Avery wasn’t nearly as calm as he looked. All Avery said, however, was, “Officer Adrial, did the drunk dipshit call the cops?”

  The name on her tag was ‘L. Adrial.’

  “He says,” the cop let skepticism fill her voice as she peered at Avery’s license, “that you flirted with his underage daughter, sang a love song to her, and then shoved him, spat on him, and knocked him to the ground when he asked you ever-so-politely to leave her alone.”

  “I sang 'True Colors’ to the whole room. He got offended and said I was corrupting his kid by singing a god-damned song, and called me a pedo.”

  “You didn’t interact with her?”

  “I never even spoke to her.” Avery’s voice hit a particularly indignant note. “I just existed in the same space as she did.”

  “You hurt?” The cop glanced at his arm, still cradling his chest.

  “Other than getting run through with a sword last week, you mean, and a bunch of broken ribs? Trust me, I’m not picking a fight with anyone right now.” Avery rolled his eyes.

  “I’m surprised you’re able to sing at all.” Her look was sharply appraising, and it lingered briefly on the dragonfly necklace that Avery still wore. “Do you want to be checked out at the hospital?”

  “I’m tougher than I look,” Avery said, tone very dry. “And no. I’m fine.”

  “Avery was minding his own business. Worst I saw him do was clap back a bit when that asshat called him a he-she.” Mae walked over to the cop with a tablet in one hand. “I’ve got the security video up if you want to see it. Most of the fall that dude took was his own momentum when he was pushing Avery, and Avery stepped aside.”

  The cop held out her hand for the device and then peered at the screen. “Huh. Interesting. Mae, can you save that video and email me a copy?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Mae poked at the screen. She apparently had the cop’s email address in the contact list, because she didn’t ask for it. Casey had observed in the past that the relationship between the small-town cops and the small-town bar staff tended to be fairly close.

  “Avery, I’d call that self-defense.” Officer Adrial shook her head in disbelief. “Come with me, please. I want to set something straight for the dumbass out there.”

  “Thanks, officer,” he said, with real relief in his voice, but he still looked cautious. Avery, with multiple lawyers in his family, had been taught from birth to be nice to cops but never to trust them.

  Casey, trailed by Simon, followed the two of them outside.

  The cop’s partner was talking to the drunk man, who was wildly gesticulating in the air as he spoke.

  “Bar has a security camera,” the lady cop said.

  Her partner’s eyebrows went up. “And?”

  “Dude.” The officer addressed the drunk in clear, firm tones. “You picked that fight, and now you’re lying to us about it.”

  “He threw me to the ground!” The man insisted.

  The officer gestured at Avery almost absently. “Avery was minding his own business. Having the fashion sense of Corporal Klinger is not a crime.”

  “Hey,” Avery objected, but only mildly. He had the entire run of M*A*S*H on DVD as it had been a favorite of his father’s, and he had once gone to a con solely to meet Jamie Farr.

  “He attacked me!” the man insisted.

  “He’s got a right to defend himself against assault.” Her crisp tones rang with authority. “Don’t pick a fight with a six-foot-three gym queen if you don’t want your ass handed to you. If you do, and then lose to a guy built like that,” She pointed at Avery, “be a fucking man about it, and don’t call me with fucking lies to get him in trouble. You’re lucky he didn’t really mess you up.”

  “He’s just a...” the man said weakly, then trailed off when her eyes narrowed.

  “You had no chance, man. I’ve seen Avery's social media. He’s a dancer. You know how strong dancers are? Stronger than you. He could have put you in the hospital if he actually wanted to. ”

  “You gonna arrest me?” The man said sullenly.

  The cop looked quite satisfied. She traded a look with her partner, who reached for his handcuffs. Over his loud and angry protests, the man was read his rights and bundled off into a squad car by her partner.

  She looked the rest of them over, then added in a voice too low for any of the growing crowd of spectators to hear, “We three need to talk. Simon, I didn’t ask for your ID because I knew you wouldn’t have any, but I should have. Police protocol is to ask for every witness’s ID if there’s a fight. I’ll come by the shop tomorrow and fix your identity problem for you.”

  Simon told the officer, “You know what I am, then.”

  “I know you. You've grown up into the fine man I always knew you would.” She smiled. Simon stared at her, clearly trying to place her. Casey's gift was utterly silent and unhelpful.

  Then she turned to Casey and added, expression turning very serious, “Get the Book of Needs to teach you and quit ripping up the local ley lines. Learn some restraint, if nothing else. Don’t make me have to deal with you the hard way.”

  Simon replied quickly, in a placating tone, “He needs a tutor! He’s not inclined to be dangerous, he’s not power-mad, and he’s making strides with learning control. The Book is likely insane. It’s been damaged by a blood mage, with all the souls save the primary stolen from it.”

  “By Todd?” she said, tone irritated.

  “Yes.”

  Officer Libby crossed her arms. “I assumed the Book made him regret stealing it, but I wish I actually knew what happened to him and that girl.”

  Avery opened his mouth, then looked over at Casey and shut it. Casey agreed with Avery’s evident decision to keep silent. Simon said nothing, as well. Whatever else she was, she was a cop; Casey wasn’t inclined to involve the police unless he had very, very good reason.

  “Hm.” She looked at them suspiciously. “In any event, Casey, you must talk to the Book. Crazy or not, she’ll have Simon’s best interests in mind, and that means helping you three.”

  Libby turned to go. Simon said, “Wait. Who are you? I don't recognize you, I'm sorry.”

  She looked over her shoulder. Just for an instant, someone timeless flickered into view, with eyes the same shade as Simon’s, pointed ears, and high, arched cheekbones. Then, an illusion of humanity settled back into place.

  Simon’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Ah. Much makes sense now. I want my mother’s sword back.”

  She laughed. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

  “Why did you steal it?” Simon didn’t seem inclined to forgive some past slight.

  “Because I needed a good blade, and the armory was locked and guarded. Tara probably knows where it is, but no one knows where she is, assuming she still lives.”

  “Did you look for her?” Simon said, tone accusatory.

  Libby replied, clearly offended by the question, “Of course I did. It’s my job!”

  “... and, while looking for her, were you wearing a full glamour and the uniform of the local guard?” Simon folded his arms across his chest. “Illusions and enchantments were always your strongest skills. Casey, can you even tell she’s dai’sheea?”

  Casey shook his head. “She feels like nothing at all.”

  “I...” she stopped, suddenly looking very uncertain. Her partner was heading back in their direction. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Simon. I can come by tomorrow morning. Will you be at the Shop then?”

  “Yes. This should be interesting,” Simon muttered.

  Libby inclined her head. “Simon, I am glad to see you here. Earth won’t be easy for you, but perhaps it will suit you better than our home. Welcome. I’ve much to tell you.”

  “I look forward to some answers.”