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complete an answer as I had any right to expect from him. Since no good woulda come from pushing any further, I offered up a few of the usual pleasantries, threw in a thanks for good measure, and dusted outta there.
    Hadn’t been a complete trip for biscuits, since at least it ruled out a few options—to say nothin’ of putting me wise that Nolan Shea might be a bigger part of my world than I’d thought. I was gonna have to dig into that, maybe pump Fino the Shark for some information. (I also hadda be real careful leaving Hruotlundt’s place, in case the Uptown Boys had decided to wait around and tune me up or put some slugs into me. They hadn’t.)
    But what the trip
didn’t
do was put me any closer to finding Goswythe, or whoever else was out there askin’ about me. I decided to head back home for the rest of the night; I hadda lot of pondering to do, and some uncomfortable choices to make, and I needed some peace and privacy in order to make ’em.
    * * *
    Turned out my office wasn’t gonna prove as peaceful and private as I’d expected.
    She was waitin’ inside, perched on the edge of the desk like she owned the place, knees crossed in that weird way that
should
be demure but really says, “Get a load of these getaway sticks.” Her dress and hat were robin’s-egg blue, her hair brown as good coffee and wavy as a calm tide, and I knew right away somethin’ was seriously hinky because my brain just don’t get that poetic over a dame anymore. Hadn’t since well before I’d left the Courts behind.
    Well, no, that ain’t true. It’d happened once, a few months back.
    Fuck me.
    “Mr. Oberon?” Her pipes sounded just like they should have, soft and throaty, sultry, as if they were made for singing insteada speaking. Singing or… Let’s go with “other sounds.” “My name is Carmen. Carmen McCall. I need to talk to you about—”
    “No. Get out.”
    Clearly
not
what she’d expected to hear. Her lips actually kept movin’ for a few seconds after sound stopped comin’ out. When she spoke again, all she seemed able to manage was, “What?”
    “Oh, you’re good, sister. Outrage
and
that little emotional little hitch in your voice. Not many people can manage both at once.”
    “I don’t… I don’t understand. Why are you treating me this—?”
    “Oh, knock it off.”
    I felt it, crashin’ over me, an avalanche of emotions and longing. Some of the most potent feelings I’d ever had, even if they were comin’ from outside, enough to drive most people—Fae or otherwise—to their knees. To make ’em a willing slave, a puppet dancing on heartstrings.
    Hell with
that
.
    I ain’t gonna pretend it was
easy
, but it also wasn’t ever in doubt. Partly cause, if I say so myself, you ain’t gonna find many with a stronger stubborn streak’n me. In my time, I been on both sides of a
lot
of different magics, thrown by a lot of different creatures. Even when I’m not at my best—like, say, when I’m riding a crest of random bad luck—it ain’t easy to get too deep into my noggin.
    But part of it—a whole lot of it, maybe—was Ramona. I’d
been
through this already, see? What this Carmen McCall was doin’ now? Exact same mojo Ramona’d hooked me with months ago. She’d been more subtle, taken her time, and I’ve already been square with you, so you know she had me for a couple days. Now, though, I knew how it felt. I knew how to work through it. I was on guard.
    And just maybe there was still enough of Ramona’s influence hidden somewhere in my deepest thoughts that this new twist couldn’t get her mitts around ’em.
    “I said
knock it off
!” Wasn’t just a shout, either. I threw a heap of my own mojo into it; not exactly muckin’ around with her luck or the magic in her aura, or even gettin’ into her head, just a wave of magic to metaphorically knock her on her keister. Her peepers went wide and the emotional pressure building up against me popped like a soap bubble.
    “I dunno