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creations atop a silver tray, and then carried them over to the table in the sitting area. I handed Gunnar and Peter each a glass, bowed my head, and then backed away into my own aged Darlington Chesterfield couch. I snatched up the last glass, and reclined with a pleased sigh.
“So what’s new with you two?” I asked curiously.
Gunnar answered first, clearly excited. “I was given authority to put together my own field team. Special Agent in Charge, Roger Reinhardt, is letting me dance the gray area a bit with some of my recent cases since the traditional protocol hasn’t been very successful. My… unique talents will be a benefit. Jurisdiction and red tape hold us back all too often, so he’s turning a blind eye, as long as I produce results.” He winked. “Off the record, of course.”
I grinned. This was huge. “That’s fantastic! You’re implying that more of the recent crimes have been in our field of expertise? Involving magic?” Gunnar merely nodded, but his lips tightened a bit, apparently closed on any further elaboration of the subject. Perhaps Peter wasn’t supposed to hear details.
He shrugged. “It will most likely fizzle to nothing, but it was good to hear that some people are wise to the fact that they are helpless to solving some of the newer crimes. It’s only in the preliminary stages right now though. A temporary trial-and-error experiment.”
Peter, sensing Gunnar clamming up, chimed in. “I’ve gained a bit of respect around the investment firm. They’re letting me work directly with a new client, a new family in town with deep, deep pockets.” To himself, he murmured something lower that I couldn’t quite catch; thumbing a worn leather bracelet I had never seen before on his wrist. Odd. Peter had never worn any accessories. Was he in danger of becoming metro-sexual? Something was different about him, now that I thought about it. But I remained silent, not sensing anything specific. “It might even be my big break.”
“Then I propose a toast.” I raised my glass. “To women and careers, and the men who ride them!” They grinned, and we each took a deep drink. This was what our round table was for, setting aside a single night to speak of how we were attempting to impact the world. After years of hard work, it seemed my two friends were doing just that.
Gunnar opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted him. “You almost got me killed tonight with your stupid text message.”
He frowned before answering. “Speaking of that, was that some weird autocorrect mistake in your response? It said you were in a cow pasture.”
“No. That was what I typed.” I sipped my drink and sighed in appreciation as my taste buds were overloaded with fennel and anise.
“Okaaay… That’s not mysterious at all.” Peter’s eyes twinkled as he leaned forward.
Gunnar was still frowning. “So, barring creepy clients and cow pastures, how have you been?” Gunnar asked carefully.
I grinned over the rim of my aromatic drink. “Both of those negations are actually related. I Just got busted from the police station. Apparently trespassing is frowned upon. As is cow tipping.”
Peter choked on his drink. “Pardon?”
Gunnar wasn’t so polite. “What? You know they are looking for any excuse to give you trouble! You even said that you noticed patrol cars hanging around the shop. And why on earth were you cow tipping? Could you find nothing else to entertain you on a Thursday night?”
“I needed information,” I began, settling deeper into the chair. I spotted my first edition of Paradise Lost on the table beside me, and recalled the last passage I had read before retiring the tome: Do they only stand by ignorance, is that their happy state, the proof of their obedience and faith… It reminded me of the detectives at the police station. It had been close to a week since I had read the passage, but I had an eidetic memory, so it was forever burned into my brain. A gift and a