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harming an endangered species—even though I suspected that this was a hybrid, perhaps a cross with a common domestic cat. Blackberry cats are usually jet black.
    Only when the animal was contained in the cage did I take a closer look at the woman on the pier. She was slender, human—and very, very attractive.
    Normally I don't go for humans. Their females are too complicated, and insist upon a series of complex courtship behaviors before they let you mount them. And they mask their tantalizing female scents behind pungent flowery smells strong enough to make you sneeze. But there was something about this one that made me take a second look. And a second sniff— although I was polite and maintained my distance.
    She had dark, shoulder-length hair that was just starting to streak with gray and eyes so brown they looked as if they were all pupil. Except when they caught the light. Then I could see the flecks of gold within the deeper brown.
    I don't normally pay too much attention to what humans call race—most humans look pretty much alike to me—but I guessed that this woman had been sired by someone from the Middle East. Her face had a fluid grace to it, wide cheekbones tapering down to a narrow chin and full lips. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched. Faint creases marked the corners of her eyes, and a delicate frown line creased her forehead. I guessed her age as late thirties. Maybe early forties, tops.
    Her hair and clothes were damp, and she smelled of salt water and diesel fuel. She wore frayed jeans and a beaded leather vest, and was barefoot. Tan lines from sandal straps marked her feet. A silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant hung around her neck. I winced at the sight of it, imagining the blisters that would erupt on my fingers if I were to mistakenly touch it.
    The woman stood casually on the pier, her brown eyes looking at me quizzically. Despite the fact that the night was cool, she wasn't shivering. She stared at me for a long moment, with eyes that seemed to search my soul. They were eyes that contained a strange mixture of innocence and experience. They had a childlike quality about them, yet also a knowing calm that suggested they had seen a whole lot of living. When she spoke, her soft voice was overlaid with an accent I didn't recognize. It was as if several different accents had been rolled into one.
    "Who are you?" she asked.
    "I'm with Lone Star's Magical Task Force."
    The name drew a blank. She obviously hadn't heard of the task force, even though it had been making the tridcasts a lot lately, and had been mentioned in several of President Haeffner's speeches.
    She looked around. "Where am I?"
    She must be from out of town. Either that or she'd become disoriented during her swim to the island.
    "Georges Island," I answered. "Were you aboard the Party Animal ?"
    "The what?"
    "The yacht," I prompted. "The one the wedding party chartered for a late-night harbor tour."
    The frown line on her forehead disappeared. "Harbor?" She looked across the water at the lights of downtown. "What city is this?"
    "Halifax." I peered at her, wishing I had a flashlight. My night vision is pretty good, and I didn't think I saw any bruises or other signs of a head injury, but I couldn't be certain. Perhaps she was on drugs?
    I sniffed. There was no detectable scent of illegal substances. Nor were there any visible chipjacks for slotting BTL.
    "What's your name?" I asked.
    Her smile lit up her face. "They call me Jane ."
    "Who does?"
    "My friends. The ones who sell the cats."
    My nose twitched. I lifted the cage. "Cats like this one?"
    She nodded.
    "More than one cat?"
    "At least a dozen."
    I could hardly contain my excitement. This wasn't an isolated appearance of a paranormal animal; it was part of what sounded like an organized smuggling operation.
    "Do you mind coming back to the police station to answer a few questions?" I asked. I neglected to mention that I didn't really have any authority to question