Krouri led the group into the Crier Dispatch building—minus Hazelnut, who had gone to check on Poppy at the hospital. In the elevator, Buck insisted on coming along. Sparks, of course, invited himself. And Zywrath followed, grim as ever.

  Krouri groaned. "I might be able to talk my mother into letting Buck enter. Zywrath…unlikely. And Sparks—"

  "Not to worry." Sparks shimmered and abruptly shrank into a small orange rodent. "I have a plan."

  Buck blinked as the now transformed tabbi-rat scrambled up his leg. "…I hate this plan." He dropped him unceremoniously into his coat pocket and clamped it shut. "Hold still and not a peep out of you."

  The elevator dinged. The floor was unusually quiet; most of the staff had clearly been dismissed. Krouri tried the office door. Locked. Strange. Her mother never locked her door unless she wasn't in the building.

  She knocked lightly. The door cracked open and Akri’s pigeon head darted out, eyes wide. "Quickly. Inside. Now."

  Krouri stepped forward with Buck in tow—but Akri slid fully into the hallway and shut the door behind her.

  "No! Not him," she hissed, nodding at Buck. "Just you."

  "Mom, he could help—"

  "He can’t come in." Akri’s expression made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. She pressed a hand to Buck’s chest and pointed down the adjacent hallway. "Break room. Hide."

  Buck hesitated only a heartbeat. "Come on," he murmured to Zywrath, and moved out of sight.

  Akri pulled Krouri inside and locked the door again.

  The Don was inside waiting for her.

  Pazienza sat casually in one of the visitor chairs, stirring a cup of tea. Behind him, Tristopher stood like a monolith, black feathers and red eyes unblinking. "Ah, Miss Krouri. Always a pleasure." The Don greeted her pleasantly. "I'm glad you could make it to our little impromptu meeting so swiftly." His sharp-toothed grin offered little hope of declining it.

  Krouri kept her posture straight and diplomatic. "Mister Pazienza. This is certainly fortuitous. I had hoped to arrange a meeting with you regarding recent events. It's been too long."

  "Indeed it has," replied Pazienza. "Please, join us," he offered, indicating the chair next to him. Krouri obliged as Akri took her seat behind her desk. "I'm glad to see you're still working for the family business. You've got some big boots to fill."

  "We do have quite the history between the Crier and your organization. It would stand to maintain the existing mutually beneficial communications." Krouri knew Pazienza had invested heavily in the paper in exchange for select favors. Her father had arranged those. Nothing illicit, at least to her knowledge.

  Pazienza’s eyes lit up. "I'm glad you brought that up. I'm here about a recent miscommunication and want to ensure it is resolved to everyone's satisfaction." He lingered over a sip of the tea, enjoying the drawn out anticipation.

  "A few weeks ago, there was a potential security leak. We've identified the loose end and determined it was just a poor soul in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, the soul seems to have ties to you, Miss Krouri, and the last thing I want to do is to clip any 'wings'."

  Her mouth went dry. "I believe the soul in question here is the adopted son of a friend of mine. A young vole named Iggy. I trust he's not been harmed?"

  Pazienza gave a deep nod. "Not at all. He's being well cared for at this very moment. The boy has a solid appetite and I'm more than happy to have met him."

  "Then I'm going to have to ask you to explain why one of his caretakers was shot."

  The Don shook his head sadly. "An unfortunate mistake. You have my deepest apologies on how that was handled. Rest assured, the employee was swiftly corrected for his behavior. I will see to it that all her medical bills are covered, personally."

  Despite his promises, the Don maintained that toothy grin. Power plays were a favorite weapon of his. Always looking for opportunities to create the best outcome to suit his needs. Krouri spared a glance at her mother who maintained a brave face.

  "I know you're familiar with my work, Miss Krouri," Pazienza stated. "I try to ensure the messier parts of my business do not affect those outside their circles. Especially children. I consider it a personal point of mine."

  "And I appreciate that," Krouri replied.

  "However, my concern is the young boy may have seen something that could put him in danger. I want to take whatever steps necessary to ensure their safety, regardless of the reason for being where they were." Finally, the Don had addressed the reason for this meeting. He was fishing for what Krouri knew about his activities.

  "That is a valid concern," Krouri began. "My friend came to me in hopes of us hiring the boy for some light field work. He needed somewhere to express some excess energy and earn a little pocket change. With the Cremation Killer still at large, every pair of eyes counts," she bluffed.

  "I see. Well, I hate to think that such a noble pursuit landed him in so much trouble. I'll make sure he's sent home safely."

  "Thank you very much," Krouri sighed. If the bluff failed, the Don seemed to be taking it in stride. Time to shift gears. "Are you aware of the updates regarding the Cremation Killer? Specifically, that he was identified at the Glittering Starlight Lounge with the title of 'Fixer'?"

  Pazienza arched a scaly brow. "I was not. I'm afraid my main source of information in that regard has recently left my employ."

  The sight of Buck's broken and bleeding body flashed in her mind. She pushed forward.

  "Fixer isn't working alone. He has backing. Armed associates. Masks."

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The news made Pazienza pause. "Interesting. A well supplied and funded serial killer is certainly a dangerous thought. Do you know how or why he chooses his targets?"

  "No, but the common thread seems to be a frame job against both you and the Crimson Lotus."

  Pazienza smiled, resuming his smug expression. "The supposed artistic arsonist? I can assure you I have no arrangements with them. In fact, I would argue I had no official business with any of the victims either."

  If the Don was going to watch his words, then she was going to lay it all out for him. "You can argue that all you like but at the end of the day, the Cremation Killer's work doesn't paint you in a flattering light. You said someone must be backing Fixer. Have you heard of someone who goes by ‘V’?" The teacup hit its saucer with a sharp clink. For the first time, Pazienza’s smile vanished. Tristopher stiffened. Krouri seized the opening. "You know the name."

  "I know enough not to say it lightly," Pazienza growled. "There's a reason some stories are left in the dark of the cutting room floor." This was a surprise. Not much scared this lizard but V seemed to be a personal boogeyman.

  "The only reason I'm even bringing it up is because it involves both of our mutual interests. I promise you, this entire discussion doesn't leave this room. Not in print. Not on the wire."

  All the preamble had left the Don's body language. He leaned closer with a grim expression, claws clenched around the head of the armrests. "Speak your mind, Miss Kukri," he uttered.

  "One of the destructive events today? That was V assaulting Sparks of Life and his Eidolon companion." Tristopher's head jerked in her direction at the word. The Don didn't budge.

  "I see you're more deeply involved than I thought," Pazienza remarked. Akri looked between them with fearsomely worried curiosity. "I would wager any altercation involving V is unrelated to this Fixer. To be blunt, what V does is really none of my concern."

  "Even if Fixer and his goons are under his employ?" Krouri probed.

  "V doesn't know who Fixer is," The lizard snapped. "If Fixer was under V's employ, he would in turn, be under mine. If he was under mine, he wouldn't be nearly as messy. I certainly wouldn't have needed to hire the late Mr. Piper, Gods rest his soul. Fixer's antics ruined a perfectly good lounge. I do hope it opens again soon."

  Krouri's eyes met her mother's. Pazienza thought Buck was dead. He could use that.

  "Speaking of the late detective, may I ask the reason for his termination, as you put it? Was his investigation not providing results quickly enough?"

  Pazienza took a breath and considered his response. "My understanding was he elected to point his investigation in the wrong direction, which would explain your attention to V. Possibly also the reason for the altercation at the home of Mr. Sparks as well. V isn't fond of having his secrets exposed."

  "Few are. So, with this new information, any ideas on how to handle Fixer?"

  Pazienza leaned back in his seat, his relaxed posture returning. "Unless I miss my guess, the task force has Mr. Sparks in custody. I would say the one real resource you have left is the tabbi himself." A thin smile spread across his face. "You, my dear, have the bait. That means you get to set the trap." His jaws snapped shut, his toothy grin restored. He stood to button his jacket and offered Akri a polite nod. "Family is everything. I hope you remember that, when the smoke clears."

  He and Tristopher stepped out into the corridor, vanishing as the elevator doors slid shut.

  As soon as they were gone, Akri locked the door and spun on Krouri, eyes wide with fear. "Krouri. What happened?"

  "Mom—just…let me explain."

  "What. Happened." Akri reiterated.

  Wait. Order’s voice thrummed in her skull. She will not approve. She will protect you and compromise the balance.

  Krouri clenched her jaw. No.

  A shard of pain jammed through her ribs. She nearly doubled over. Akri, back turned as she prepared tea over whiskey, didn’t notice. The pain was short lived. A warning, trailing into a dull throb as her mother handed her a cup. "Mom, let me explain from the beginning," she began.

  *  *  *

  Hazelnut’s stomach twisted as she reached the hospital. She wanted to help the others at the Crier but this—this was her family. They came first.

  The emergency room doors slid open. The entire lobby was full—not with patients, but her neighbors. Franky and George trying to keep their lagomorph brood under control. Carl, grumbling next to Max. That young newlywed couple, Fran and Annie, sitting arm in arm. Even their mailman Mr. McFreely was there, still in uniform. When he spotted Hazelnut, he flagged down Pearl.

  Pearl hurried over and pulled her into a tight hug. "Poppy’s resting. The doctors say she’ll be fine. A clean through-and-through, no organ damage. She just needs the night." Hazelnut blinked back tears. "Thank goodness."

  "Come on," Pearl said softly. "She’s been asking for you."

  They entered the small recovery suite. Poppy lay in bed, wildly medicated and smiling at anything that moved. Widget stood from her chair and seized Hazelnut in a trembling embrace.

  "Did you learn anything? Is Iggy okay?"

  Hazelnut squeezed her back. "Not yet. But my friends are working on it. I don't believe he's in any danger. Carl said they made it very clear Iggy wouldn’t be harmed."

  Widget looked shocked. "Carl? Our Carl? The cranky old coot actually helped with something?"

  "That man would never stand idly by while someone took a child," Pearl scolded gently. "Give him a little credit. There's no chance he'd hide on the sidelines when it comes to something like this."

  Hazelnut took a breath. "Thank you. All of you. I…I haven’t exactly been honest about everything, and—"

  Pearl silenced her with a hand cupped to her cheek. "You owe us nothing. You do what you do to keep a roof over our heads. "

  Hazelnut’s breath caught. "But I want to tell you. You deserve to know the truth."

  "Then tell us when you’re ready," Pearl said softly. "We’re not going anywhere."

  Across the room, Poppy lifted her head and slurred, "Go hooome, Widgeeet. Go home." That settled it. Widget let out a shaky laugh and nodded.

  A fresh round of greetings came from the lobby as the retired old tortoise Speedy finally shuffled through the doors, raising a slow hand to Hazelnut. Her heart swelled watching them all together: mismatched, loud, imperfect—and utterly hers.

  The doors opened again. A young squirrel courier stepped in, wearing a reflective vest and holding an envelope. "Hazelnut Bushytail?"

  She stepped forward. "That’s me."

  "Priority delivery. Sign here?"

  She scribbled her name and took the envelope. Her name was typed on the front—no handwriting and no return address. Inside was a single coin. An old half-klopen. The kind her father used to collect. The stamp was smeared—a classic misprint. She turned it over. Someone had carefully scratched the reverse side, altering the lettering into a single message:

  "We should talk. -TK"

  Hazelnut’s breath caught in her throat.

  Taurence.