Skin Deep by Mark Del Franco Page A

ever have a reason to cross. Once the Archives ceremony is over, the problem should go away. Did Corman Deegan work there, too?”
    Terryn shook his head. “The SWAT-team druid? I don’t see any indications that he did.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “Still in the hospital with head-blindness,” Terryn said.
    “Sanchez knew something, Terryn. Now somebody thinks I do and is willing to kill me because of it.”
    “Maybe you do.”
    She thought of her memory flashes, Sanchez pressing his finger into her bloody hand. She pushed at the moment, tried to make the scene step beyond what she remembered, but it drifted into nothing. “I think Sanchez did tell me something. He couldn’t talk. I remember him doing something to my hand. He might have been trying to communicate something.”
    “Sign language?”
    Laura looked at her palm. Something about the way the lines of her skin crisscrossed made her uneasy. She had never subscribed to palmistry, at least not the way the modern world did. She knew some fey could read health issues in the skin, but that had more to do with how essence points radiated than simple lines. Something about the way her life, heart, and head lines were arranged. “It was a shape, I think. He wrote something.”
    “A name?”
    She didn’t respond, but continued staring. The memory flickered on the edges of her awareness. Frustration grew within her, frustration that a druid, of all people, was having a hard time remembering. She shook her head. “It’s gone again.”
    Terryn had the good grace not to look disappointed, but she felt it. “It’ll come. In the meantime, let’s do the footwork to figure out why the FBI was spying on the SWAT team.”
    Laura gathered her things. “Will do. I want to talk to Corman Deegan first, see if he knows anything. I’ll catch up with you after that.”
    On the way to the elevator, she passed Cress in the hall. “I made him smile. You owe me lunch.”
    “A small price to pay, I am sure,” she replied.

CHAPTER 9
    “WHERE THE HECK have you been?” Saffin said.
    Laura was tempted to tell her she had been impersonating a police officer and drinking with an arms merchant, but thought better of it. Instead, she rolled her eyes in shared exasperation as she walked through the public-relations reception area. “Sorry. I got pulled into a meeting yesterday, then had to do some damage control on something last night.”
    Saffin handed her a stack of mail. “Hornbeck called again,” she said.
    Laura shook her head as she sorted the mail. “He won’t let up, will he?”
    Saffin made a sour face. “It gets worse. His office noticed that the two of you will be at separate Senate hearings on the same floor tomorrow. He wants you to meet him as soon as he finishes.”
    Laura bit back a curse. She was participating in a fact-finding session at one of the Senate buildings about fey homeless shelters. “I forgot about the hearing.”
    Saffin sighed and frowned in mock-frustration. “Did you not read the three email alerts I sent you? I can’t run your life if you don’t pay attention.”
    Laura chuckled, but a sliver of guilt swept over her. She had neglected to check her email. Sloppy. Despite her joking, Saffin’s face had a shadow of gauntness about it that suggested stress. That was a minor hint that a boggart situation could evolve. Over the years, Saffin had never become more than highly agitated with Laura. Laura took that as a point of pride for both of them. It meant they knew how to work together.
    Brownies didn’t like going boggie. The mental strain was bad enough, but the change was physical, too. Their bodies literally transformed, becoming elongated and taut, while their physical strength increased dramatically. Their minds slipped, too, normal rationality becoming suppressed as they became obsessed with completing the task that sparked the change. It happened like an adrenaline rush—fast, intense, and utterly exhausting when it was over.