I sat in a small, drab office, one of many in the Atlanta chapter of the Order of Knights of Merciful Aid, and pretended to be Kate Daniels. Kate’s phone didn’t ring very often, so I didn’t have to pretend very hard. Unfortunately, when it did ring, like right now, the person on the other end was rarely interested in a facsimile. They wanted the real thing. “Order of Knights of Merciful Aid, Andrea Nash speaking.” A female voice on the other end murmured hesitantly. “You’re not Kate.” “No, I’m not. She’s on medical leave. But I’m filling in for her.” “I’ll just wait until she comes back.” I said good-bye to the disconnect signal, hung up, and petted my SIG-Sauer P226s lying on Kate’s desk. At least my guns still liked me. The real Kate Daniels, my best friend and partner in butt-kicking, was on medical leave. And I intended to do my best to let her stay on medical leave, at least until her wounds stopped bleeding. The magic wave fell. The mysterious orange and yellow glyphs on the floor of Kate’s office faded. On the wall, the charged air inside twisted glass tubes of a feylantern turned dark, while the ugly warts of electric lights in the hallway ceiling ignited with soft light. Inside my skin, the secret me