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hear.
    Timothy was looking a bit scruffy these days, but not in a bad way. He’d quit his tech job at a startup a couple of months ago, relying on the reputation he’d built up in the tech world to make it as a freelance consultant. Ironically, as the economy worsened and layoffs became the norm, he was doing better than ever. A lot of places could no longer afford a full-time IT staff, but they still ran into problems they couldn’t solve from time to time—so they called Timothy. And the worse the problem, the more in demand he was. He’s a regular savant when it comes to removing malware, tracking who’s done which changes to what strings of code, and basically all things computer-related. I’ll bet he’d been a serious hacker as a teen, before growing a conscience.
    Timothy is a good-looking guy, dark hair, a ready smile, and rows of tiny gold hoops in one ear. But he’s always had something of the geek about him. Now that he was on his own and more relaxed, he’d loosened up. Low-slung tight pants with rolled-up cuffs, tan canvas shoes—he was beginning to look more like the stereotype of a musician or a Mission hipster than a computer nerd.
    He expertly flipped the omelette he’d been making onto a plate and shoved it in front of me. Eli looked at it longingly, before settling for a small cup of nonfat yogurt. He was still on a strict diet, and had already trimmed his normal two sixty down to two twenty-five or so, close to his college-football-playing weight. That was the pre-steroid era, of course. He looked good, but I could see he was suffering. He likes his food.
    But this wasn’t about food, anyway—it had more the feeling of a strategy session than a friendly breakfast. Or maybe Victor had decided on an intervention over unknown transgressions. One never knows.
    Timothy tossed a couple of bacon strips to Lou and started in on another omelette. The rest of us sat around the old scarred kitchen table. Victor’s kitchen, unlike the rest of his house, is a warm and plain and comfortable refuge, a far cry from the expensive antiques and ornate furnishings that he otherwise favors.
    It would have been polite for me to wait until everyone had got their food, but cold eggs are no treat at all. I’d polished off my omelette before Victor even started on his. When I poured myself a second cup of coffee and leaned back in my chair, Victor gave me a friendly smile, indistinguishable from the smile he gives to a hearty breakfast plate. I looked back at him more in resignation than suspicion. Timothy was a good cook, and the cheese omelette had put me in a comfortable mood, which of course was exactly the point.
    Timothy didn’t know that; he was just having a good time cooking up breakfast for his friends. He’s the only one in our circle who isn’t a practitioner, and that sometimes provides a welcome balance and some common sense as well. He’s very fond of Victor, naturally, but has no illusions about what Victor’s like. Still, he doesn’t really get just how manipulative Victor can be. Which is fine; if you can’t turn something of a blind eye to the faults of your significant other, what’s the point of a relationship?
    “So,” Victor finally said as I sipped my coffee, “you met Jessie. And how is she these days?”
    “How do you know her? I thought she was new in town.”
    “She is. But we’ve crossed paths from time to time in other places.”
    “She’s . . . impressive,” I said.
    “She is that. Always has been. Did you meet Naja?”
    “Oh, yes.” Victor’s mouth quirked into a bare smile.
    “Gave you a bit of a turn, I imagine. And what exactly was it she wanted from you?”
    “Well, it seems that a woman in her employ stole something from her and then went missing. She wouldn’t say what. She wanted to know if I’d consider trying to find her. She offered me a ridiculous amount of money to take it on.”
    “And what did you tell her?”
    I looked over at Eli for some clue