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The worn tires of my pickup hummed over another mile of road before he finally murmured, “Sorry.”
I made a face. Let him apologize. I didn’t have to accept it gracefully.
He went on a little lamely. “I thought Harlon’s spell worked on you yesterday, during the flight.”
I shrugged. “I’m a good pretender.”
“Or a good liar.”
I shrugged. “You lied too. Who are you?Whatare you?”
A grim purse of the lips was his only answer.
By then, we’d nearly passed the exit for Paige Springs, but I hit the brakes and turned at the last minute. Nash braced himself as we careened off the highway. He still had both arms against the dashboard when I pulled over and faced him.
“I’ll say it again. Who are you?Whatare you? And what are you up to?”
“I’m not up to anything.”
“No, you’re just happy being mindless,” I barked, echoing his own words. Then I shook my head impatiently. “You show up at my job. You show up at Buffalo Bill’s the night my sisters and I went there—” Suddenly suspicious, I grabbed him by the collar, growling, “If you’re after one of my sisters…”
He stuck up his hands. “I’m not after anyone. I swear.”
I kept my hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt a moment longer, then released him with a little shove.
“No, you just happen to keep appearing in my life. Including at Harlon’s party. All just coincidence?”
His eyes sparkled at the accusation and not in a good way. But then he frowned, considering.
I killed the engine and switched off the headlights, plunging the view from starkly contrasting shadows to a softer, undulating outline of the landscape.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Let me keep it simple for you. Who do you work for?”
“Desert Sky Balloon Adventures.”
I scoffed. “Who do youreallywork for?”
A roadrunner scurried across the dirt road, and we watched as it disappeared into the bushes. Nash kept his eyes there a long time before answering.
“I don’t work for anyone other than Henry. Not any more. But I used to work for the ADMSA.”
He watched my reaction. Did he actually expect me to recognize that jumble of letters?
I didn’t, so I got creative. “ADMSA…Association of Dimwits Making Stupid Assumptions?”
His eyebrows popped up. “Uh, no. The Agency for the Detection and Monitoring of Supernatural Activity.”
“I like mine better,” I muttered, but then his words sank in. “Wait. The agency forwhat?”
He peered around as if the next roadrunner might report him for spilling state secrets. “The Agency for the Detection and Monitoring of Supernatural Activity. We—” He grimaced, correcting himself. “Theykeep an eye on the likes of Harlon…Angelina…”
I bared my teeth. “My father?”
He shook his head. “No. Yes. I mean, warlocks in general. Not your father in particular.”
I studied his face for a lie but didn’t detect one.
“Are they keeping an eye on Harlon?” I tried next.
