For the moment, my bitterness eases slightly. Which makes me nervous. And sets off a drumbeat of alarm in my temple.

I may not be the most perceptive elf, but something feels wrong. I look around the room warily. It seems unchanged from when we left. Except that the mud I dripped on the floor earlier is gone, cleaned up by some lackey. Just like the detritus of our violence-filled day flaking off our cloaks now will be cleaned up after we have left.

Jet wears the same scowl as he did this morning.

"Well?" he asks perfunctorily.

Before Enturi can respond, Lynae moves past us, separating herself from the rest of us, resuming her privileged position at Jet's side. Although we just spent the day with her, she seems, in a moment, above us. Unobtainable. Desirable.

"Your enforcers identified the elf and human responsible for the girl's death and killed them and their bodyguards." She glides to the table, graceful as an alley cat walking on a roof edge, and lightly places the papers - the information that was the fruit of Jeamo's dark magic - on the map table next to Jet's elbow.

"You'll want to read these . . . privately," she says softly to the boss. She runs her finger along his shoulder. "I am in need of a bath. If you don't mind . . . ?" She leaves the question hanging as she slips from the room. Damn. A bath. Probably even with hot water. Clean, hot water. Must be nice.

I wonder. If I killed Jet, would I get his girlfriend and his bath? Probably. But then I would have to run his racket, and fight off a bunch of challengers, including Enturi. Too much trouble. Maybe I should just offer to be his boyfriend. Heh. That'd be a quick way to get killed or ostracized.

The sound of Enturi's voice recalls me to my surroundings. Naturally, once Lynae had established her primacy and left the room, the pretty boy jumped in to pick up the rest of Jet's attention. What a bootlicker.

"Norien was murdered to power an occult ritual, which apparently requires blood and perhaps death to fuel the divination," Enturi is reporting. "A human sorcerer named Jeamo was hired by someone, presumably whatever human official is charged with maintaining human control and order here in Elftown, to gather some information about . . . events and people . . . here. Jeamo used Calmorien, a fish sauce merchant, to procure the elves he needed to sacrifice for the ritual."

Jet glances at the dwarf, who nods briefly, confirming Enturi's report. Interesting.

"It seems that Calmorien mostly kidnapped homeless children for the ritual. Elven street rats that no one would miss. He chose Norien out of spite and vengeance. He was in love with her. She didn't return the feelings. So he served her up to Jeamo. Calmorien was apparently a regular customer of hers, so the guards and whores at the Bouncy Tart didn't think anything of his presence there that night."

Enturi's voice is smooth, informative, authoritative. I stifle an urge to punch him, and instead drum my middle finger on the pommel of my sword as he continues. I remember how his mere touch panicked the ogre half-breed. Creepy.

"We tracked Calmorien down to his warehouse, where he was loading up some drugged children for delivery to Jeamo for use in yet another ritual."

"How long has this been going on?" Jet interrupts.

"I am not sure," Enturi admits uncertainly. "Ten days, maybe? If you look at the papers, it seems as though the information-gathering was almost complete. But the fact that Jeamo performed a ritual divination last night and intended to perform another one this afternoon suggests that the process was concentrated. On the other hand, the divination chamber did look like it has been there awhile."

Jet looks a little uneasy. Enturi doesn't seem to notice.

"Calmorien was also a sorcerer. We captured him and killed his guards. He screeched like a rat before we killed him, giving us the location of Jeamo and his divination chamber. We entered Jeamo's studio by subterfuge and killed his guard. Jeamo fled, but we were able to catch and kill him as well. We left the severed heads of the two sorcerers outside their lairs, with graffiti designating each as a murderer of Norien."

"Nice touch," Jet says drily. "Where are Calmorien's warehouse and Jeamo's divination chamber?" Enturi points to their locations on the map table. Jet seems satisfied.

"Anything else I should know?" he asks.

"No," Enturi says.

"Yes," I say. "Jeamo was a patrician."