CHAPTER 11
“Is the stuff in there gonna blow up or something, Red?” Faith eyed the envelope uneasily – Willow’s solemn face didn’t make her feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. In fact, she was glad she hadn’t made it to the breakfast bar yet. Her stomach and throat burned from a sudden increase in acid.
The sour taste in her mouth continued to grow when Willow didn’t laugh or even crack a smile at her attempt to joke. “Ah…the documents won’t.” Now Willow flashed a wide and patently false smile.
“But?” Faith knew there was one.
Blushing bright red and wiggling, Willow mumbled, “I’m afraid you might.”
Faith carefully set the unopened packet on the table beside her. “Newsflash, Red. I was right there on the edge less than an hour ago.” Meeting Willow’s eyes, she didn’t mention how close to disaster they’d all been outside the police station.
There was something…A flash of understanding in Willow’s eyes. A sad droop to her lips. Willow already knew what Faith had hoped to keep hidden. “It’s important, Faith. I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t.”
“Tell ya’ what. We got Tweed and his tea-drinking mini-tweeds waiting for our call and a horde of hungry Juniors on their way here.” Faith picked up the envelope and held it out to Willow. “Unless the shit in here is gonna help with that, you hang onto it until after the Scooby meeting.”
Willow took the envelope back, clutching it against her chest. “It can wait – but not for long. Promise me you won’t ‘forget’ or run off with Nicole to avoid taking a look at the information.” Resolve Face hovered nearby. Faith saw Willow’s face start to harden in the dreaded pattern.
No way was Faith messing with that. “Red, you got my word.” She bit back a curse as soon as she made the vow. Her word didn’t mean jack, and Willow would be the first to point that out. Rushing to correct her mistake, Faith tried again. “I’ll sit right here for the meeting, Red. As soon as you hang up the computer, we’ll go to the room and read the shit together.”
A slender hand shot out. “Deal.”
Slowly, Faith extended her own hand and shook Willow’s. “Deal,” she echoed softly. Willow didn’t immediately release her hand, and Faith waited for a second before yanking a little. “You wanna let go?”
There was a second’s hesitation before Willow dropped her hand. She started to say something when the door to the conference room sprang open and the rest of the Junior Slayers charged in.
“I better head them off at the pass,” Faith murmured. She watched Willow intently, wondering what was going on. Before she had time to press for an explanation, Faith’s enhanced hearing picked up several angry voices across the room. “I ain’t much better at Spanish than Nic, but the minis ain’t happy about something.” Reluctantly turning away, she trotted over to the new group.
Cam and Juanita were toe to toe. “Maybe you should let one of us drive next time. You almost got us killed!” Cam growled.
Damn it. Faith lunged past a few gawkers and gripped the younger girls’ shoulders. “Lock it down. Now!” she ordered. Cam’s muscles bunched, and Faith stopped merely holding and began digging her fingers into Cam. “You want me to make you part of the wall, kid?”
“It would be better than making me ride with her again!” Cam said loudly. “She can’t drive. It was like she aimed for the sidewalk or the other cars. I thought getting Called meant dying at the hands of a demon or a vampire – not some bitch who can’t tell the gas pedal from the brake!”
The situation was serious so Faith bit her lip to hold back her chuckle. “Look, Cam. Cars and Slayers don’t mix. Have you seen B drive?” She knew none of the current group had, but her words got their attention. Buffy was Slayer Numero Uno. “Girl’s got a death wish. People dive off the sidewalk when they see her comin’, and she’s had more fender benders than NASCAR.”
“Yeah,” Cam grumbled. “I’ve heard that.” Then she glared at Juanita. “I also know nobody let’s her get behind the wheel.”
Faith sighed. “We got bigger problems, Junior. You know what happened to Nic. Before I have to kick your ass, get some breakfast and sit down. Red’s getting the big call set up. We should be having tea with the Tweeds in a few minutes.” She waited long enough to make sure no one else was going to be a problem before trudging back across the room.
God, she was tired. Faith rubbed the back of her right hand over her burning eyes. They needed to get this over with. “Get Tweed on the line.” Faith held up an apologetic hand as soon as the words popped out. “Sorry, Red. Didn’t mean to go all Slayer on you.”
“Looks like you might have had reason.” Willow typed furiously on her laptop. “Are the girls going to settle down? We can do this in our room if having them here is a problem.”
It was tempting. “No,” Faith said reluctantly. “One of ‘em may have an idea or something. Besides, if it was you…Would you sit down here stuffing your face while somebody else called the shots upstairs? They'll be OK once we get started. If any of 'em start any trouble, though, I'll sit on 'em".
A grimace answered her. “Good point.” Willow’s fingers stopped moving. “The call is all set. I’m just waiting for Giles to answer.”
“Hope to fuck he’s paying attention and not handing out them little sandwhiches.” Faith sat down next to Willow and leaned her head back. “If he don’t answer soon, I’m gonna be out for the count.”
“Me, too.” Willow’s voice was garbled by a yawn. “You’d think after eight years of helping save the world, I’d be better at no sleep.”
Chuckling, Faith forced herself to sit up again. “Don’t think it works that way, Red. You’re getting up there in years, and old people need more sleep. Kinda surprised you’re doing this good. Think we’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours.”
A beep from the computer interrupted their conversation.
“Giles is ready,” Willow announced. Seconds later, an image flickered on the large projection screen on the front wall of the conference room.
***
“You’re playing me, right? Ain’t no way Old Lady McLaren gave up the goods.” Fin leaned against his desk and frowned. “What really happened out there, Rookie?”
Chelsea bit back a smile. If he thought she was going to disagree with Olivia’s version, he was sadly mistaken. “Well…” That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to tease a little. “Mrs. McLaren really wasn’t happy to see us.” Settling farther back in her chair, Chelsea propped her feet on her desk. “I remember this bat about to put a dent in my head.”
She could feel Olivia watching her. Hell, she could feel all of them watching her.
“In the end, Liv talked her down. She was real smooth. Even called Mrs. McLaren ‘ma’am.’” Chelsea finally smiled at Fin’s loud groan. “You owe her the tickets, Fin.”
“Can’t believe I gotta tell my girl she can’t go with me to the game.” Fin sat down, and scowled. “You know how long it took me to find a guy willing to sell those to me?”
His comment almost made Chelsea feel bad about what she was planning to do. Almost. “Oh, Fin?”
He spun in his chair. “Yeah?”
“Maybe your girlfriend will feel better when she knows you won’t be going, either.” Chelsea met his eyes and winked. “After all, while Liv was busy getting that paperwork signed, I was the one about to get a Louisville Slugger insignia tattooed on my forehead. Liv owes me.”
She never got to hear Olivia’s response. The captain’s door slammed open and then closed. “Did I miss a memo somewhere? One giving all my detectives the day off?” Cragen demanded as he joined the group. “I could have sworn we had a dozen open cases.”
Everyone scrambled to belatedly look busy.
“Lake and I got the exhumation order, Captain. We dropped it off to Novak on the way back.” Olivia stretched her hands over her head. “And we picked up a tail on the way over. Stolen – and they managed to get away.”
Chelsea avoided looking across the desk at her partner. Instead, she shuffled some papers into a neater pile. “Friends of McLaren’s maybe,” Chelsea softly contributed. She really didn’t think so; she simply wasn’t ready to tell anyone except Munch the truth.
Olivia’s stare burned into her. “I don’t know…” She leaned forward and put her elbows on her desk. “It doesn’t feel right. We have nothing on McLaren since the thing last night. No more bodies have turned up. I think it might be something else.”
Things went from bad to worse. “What’s on your mind, Liv?” Cragen asked.
There was no immediate response, and Chelsea slowly looked up. Olivia met her eyes and arched an eyebrow in a silent, The ball’s in your court. She wasn’t ready…Chelsea clenched her teeth. Her comfort level wasn’t the most important thing. Keeping Olivia alive was. “It’s not Liv, Captain. The tail…I think they were following me.”
***
Giles’ peered uncertainly at them from the wall. “Hello, girls. Are we ready to discuss what happened this morning?”
“Ain’t much to say, Tweed,” Faith was quick to say. She wasn’t dragging Nicole through another rehash. Not with the rest of the Juniors in the room. “All you need to know is we stopped keeping tabs on Lake. She’s on her own.”
As she expected, the news didn’t go over well. “You cannot leave her…”
“We can, and we did,” Willow interrupted. She stood up and glared at the screen. “I hope everyone is paying attention. A lot’s happened in the last few hours and the plans are changing – with or without your cooperation, Giles.”
Faith covered her mouth with her hand to hide a grin. She wanted to wave her arms and cheer. When Willow got pissed, she didn’t take shit from anybody – not even Giles. “Hey, kids,” she called out. “Bring drinks and plates and get your asses in closer. We all have to be part of this talk.” Maybe adding a few more people would calm the situation down. Then she remembered the standoff between Cam and Juanita. Maybe not.
Faith was only dimly aware of the Junior Slayers following her suggestion. Most of her attention was on the screen. Giles hadn’t taken Willow’s comment well. He glared angrily into the camera. “My dear Willow, our job is to protect Ms. Lake. She is integral to the prophecy. Without her, we risk…”
This was getting them nowhere. Faith was too tired to watch Giles and Willow have a pissing contest – no matter how amusing it might be. “Listen, Giles, I ain’t got time for this. Me and Red are running on fumes. Fuck, most of the kids are, too. We’re stretched too thin, and you’re way off base with the assignment.” She didn’t add that they still weren’t sure their information on the prophecy itself might be off. “Sit back, grab some tea, and let Red explain things.”
His glare transferred to her, and Faith met it calmly. If he didn’t back down soon, she’d pull the plug on the conference. Working alone wasn’t new, just more risky.
“What have you discovered?” Giles finally unbent enough to ask. He moved away from the camera and Faith glimpsed other people in the room with him. Most of them wore the same pinch-faced disapproval Giles had sported. So much for the ‘new’ part of the New Council.
Willow picked up the conversational ball. “The reason Lake seems unaware of what’s happening? She is unaware, Giles. She’s completely clueless.”
That got Council attention. Mumbles filtered through the speakers and tweed-clad bodies shifted on the screen.
Sharing a look with Willow, Faith rubbed her eyes. “You got questions, boys, better ask ‘em now. Otherwise, I’m telling Red to shift into second on the Willowbabble machine to move this along. You musta missed the ‘we’re tired’ thing.”
One brave soul risked a painful death if Faith found him. “That’s not possible. Of course, Ms. Lake knows about her destiny. The prophecy indicates that she is a leader among her people.”
Of course. Faith was glad Willow spoke up before she did. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she said in a sickeningly sweet voice.
“Reginald Tottinham-Shaw.” Sitting painfully erect, the pale young man peered into the camera through the lenses of his glasses.
Willow’s smile disappeared in a flash. “Well, Reginald, you need to learn that prophecies are a big, fat waste of time in the real world. In the real world,” her speech picked up speed, “Chelsea Lake is on record as an orphan. She grew up in foster care, probably convinced she didn’t have a family. Now, I could be wrong, but I bet that someone who thinks they don’t have a family has no idea that they have a starring role in a centuries-old, barely legible prophecy.”
Stilted silence filled the conference room as Reginald stared back at Willow.
“Forgive me, Willow.” It wasn’t Reginald making the apology. Giles looked earnestly at them through the camera. “We never anticipated this eventuality. I don’t understand…”
The guiltfest was about to start. “Look, Tweed, I told you about Lake when I called last night. You musta forgot or something. Don’t get all twisted up, though,” Faith told him to forestall anymore apologies. “Deal and move on. What we need now is the new 411,” she hoped they had some, “on what demon we’re facing, and then we need a better plan.”
“We still aren’t completely certain.” Giles took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All the indicators seem to suggest that the evil in the prophesy is vampiric in nature. However, we haven’t given up searching for more concrete evidence.”
It wasn’t great news; still, it had high points. “If all we got are vamps, Tweed, we’re in decent shape. Don’t have to worry about ‘em nabbing Lake during the day.” Faith smiled slightly. “Also means there’s a little time for planning.”
As seamlessly as if they’d rehearsed, Willow stepped in. “We do have some information for you, Giles.” She set her laptop on her legs and began typing. “I’m sending you what I got last night through my hook. It’s not much…yet. I left a few buried commands in the NYPD system, and I should get updates whenever Lake - or anyone in her unit – uses their computers.” Pausing, Willow frowned at the screen. “Can you pull it up, Giles? I think we all need to take a look at it. I didn’t have time to go through it. We were…busy with other things.”
There was more than just Lake’s family information? Faith scooted her chair closer and peered over Willow’s shoulder.
Willow glanced up and smiled. “Hmmm, if Faith’s interested in what I found, I’m betting all the other Slayers in the room are, too.” The smile turned impish. “Scary, isn’t it?”
Giles didn’t answer, but Faith heard a few chuckles from the speakers and giggles from other tables in the large room. “Laugh it up, Red. Just remember. Slayers may hate research, but we also don’t need much sleep. Guess who you’re sharing a room with?” Moving out of Willow’s personal space, she continued. “Wonder what I could get up to while you’re snoring away? How d’ya like frozen…clothes, Red?”
That got a blush and the tip of a tongue poked her way. “Before you count your frozen bras, Faith, remember who you’re sharing a room with.” As Willow’s fingers flew over the keyboard, her eyes closed briefly. When they reopened, Willow’s eyes were a solid blue.
“If you two are finished playing,” came Giles’ dry voice, “perhaps you could help us interpret the information we just received?”
Faith waved a hand in distracted acknowledgment. “Ain’t no call to get like that, Red. You know I was just yanking your chain.” Pressing back in her chair, she tried to look less freaked than she actually was. No wonder the Juniors were scared of Willow. Not even a Slayer was a match for that.
“And I wasn’t yanking yours back?” Willow’s eyes returned to normal and she turned away with a smirk. “I’ve got the information on a screen here, too, Giles. All of us can start reading.”
When Faith managed to shake off her unease and turn her head, she saw what Willow had mentioned. A beam of light from a nearby projector threw a large, slightly blurred image of the laptop screen up next to the image of Giles.
“It looks like Lake’s discovery about her family wasn’t an accident,” Willow pointed out. “I’m betting that the man Nicole saw at Lake’s apartment started the whole investigation.” One of the sections was suddenly highlighted. “Anyone know who Anshu is?”
***
“Did you want to explain that, Detective?” Cragen didn’t sound amused, and Chelsea slid down in her chair and studiously avoided his gaze. “Did I miss something in your transfer request? Because I don’t remember anything in there about you being at the center of a death threat.”
Wondering why in the hell she’d elected to blurt out the truth, Chelsea quietly answered him. “This is all new, Captain.” Inspiration struck. “And I haven’t really kept you out of the loop. I came to Sergeant Munch as soon as I knew something might be wrong.”
Cragen digested the information for a minute. “John?”
“The rookie’s telling the truth, Captain,” Munch answered. “She came back in looking like a night on the town gone bad and asked for my help.” Chelsea had to work to keep her laugh on the inside at Munch’s description. “It seems Baby Chelsea wasn’t left on the doorstep with a note pinned to her blanket the way the records say. At least, not according to the guy waiting at her apartment.”
Chelsea slowly raised her eyes to find the entire squad staring at her. With an uncomfortable shrug, she took over where Munch had left off. “I grew up in foster care. No family, not even that long-lost uncle that most orphans dream about.” Chelsea recapped her encounter with Anshu and her subsequent return to the stationhouse. “The Sarge was going to do some checking on the social worker while Benson and I were on the road,” she finished quietly. “I haven’t had a chance to check in with him since we got back.”
“What ya’ got for us, Munch?” Fin spun in his chair to look at his former partner. “I mean, my family ain’t real friendly these days, but even they don’t grab me on the street or follow me in stolen cars.”
Munch snorted. “That’s right; they only steal them.” He smiled when Fin growled back at him then sobered before continuing. “I wish I had something solid. I reached out to an old friend in ACS. He had a few interesting things to say about Wilson Grant.”
“The social worker who handled Chelsea’s case?” Olivia leaned forward. “Are you sure this isn’t just another one of your conspiracy theories, Munch?”
“It has all the earmarks. Government cover ups, squeaky clean records, and mysterious agents,” Munch shot back. “I’m not going to rule it out; however, that isn’t the important thing right now.”
A cold lump developed in Chelsea’s stomach. Munch lived to irritate them all with his theories about governmental misconduct and clandestine military operations. If he was ignoring those for whatever he’d uncovered… Clenching her hands into fists, she gritted out, “What did you find?”
“It seems Mr. Grant was the ideal employee. Handled all of his cases without complaint. Never called in sick. Filed all his paperwork on time, too,” Munch recited.
“So the man was a saint. Big deal. You got that smirk on, Munch. The one that says you got some dirt.” Fin’s voice was irritated. “Stop playin’ to the crowd and finish the story before we all look as old and skinny as you.”
Normally, Chelsea enjoyed the banter between the two. Right now, though, her nerves hummed with a tension that grew with each passing second. “Munch?” It was a strained plea for mercy. She couldn’t take much more.
“Wilson Grant, ladies and gentlemen,” Munch answered Chelsea’s plea, “was exactly what he appeared to be…until I found out he suddenly announced his plans to retire and do some traveling.”
“Travel where?” Chelsea said sharply. Her nerves were ready to snap.
Munch steepled his fingers and gave her a steady look. “Mr. Grant has a desire to see the world.” He must have sensed Chelsea approaching the breaking point; he rushed on. “His last day at ACS is tomorrow, and he’s booked on an evening flight out of Newark.” That information passed on, Munch dropped his hands and went back to his usual slow and deliberate delivery. “The truly interesting thing about all of this is how Mr. Grant is financing his trip.”
“Let me guess, he recently deposited a large sum of money?” Cragen asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
Chuckling, Munch shook his head. “For the first time in his life, Mr. Grant stepped out of his perfect little box. He didn’t have one large deposit. He had two. One posted to his account last night.”
“And the other?” Chelsea prodded when Munch fell silent.
“The first took longer to track down,” Munch answered. “Luckily, Mr. Grant’s had the same bank account since 1965. I wonder how a social worker earned $500,000 in 1974?”
“Bet he didn’t win the lottery,” Fin said dryly. “You thinkin’ he got paid off?”
Munch merely spread his hands and shrugged. “What other explanation could there be? Our Mr. Grant seems to stumble into monetary windfalls every time Chelsea – or her mysterious family members – comes onto the scene. The bigger question,” he continued, “is why?”
“Maybe not.” Despite the unease coiling through her at having this conversation with the squad, Chelsea’s mind raced. “We have a decent idea why he got paid. To hide me.” The rest of the clues didn’t add up, though, no matter how she tried to piece them together. “Who paid him, Sarge?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Cragen perched on the edge Munch’s desk. “Normally, I’d say the Mob.”
Everyone looked at Chelsea, and she felt a blush heat her cheeks.
“We need to consider other options this time. Chelsea doesn’t really fit the Mob profile,” Cragen summed up. “Unless,” he gave a quirky smile, “there’s a new Native American Family we haven’t seen before.”
It was exactly what Chelsea needed. The good natured teasing broke at least a portion of the tension. Lounging back in her chair, she eyed the Captain. “Be careful,” Chelsea warned in a soft voice. Putting on her best Italian accent, she told him, “You nevah know whena I’ma gonna be behind yous.”
The room exploded in laughter. “And, on that note, I’m going back to work.” Still grinning, Cragen handed out the day’s assignments. “John, I want you to head up the investigation into this thing with Lake. Until we have something more concrete than suddenly-discovered relatives, it’s on your own time.” The words were sober; they had far more pressing case files on their plates. “Benson, you and the Godmother over there keep tabs on the exhumation. I want to know the minute the body hits the exam table.”
As if Cragen had flicked a switch, the detectives sprang to life. Olivia grabbed the handset of her phone and began punching in numbers. “Got it, Captain. I’ll give Warner a call and see if we have an ETA for autopsy.”
He nodded. “Fin, meet Stabler at the courthouse. His testimony should be over by ten…”
Chelsea tuned the rest of the words out. She idly took one of the files out of the tray on her desk and opened it. The words never made it into focus. Munch’s words rolled around and around in her head. Someone had paid Grant off. Why? Who the hell bought off a government employee over some possibly-orphaned Indian baby?
A heavy stare interrupted her musings. Slowly, Chelsea raised her eyes and replaced the file on her desk. Olivia gazed back. “Are you ready to roll? Novak must have lit a fire under someone. McLaren’s already on his way to the morgue. If we go now, we can grab lunch and be there for the show.”
Shaking off her own problems, Chelsea stood and stretched. “Ready when you are.” Then, because the last few lunches had somehow managed to be ‘her treat,’ she reminded Olivia, “The food’s on you, though. My wallet’s empty. Being a rookie again tapped me out.”
Olivia arched one eyebrow. “Get used to it. Before I transferred to Sex Crimes, I spent three years wining and dining my Vice squad.” She pocketed her keys and strode for the door. “Just remember, Lake, being a rookie is a privilege – not a right. You have to keep earning that pretty gold shield. Lunch is a small price to pay.” Her mocking comment drifted over her shoulder as she shoved the squad room doors open.
“Great. Not only am I being stalked by long-lost relatives, I’m being fleeced by my coworkers,” Chelsea muttered. Using her longer legs to advantage, she easily caught up with Olivia. “If I’m buying, I get to pick the place.” Payback was going to be fun. “There’s a Moroccan restaurant on the way that has the best couscous in Midtown.”
She fought a chuckle at Olivia’s grimace. “We make two stops. One for your…food.” It was clear Olivia was stretching her understanding of the meaning to include the couscous. “I’m thinking a slice from Angelo’s will hit the spot.”
“And Second and 55th is suddenly on the way to the morgue?” Chelsea stopped in the middle of the hallway and waited for Olivia to answer.
A wide smile and a very badly managed innocent look, Olivia replied, “I did say the body was on the way.” She pushed Chelsea back into motion with a hand on the small of Chelsea’s back. “I may not have mentioned that the trip would take a while since they were just winching the casket out of the ground. We probably have another couple of hours until Warner opens him up.”
***
Giles shook his head. “I’ve never heard the name. Is it someone you met in New York?” He reached out of view for a moment and then his hands reappeared with paper and pen. “Anshu, you said?”
“Yeah, Tweed. Nic saw the dude try to grab Lake outside her apartment last night.” Faith turned around and waved at Nicole. “Tell ‘em what you remember, Nic.” She could do it, but the Watchers needed to get used to the Juniors being a part of the action.
It was clear that Giles wasn’t the only one startled by her gesture. Nicole rose reluctantly from her seat and stepped forward. “I didn’t see much,” she mumbled.
“Nic…” Faith wasn’t up to games.
Flushing, Nicole went ramrod straight. “Sorry, Faith. Um… Last night when I was following Lake, some guy came up to her when she got to her apartment building. I was too far away to hear everything. I just got his name and something about Lake’s grandmother and Lake being in danger.” She frowned. “Wait…I think…He also said that Taka...Takahari was gone?”
She had Giles’ attention. “Nicole,” he inquired intently, “could he have said Takarihoken was gone?”
“I guess.” Nicole didn’t sound very certain. “I was standing across the street, Mr. Giles.”
“You got something, Tweed?” Faith interrupted quickly. She winked at Nicole and tilted her head at a nearby chair. “Sounds like the same thing Nic thought she heard.” She hoped so. They needed a break on this one. So far, nothing had panned out.
Fussing with his tie, Giles didn’t answer right away. He sat back away from the camera and tapped his pen on the pad in his hand.
“Giles?” Willow asked only a second before Faith could.
“If Nicole did, indeed, hear the phrase Takarihoken then that would imply Ms. Lake is somehow tied to the Mohawk tribe of Native Americans. They were once a large presence in the American Northeast.” The pen tapping stopped as Giles continued. “Perhaps that is the link we have been missing.”
Faith jerked as Willow sat up and snapped her fingers. “The last heir,” she said excitedly. “The prophesy mentions something about the last heir of Takarihoken.” Once again, machine-gun typing sounded and the information on the screen next to Giles changed. “Here. Look, Giles. Takarihoken is the Mohawk Lord of the Iroquois Confederacy.”
It was news. Faith wasn’t sure what it all meant; however, Willow was intent on the computer so it must be good. “Look, Tweed, Red’s gonna turn this over to you.” She ignored the mutinous glare she received from Willow. “She’s gettin’ too old to be losin’ this much sleep. You can call us later when ya’ got the goods on this Lord Whoever.”
Now Faith got a second glare – this one from Giles. “Faith, this may be the final piece of our puzzle.”
“Don’t care.” Faith stood up. “You got two jobs, Tweed. Figure out the new shit about Lake’s family, and find us a way to keep her safe that don’t mean puttin’ the Juniors at risk. That’s it.” She met his eyes through the lens of the webcam. “Any questions?”
For an instant, it appeared Giles might argue. His face flushed and he leaned forward.
Faith tensed and got ready for battle. God damn it. Didn’t he get it? They’d been at this too long. They were tired, and tired Slayers made mistakes.
“I’ll send you what I have, Giles. It’s a website with a translation of the Constitution,” Willow said, interrupting their standoff. “It would be better if you could find the document in the original language.”
“Yes,” Giles replied with a wave of his hand. “I’ll have the research team begin searching for it. I still believe that we would be better served if you and Faith were part of the process.” He grimaced and the waving hand came up in a clear “stop” gesture. “However, I also understand your fatigue. If we discover anything pertinent before you awaken, I’ll email you the results.”
Relaxing with the realization that Giles wasn’t going to argue anymore, Faith shook her head. “You get something good, or you need a team to check on this Anshu, you give Nic a call. She’s in charge while me and Red crash.”
That got an immediate response. “Faith, are you crazy? I’m not…” Nicole was pale and wide-eyed.
Faith grinned. “You said it yourself, kid. I ain’t crazy; just… no one’s been able to figure out what I really am.” She turned away and took the laptop off Willow’s legs. “You got plenty of backup and a place to hang out. Tweed’ll make sure we got this conference room for you and the Juniors for the next coupla days.” She ignored the splutter from the speakers and set the laptop on the nearby table. “What else we need, Red?”
“Nothing I can think of.” Willow looked longingly at her computer and sighed before picking up the envelope she’d shown to Faith.
“It ain’t gonna go anywhere, Red.” Faith rolled her eyes at Willow’s attitude toward the laptop. “Nic will make sure nobody so much as touches it. Right, Nic?”
Nodding, Nicole said reassuringly, “I’ll put a pair of the girls next to it, Willow. If you don’t mind, Sharon’s pretty good at the hacking, too. She can help Mr. Giles with the research.” One of the newer Slayers hovered right behind Nicole. “If that…hook or whatever you have is still there, she can monitor it in case the cops find anything else.”
The look on Willow’s face was priceless. “Uh…” Faith thought she might grab the laptop to keep it safe.
“Good idea.” Faith began dragging Willow toward the doors. “Might want to teach a few more of the kids to do the computer shit. You know, in case Red breaks a finger or somethin’?” Giggles followed them out into the hallway.
“Break a finger?” Willow echoed. “The only way I’m going to break anything is if you keep hauling me around.” She firmly planted both her feet on the ground and grinned up at Faith.
Faith raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly at Willow’s defiant stance, and smirked. “Nah. I won’t need to break anything, Red.” With a single tug, Willow was moving again – this time at a far faster pace. When they finally reached the bank of elevators, Faith stabbed at the call button with an impatient finger. Her smirk faded as she regarded Willow soberly. “I know it ain’t the norm, Red, leaving the Juniors to do the work. It’s gonna have to be if we ain’t all gonna end up like B. Worn out, pissed at the world, and hidin’ who the fuck knows where.”
“Rome,” Willow murmured.
Her reply coincided with the ding of the elevator arriving. Faith waited until they were inside to ask, “Rome what?”
Covering a yawn with her hand, Willow explained. “Buffy’s not hiding. Well, not really. She’s in Rome.” Her eyes flickered to the numbers slowly lighting over the elevator doors. “She always talked about traveling and seeing the world. I get postcards whenever Buffy goes someplace new. The last one was from Rome.”
The car slid to a halt and the doors opened. “Huh. Does Tweed know?” Faith didn’t think so. Giles had looked like he’d bitten into a lemon the last time she’d mentioned Buffy in front of him.
“I…” Willow bit her lip, and Faith watched her chew voraciously as she fumbled the keycard into the lock. “Probably not.” The abused flesh didn’t get a reprieve after the answer. Willow went right back to nibbling on it.
“B still pissed about the whole Spike thing?” Leave it to Buffy to lose her father-figure over her vampire lover. “She shoulda listened to me. Fuck ‘em and toss ‘em.” Stripping off her overshirt, Faith tossed it on the small table near the window and collapsed onto the bed.
The bed depressed next to her and Faith looked up. Willow lay at the foot of the bed, head propped on her hand. “Do you really think I buy that, Faith?” She wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t been that stupid since high school.” Flashing an impish smile, Willow added, “I hope not, anyway.” The smile dimmed slightly. “We both know you aren’t like that, Faith. There hasn’t been a string of warm bodies flowing in and out of the Council building, and you haven’t tied a scarf to the doorknob here. You can stop with the act.”
Faith didn’t know what to say. How had they gotten sidetracked? Scrambling to hide her unease at Willow’s all-too accurate statement, she changed the subject abruptly. “I’m ready for some shut-eye, Red. You wanna tell me what’s in that envelope now? Or we gonna wait until breakfast?”
She’d expected a glare or a dramatic sigh at the blatant avoidance. Instead, Willow sat up as if she’d been pinched. “Oh! The envelope.” She blushed and then went pale. “No. We…we definitely need to do it now.”
From the sound of Willow’s voice, Faith didn’t think Willow really wanted to do it now at all. “Look, Red, it can’t be that bad. I mean, unless you got some other prophecy stuffed in there.” She narrowed her eyes at Willow. “That ain’t it, is it? Some piece of shit saying I’m supposed to go out in a big blaze a glory?” She waited tensely for Willow to respond.
“No.” Willow hopped up and retrieved the envelope from the other bed and then returned. “It doesn’t really have anything to do with Slaying, Faith.” She held it out, and the stiff paper of the envelope shook visibly. “Open it,” she said quietly.
Faith wasn’t sure she wanted to. There had already been too much drama for one day. She sat up and took the envelope, slitting the seal with finger. A thick stack of paper stuck out of the opening. “Guess you were right. It ain’t a bomb,” Faith tried to tease.
The joke fell flat. Willow didn’t even smile.
“Right.” Clearing her throat, Faith removed the papers and peered at the top page. It bore a large, circular seal at the top which read, “State of California.” The room spun. Fuck. The cops had found her. Faith heard the rattle of the cell door closing. Her muscles readied themselves for yet another escape. She wasn’t going back willingly.
A warm hand landed on her shoulder before Faith could run for the door. “Read it, Faith.” Willow met her eyes with an understanding look. “It’s…it’s not bad news. Really.”
Not trusting her voice, Faith merely nodded and forced herself to go back to reading. She frowned. The language was formal and contained words Faith didn’t recognize. Giving up, she held the pile out to Willow. “You’re gonna have to translate. I don’t think they taught this kinda shit in the sixth grade.”
That earned her a long look before Willow nodded and took the documents. She never even glanced at them. “They say that you’re a free woman, Faith.”
Now Faith did make it off the bed. “I’m what?” She must have misunderstood.
“You’re free. The State of California threw out your conviction.” Willow tossed the papers onto the bed and stood, too. “After the First, Giles and I started digging into the old Council records as well as all of your case files. We found a few things.”
Stomach cramping, Faith took a step away. She had to get out.
“Faith…” Willow’s soft voice dragged Faith’s attention back to the conversation. “Didn’t you ever think it was funny? How fast you were convicted? Why you got such a long sentence?”
“I killed people, Red. That’s what they do with murderers.” The words hurt Faith’s throat and she reached up automatically to rub at the ache.
Willow took Faith’s hand, the slender fingers tightening when Faith tried to pull back. “They do, yes. Normally, though, they only do that when they have enough evidence to prove the person committed the crime. With you…” Sighing, Willow sat down and pulled Faith with her. She drew one knee up on the comforter and turned to face Faith. “They didn’t have any evidence, Faith.”
That wasn’t how Faith remembered it. She remembered the feel of the cuffs on her wrists and the cold, hard chair under her legs. She remembered the staccato pounding of the detective’s typewriter as she’d taken Faith’s confession. “I told them I did it, Red,” Faith said huskily. “Don’t need evidence for that.”
Unbelievably, Willow giggled. “Actually, they do.”
***
Chelsea regretted the couscous. It sat uneasily in her stomach and threatened an imminent return as she breathed in the sickly-sweet smell of formaldehyde and decay in the autopsy room. Pressing a hand over her protesting stomach, Chelsea concentrated on breathing through her mouth.
“What the hell happened to this thing? It looks like someone used it for target practice.” Melinda Warner asked as she wheeled the mangled coffin in on an gurney, interrupting Chelsea’s preoccupation with her indigestion.
“I think someone would have reported a cannon going off in the cemetery – even in Canarsie.” Liv didn’t seem bothered by the morgue atmosphere. She peered eagerly at the coffin, trying to get a glimpse of the corpse inside. “Besides, unless Charlie here was doing the firing, you’ll have to find another explanation. The box exploded from inside.” She pointed at the metal fragments and the way they clearly jutted up from the interior of the casket.
Warner chuckled. “I’ll mark this one in the books. This job keeps me in scary stories for Halloween. Exploding coffins are new.” She parked the gurney in the middle of the room, carefully setting the brakes on all four wheels. “Hand me that crowbar, Liv, and we’ll open it up.”
Olivia picked the tool off the counter behind her; she did not, however, hand it to Warner. Instead, she walked over to the already mangled coffin. “I’m not sure we need it.” Using the end of the crowbar, Olivia scraped at the dirt caked around the edges of the lid. It flaked off easily. “We aren’t the first people to want to check on the dearly departed.”
“It’s already open?” No longer conscious of the smells, Chelsea straightened up and moved closer. She couldn’t believe it. Once Olivia had cleared away the dirt, it was easy to see that the lid was merely sitting against the side walls of the coffin. “So…” Trying to put the pieces together, she looked up at the other women. “We really were chasing McLaren the other night?”
“It’s looking more likely.” Olivia took hold of the coffin lid and lifted. More dirt streamed to the floor. “This wasn’t a grave robbing. The casket was opened from the inside, and there is no body or skeleton. It takes a strong stomach to steal more than a watch off a skeleton’s bony arm.”
Melinda tossed her clipboard onto a nearby cart. “You’re missing the bigger problem, Liv.” She seemed pale under the harsh fluorescent lights of the room.
Shivering suddenly, Chelsea rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I don’t really want to know what else could go wrong with this investigation. We chased down – and then lost – a man who supposedly died three decades ago.”
“The man we signed out to the funeral home was definitely dead, Detective.” Melinda pointed to her discarded clipboard. “No one survives having their chest cut open and all of their organs removed.”
She paused, and Chelsea waited for the other shoe to drop.
Before Warner could finish, Olivia jumped in impatiently. “So we made a mistake on ID. It wasn’t Charlie McLaren on the slab all those years ago. It happens. I’ll call the Captain and have him reopen the old case. It won’t make the Commissioner very happy, but we’ll catch the bastard for real this time.” She reached for the radio clipped to her belt.
“Liv, you’re missing the point,” Warner repeated softly, and Olivia’s hand fell away from the radio. “You said it yourself. The casket was damaged from inside. In my experience, the dead don’t dig. Whoever did this wasn’t the dead John Doe or Charlie McLaren we signed out. It was a live body buried in that grave.”
Olivia wasn’t accepting that. Chelsea watched as Olivia frowned and shook her head in denial. “That’s not possible.” Snapping a hand up to forestall anything else from Melinda, she leaned over the coffin. “I’m not talking about somebody switching out the corpse for a live body. It wouldn’t be the first case like that I’ve worked.” Olivia picked up the lid of the coffin and held it out. “This might not be the top of the line; the thing’s still got to be a half-inch thick, though. How many people do you know who can rip through a half-inch of metal and then dig up through at least three feet of dirt?”
Olivia’s question didn’t really require an answer. If it had required a response, Chelsea didn’t have one. Staring at the casket lid, she acknowledged she didn’t want an answer. “Do we radio the captain or not, Liv?” Chelsea stuck to business.
“Sure.” Olivia replaced the metal lid and stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to know that, not only did we lose a perp in the park, that particular perp is the not-so-dead Charlie McLaren.” Grinning humorlessly, she muttered, “I should have taken that job in TARU. We’ll be seeing dead people any day now.”
Melinda chuckled. “Let me know when that happens. You can come to work here. I’ve already got two techs who swear the corpses get up and walk out of the freezers all the time.” She unlocked the wheels of the gurney and shoved the empty coffin toward the back of the autopsy room. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help, Detectives. If you find me the body, I’ll be more than happy to verify he’s really dead and not taking a jog in Central Park.”
“You’ll be our first call then,” Olivia said dryly. She turned to Chelsea. “Let’s roll. We can figure out how to explain this to Cragen on the drive.”
“There’s an explanation?” Chelsea wasted no time in striding from the room – and the lingering smells. “I’m thinking we go with the truth.” Mimicking Olivia’s voice, she continued. “Well, Captain, it looks like we’re chasing a dead man.” Chelsea switched to a deeper voice. “That’s not good enough, Detective. If he’s dead, why were you chasing him? And, now that you bring it up, how did you let a dead man outrun you in the park?”
She broke off and staggered dramatically when Olivia slapped her shoulder. “Knock it off.” Then Olivia laughed. “Not that it wasn’t an accurate scene. Dad is not going to be happy with us. The Chief of D’s is already hounding him over that thing with Fin’s stepson.” Her smile twisted into a grimace. “Not to mention me and El both nearly getting fired.”
Chelsea had only the vaguest of details about Olivia’s suspension, and no clue about Elliot or Fin. She wanted to ask for more. She didn’t. Rule number one of new partner relations: Never ask your partner about their past. Let them tell you when they are ready. It didn’t make throttling back on her curiosity any easier. “We tell him; he yells for a while. Got it. After that, though, I’m a little fuzzy. McLaren wasn’t a big deal in the crime world. He had some connections, but none of those were so important a family like the Masuccis are going to pull a bait and switch with the body.”
“I don’t know.” Hunching into her jacket for the walk to the car, Olivia glanced at Chelsea. “For now, we go back to the beginning. That means interviewing anyone who ever heard of McLaren.”
“You’re kidding!” Chelsea stopped in the middle of the parking lot. “The case is thirty years old. How many of McLaren’s connections are even alive?”
That earned her a smirk. “Don’t know. Maybe they had the same burial plan as Charlie.” She unlocked the driver’s side door. “Welcome to real police work, rookie.”
***
Faith stared at a giggling Willow. What the hell was so funny? They were talking about her not having to go back to prison. Reaching out, she slapped a hand over Willow’s mouth, cutting off the laughter. “Willow, I’m all for sharing in the good times. Only…I ain’t sure you and me see ‘good’ the same way.” She felt Willow stiffen under her hand and had to blink back a sudden flashback of her in a similar position – with a knife to Willow’s throat. She was still grappling with the memory when Willow nodded slowly.
Faith let go with shaking hands, and Willow cleared her throat and watched Faith intently for a moment. “Sorry.” She sounded as if she meant the apology. “I didn’t mean to sound like I wasn’t taking this seriously. It is serious.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “How about I explain the conviction and then go back to the beginning and walk you through it?”
“Wicked,” Faith responded dryly. Talking about her time in Los Angeles was a favorite topic. She needed some distance for this conversation. Faith slid up on the bed until she could lean against the headboard and watch Willow. “Tell me how bein’ guilty ain’t enough to keep me behind bars.” That point confused her the most; it was a good place to start.
“You confessed to killing Finch and the professor,” Willow said, echoing part of Faith’s previous comment. As if sensing Faith’s desire for separation, Willow didn’t follow her example. Instead, she took a position at the foot of the bed. “We know that you actually did what you said. The law, though, doesn’t consider a confession sufficient proof of guilt.”
Frowning, Faith tried to understand that. “Why the fuck not? I did it. I gave ‘em all the details, too. Shit no one else would know.” Her right hand clenched. She really had told the police everything. She’d been too close to the edge to hold anything back – even a description of how the professor’s blood had felt as it spilled over her hands.
“Because it’s too easy to simply confess. I could walk into a police station and tell them I’d murdered Jimmy Hoffa.” Willow shrugged. “False confessions happen all the time.” Her quirky smile reached out to Faith, urging her to share in the funny. “Lots of crazy people out there, you know.” Then the smile dimmed. “Convicting with only a confession is more difficult because there’s so much information available that it’s easy to get at least some of the crime scene details right. So, to keep from convicting innocent people, the police have to find some evidence that what the person tells them is the truth.”
“They had it, Red,” Faith said immediately – and then paused to think about that. “At least, they did with Finch. I left the stake behind.” Buried in his chest and covered in blood. “That’s why the cops were after me and Buffy. ‘Cause people were used to seeing us carry ‘em,” she finished in a strained and husky voice.
Stretching out across the bed, Willow agreed. “They had the evidence when the accident happened, sure,” she answered blithely.
Faith started to protest the statement. Accident? One look at a suddenly glaring Willow had her resettling against the wall. “What happened to it? I mean, you said they had it.”
“We don’t know for sure.” Willow relaxed again, and her glare softened as she continued to watch Faith. “I figure the Mayor got rid of it. You were working for him. Having you arrested not only looked bad for him, but it meant he didn’t have you to run errands for him.”
For once, Faith wasn’t interested in arguing over her role in the Mayor’s plans. “Gotcha. No evidence, no arrest. They didn’t have anything from the professor. The cops in LA didn’t have a clue who he even was.” It made sense, and Faith was starting to believe this wasn’t a dream. Squelching the rising hope inside, she pushed for more. “How’re the Tweeds connected? You said you were reading some records…”
“Yes. Lots of them” Willow sat up and moved closer. “It’s a little confusing. The tie, I mean.” She smirked at Faith. “If I promise to try to stay on track, will you give me a chance to go through all of the explanation?” She waited for Faith’s nod before continuing. “When the First blew up the main headquarters, it destroyed most of the research documents. It didn’t, thankfully, do that with the actual Watcher records. You know, the Diaries and personal accounts of the Watchers.”
Wondering what this all had to do with her, Faith idly played with some loose threads on the comforter. “Yeah,” she answered shortly. Trust Willow to take the long route to the important information.
“One of the Diaries was yours, Faith.” For the first time, Willow seemed slightly uncomfortable. Biting her lip and wiggling, she shifted on the bed and avoided Faith’s eyes. “From your first Watcher.”
“No way!” Faith leaned forward and gripped Willow’s arm. “No fucking way. Kakistos killed Lady D.” She sucked in a deep breath and forced her fingers to relax their hold. Bruises were already forming on Willow’s skin. Faith flinched at the sight; one more display of how little she’d changed. “I went back to her place after…” Her voice faded as the memories tried to overwhelm her. Reeling from the images of the past and the bright red marks on Willow’s arm, Faith fought for control. “I went back. The whole house was empty, like no one’d ever been there.”
“The Council cleared out her things, Faith. They didn’t want to risk anyone finding out about vampires and demons.” Willow’s hand reached up to tug her sleeve down to cover the bruises before creeping across the space between them and touching Faith’s leg. “You didn’t go back right way, did you?”
“No.” Eyes burning at the memory of how she’d run and hidden from Kakistos, Faith blinked to hold the tears at bay.
The stroking on her leg got more noticeable. “I’m glad.” Willow tilted her head so Faith couldn’t see her eyes. “That you didn’t go back, I mean. The Council wasn’t…” She clutched Faith’s thigh for a second before resuming the caresses. “There were letters with the Diary.”
When Willow broke off, Faith reached out. Her hand trembled and she was very careful not to grip Willow’s chin too tightly this time as she pulled Willow’s head up. “Letters?” Faith choked out. There were tears in Willow’s eyes. Faith’s stomach cramped and for a minute she thought she might throw up. “What did they say, Red?”
“It isn’t important.” Willow tried to pull away suddenly, face pale and resolute.
“The hell it ain’t.” Faith tightened her hold fractionally. “You started this, Red. Finish it. There ain’t nothing you can say I ain’t heard before.” She hoped. “What did the Council want to do?”
Willow tried to remain firm. She glared at Faith with her lips in a tight line.
“Red!” Faith didn’t want to leave anymore bruises; that didn’t keep her from leaning closer until she was mere inches from Willow, though.
Slumping in reluctant defeat, Willow resumed her story in a hyper-speed mumble. “They wanted to deactivate you – with the same drug they used for Buffy’s Cruciamentum. Your Watcher was fighting them over it, refusing to use the stuff they’d already sent her.”
Faith’s arm dropped away from Willow to join its mate in wrapping around her body. Shivering convulsively, she collapsed back against the pillows and tried to make sense of it all. They’d wanted to deactivate her. Before Sunnydale. Before Finch. Before… Faith closed her eyes. Before she’d willingly donned her Dark Faith persona. The pieces of Willow’s story began to come together. “They were the ones that got me sent up, ain’t they?”
“Yes.” Willow moved until she sat right next to Faith. One arm slid behind Faith’s back, pulling her against Willow. “And no.”
That got a reluctant laugh. “Make up your fucking mind, Red. Did they or didn’t they? It’s a simple question.” One that Faith thought she knew the answer to.
Her surety shattered when Willow continued. “It really isn’t simple. In fact, the reason those papers didn’t get here sooner was because it was so not-simple.” Willow shook Faith lightly. “Hey, stop looking like I just stole your best pair of leather pants. This is the good part.”
“Knew you’d like this part, Red. You always were the president of the Faith Went to Prison Fan Club,” Faith snapped. She wrenched away and stood. There couldn’t be any good in this; the Council had been trying to take away her Slayer abilities. They’d known, all the way back in Boston, that she wasn’t good enough. Willow was just dragging it out to torment her.
“Oh for Goddess’ sake, sit down.” Willow followed Faith off the bed and poked a finger into her chest. “I get that you don’t like the Council wanting to turn you into a normal human. Get over it! It’s old news. Focus on the new information. You’re free, and if you stop acting like an idiot, I’ll explain how. If not…” Willow’s tirade faltered and her finger stopped jabbing Faith. “If not, I can’t stop you from leaving. No one can anymore.” She back up a step, head bowed. “All the work and research, and you still think…”
Willow had a point. Still raw and reeling from the Council’s plans, Faith turned her head and stared at the discarded paperwork. She was free. Free. Willow had done that for her. Faith was free. Her next breath didn’t hurt as much as the last. She was free, and the old Council was gone. “What else you got, Red?” Walking on stiff legs to the bed, Faith resumed her seat.
“Lots!” Seemingly affected by Faith’s change in attitude, Willow dove onto the bed and seized both of Faith’s hands.
“Thought we’d get at least a little sleep before the Juniors were knocking at the door,” Faith couldn’t resist teasing. Her emotional rollercoaster car was heading rapidly back up the next hill, and Willow’s new, infectious grin was helping it pick up speed.
“Just for that, I’ll make sure to list every single journal, book, legal website, and boring brief I had to read.” Willow winked and rushed on. “Or not. That sleep sounds really nice, too.” Keeping their fingers twined, she wiggled into position against Faith. “You know what happened in Sunnydale. We’re going to skip that part.”
“Can we?” The car teetered at the top of the hill. “If the Tweeds wanted me gone, they missed a lot of chances.”
“So not skipping.” Willow scowled at Faith for a second. “Fine. I’ll skim. When you hit Sunnydale, the Council records only have a few entries. They were willing, at first, to let Giles handle things. They were happy with him, and… well, you were on a Hellmouth. A vampire could do the deed as well as a drug.”
Faith could almost hear a British voice enunciating that last phrase. “Guess they didn’t count on me bein’ so good at my job.”
“Exactly.” Willow bumped Faith’s shoulder. “When things got dicey, though, they sent in the extraction team. The records are incomplete, but I’m sure you’ll agree they weren’t there to escort you back to a reeducation facility.”
Nearly dizzy from the changes in mood, Faith nodded. “Yeah. Doubt I’d have made it to the airport.” The helplessness and rage flooded back as the room around them disappeared and a very smug Wesley and his Council friends dragged her out of Angel’s mansion.
“Too bad you got away.” Did Willow sound happy about that? Her beaming smile seemed to say yes. “They lost track of you once you left Sunnydale. At least…until you surfaced in LA. That’s where the complicated part comes in.”
“We ain’t got to that yet?” Giving Willow a disbelieving look, Faith shook her head. “It’s like some fucking movie or something.”
“One with a happy ending, Faith.” As if sensing Faith’s spiraling emotions, Willow squeezed Faith’s hands tightly. “And we’re almost there. The Council tipped its hand when they sent the team to Los Angeles. The guns and the helicopter were too much. After your confession, one of the detectives on the case started poking around, trying to find information on you and Angel. The Council got worried and it pulled back. Your conviction had nothing to do with them.”
“Then why the fuck did I end up in prison?” Head pounding, Faith slumped against Willow. “You just said the cops didn’t have enough to put me away.” She hated the hint of whine in her words.
One of Willow’s hands moved up to massage Faith’s temples. “I have three words for you: Wolfram and Hart.”