“Sounds great.” The bike wobbled slightly. “Oops.”

“You’re sure?” I glanced back at him again. “I mean, we didn’t have plans or anything.”

“Hey, I made you sit through the Mamma Jammers. It’s only fair,” he said, then laughed at the expression on my face. “I’m kidding! It sounds like fun.”

“Okay. Call me when you get home, and I’ll pick you up.”

“Deal.”

We made it across the bridge. I hopped down from the handlebars, and Sinclair and I received our official certificates, Xeroxed copies of a form signed by the mayors of both Pemkowet and East Pemkowet.

“I’ll cherish it forever,” Sinclair teased me, stuffing his in the saddlebags of his bike. “Maybe I’ll start a scrapbook.”

“You do that.” I was distracted by the sight of Cody Fairfax standing beside a squad car at the east end of the bridge, where a line of vehicles was waiting for the barricade to be lifted. The sunlight brought out goldish glints in his bronze hair. My stomach tightened a bit. Cody didn’t usually work day shifts, but Chief Bryant liked to schedule an additional officer on duty during the holidays and Cody tried to pick up an extra shift around the full moon to compensate for lost time.

He was talking to a young woman in an impeccably tailored off-white linen business-casual suit, a short jacket nipped in at the waist, a hint of flair to the pant legs. Hey, as my mother’s daughter, I notice these things. Under the jacket she wore a silk camisole in a vivid hue of yellow that contrasted perfectly with her rich cocoa-brown skin—it was one of those colors I could never wear without looking jaundiced.

She had short, almost shorn hair that clung to her skull, and high, rounded cheekbones. She looked familiar, and I’m embarrassed to say that for one fleeting moment as I tried to place her, I thought she looked like a contestant I remembered from one of the earlier seasons of America’s Next Top Model.

Annnd . . . then I realized that Sinclair had gone stock-still beside me, and the reason she looked familiar is that she looked a hell of a freaking lot like him.

As though he’d called her name, she glanced over at him. Something intangible passed between them, and then her face broke into a wide, bright smile. “Sinny!”

Sinny?

“Emmy,” he murmured half under his breath, and I realized that although we’d spent the past night and day playing boyfriend and girlfriend, I definitely didn’t know him well enough to read his reaction. That was pretty well confirmed when he walked away from me and toward her without another word.

Not knowing what else to do, I hung back.

Cody ambled over, a studiedly neutral look on his face. “Looks like your boyfriend’s sister’s in town.”

Sister, huh? “Looks like it,” I agreed.

“Must be a surprise visit,” Cody said. “She was asking directions to the tour bus pickup stop.”

“What a nice surprise.” Damned if I was going to give anything away to Officer Down-low. If he didn’t want to be a part of my personal life, he didn’t have the right to pry into it.

Unfortunately, Cody and I had put in a lot of hours working closely together on the Vanderhei case earlier this summer, and he did know me well enough to read my reaction. His amber eyes narrowed. “You didn’t even know he had a sister, did you?”

At that moment, Sinclair beckoned me over, sparing me the necessity of a response. “Daisy, I’d like you to meet my sister.” Talk about neutral—the tone of his voice was the epitome of neutral. It was neutral raised to the nth power of neutrality. “Daisy Johanssen, Emmeline Palmer.”

“His twin sister,” Emmeline corrected him with a smile before greeting me with an airy European double-cheek kiss that I was totally unprepared for. “Hullo, Daisy. Lovely to meet you.”

I’m not sure what threw me for the biggest loop—the cheek kisses, the twin sister revelation, or the fact that Emmeline appeared to have a British accent overlaying her musical Caribbean lilt. Maybe it was that faint tingle of otherness I got from her, suggesting that both of the Right Honorable Mama Palmer’s babies had a touch of an eldritch gift. Or maybe it was the fact that she looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of Vogue, while I was wearing an old floral-print sundress that suddenly made me feel all of sixteen years old, which is about what I’d been acting.

Or maybe it was that Sinclair hadn’t bothered to freaking mention that he had a twin sister, who was standing right in front of me!

Those were the thoughts that went flashing through my head while I stood blinking like an idiot, finally managing to stammer out, “Nice to meet you, too.”

Emmeline gave me a sympathetic just-between-us-girls wink before turning to Sinclair. “Right, so I’ll go find that coffee shop and meet you at the tour bus in a few.” She glanced back toward the line of parked cars. “Looks like we’re about to get going. Daisy, I’ll see you later?”

“Um . . . sure?”

Sinclair and I got out of the way as Cody pushed the barricade aside and traffic began to move across the bridge. All I could do was stare blankly at him.

“Look.” He raised both his hands, palms outward. “Daisy, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“You had no idea you had a twin sister?”

“No idea she was coming.” He sounded tired.

My tail began lashing back and forth in agitation. “Oh, and where exactly did Emmy pop in from, Sinny dear? Did she drive up from Kalamazoo? Because I don’t recall you mentioning a sister. And it sounded a lot like jolly old England, which I don’t recall you mentioning, either. Is that something else you put behind you? Or maybe putting on accents is a thing with the Palmer clan. Pip pip, cheerio—”

“Kingston!” Raising his voice, Sinclair cut me off. “She flew in from Kingston, all right?” He ran one hand over his dreadlocks. “And the accent’s not phony. I grew up in Kalamazoo. Emmy grew up in boarding schools overseas.” He gave me a faint, wry smile. “She took her law degree at the University of Oxford a year ago.”

“Oh.” My tail went still.

“Just . . .” Sinclair sighed. “Look, I meant what I said last night. I just really wasn’t expecting this.” Reaching out, he took my hands. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain it when I can, but right now I’m not even sure why Emmeline’s here.” His dark eyes were clear and steady. “Can I count on you to have my back?”

I softened, my temper subsiding. “Yeah, okay. Fine.”

“Thanks, Daisy.” He gave me a quick kiss before glancing at his watch. “I’ve got to run. I’ll give you a call later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Leaning against the guardrail at the entrance into town, I watched Sinclair pedal with swift determination along the shoulder of the highway. Cody pulled the squad car up before me and leaned over toward the passenger door. “Can I give you a lift, Daise?”

I scowled at him. “No.”

“You sure?” he asked mildly. “I’m headed back to the station.”

“Oh, fine.”

We rode in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. Funny how that works when you’ve spent a lot of time together.

Cody parked in one of the station’s reserved spaces. He gave me a sidelong glance, a reflective film of green shimmering behind his amber eyes. “Just so you know, I’m not sure about that guy. There’s something sketchy about him. And I will kick his ass seven ways till Sunday if he hurts you.”

I nodded. “Duly noted. But Sinclair’s a good guy, Cody. Sometimes people hurt each other anyway. If it happens, it won’t be on purpose.”

His lip curled, baring his eyeteeth. Yep, definitely getting close to the full moon. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah,” I said to Cody, who had hurt me without meaning to. “It does.” I got out of the squad car. “Thanks for the ride.”

Twelve

Jojo the joe-pye weed fairy was lying in wait for me outside my apartment, bursting out of the rhododendrons in a cloud of sparkling pollen, slingshot at the ready.

“Jesus!” Startled, I jumped and threw up my hands in a defensive pose. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I saw what passed atop the bridge. What new slattern ventures onto the stage?” Her tiny face was set in a fierce expression. “Speak, you ruttish, whey-faced scullion!” A handful of tourists passing through the park exclaimed with delight. I’m pretty sure they’d missed Jojo’s actual commentary.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” I glared back at her. “She’s his sister, you, you . . . dew-swilling nitwit.”

Jojo paused, hovering. “I knew not he had a sister.”

“Yeah, neither did I.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Mogwai stalking toward her under the rhodos. Damned if I was going to warn her. “And I don’t know what she’s up to. If you want to find out, I suggest you go spy on her.”

Something in my face must have given the game away a split second before Mogwai pounced, because Jojo glanced sideways, then shot two feet higher in a blur of translucent wings and fairy dust. Showing a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth, she hissed at him. Not the slightest bit fazed, Mogwai hissed right back at her.

Now the tourists looked uneasy. “Mouth closed, Jojo,” I reminded her.

The fairy shut her mouth with a tiny but audible snap before winking out of sight. Good riddance.

Upstairs, I showered Mogwai with praise and opened a can of tuna as a special treat, then went to stare disconsolately into my closet. You’d think a seamstress’s daughter would have a stellar wardrobe, but the truth is that I went through a bit of a rebellious stage in my teens—I know, surprise, right?—followed by a conscientious phase where I wouldn’t let my mom waste time and effort on me that could be spent on paying clients. As a result, other than a few simple classics like the dress I’d worn last night, my wardrobe could really use an update.