"Luce, I think it's time you told us what you know."
I glanced up from my mug of hot cocoa, prickles of unease running down my spine. The kitchen, which we had retreated back into, felt suddenly too cramped and warm. The ceiling lamp seemed to be casting me into a sudden spotlight; at this, the thought of leaping to my feet and bursting unexpectedly into high-pitched song bloomed in my mind.
I fought back a grin and instead took a sip of my drink. The chocolate felt like it burned my throat. "You already know I went to DEPRAC."
"Right. And I have no more comments on that, I promise," Lockwood said. He was draped across one of the kitchen chairs, fiddling with our new mag-flares. One lock of hair was draped across his eyes; as I watched, he stretched and flicked it absently back into place.
"Right . . . okay, good."
"Except for maybe how incredibly reckless it was."
"All right."
"And how it endangered the whole team."
I wiped hot cocoa residue off my upper lip and sighed loudly. "Can I just get on with this?"
"Hey, I'm only making sure you remember," Lockwood told me sternly, but his eyes were bright and laughing. I glared at him.
George was stacking a pile of doughnuts onto a blue plastic plate; sugar and cream dusted his fingertips. He paused in his work to lick a glob of chocolate from his thumb. "I have a question. How did you know that DEPRAC would have the bear?"
"I didn't," I admitted. "It was just a hunch. But I figured it was worth a go. I'd already been planning to slip off to DEPRAC from the start; that old woman from the shop just gave me an excuse to do it."
The plate of doughnuts thumped onto the table. George plucked a plump one from the top and bit into it as he sat down in a nearby chair, scooting it forwards so that he was sitting with us. Sugar dusted across his cheeks. "Mmm. Jelly. My favorite."
"Did you get any of the maple kind, Luce?" Lockwood leaned forward in his seat and sifted through the pile of treats.
"Yeah. At least, I think I did." I frowned. "It was only a few days ago."
"Did they have the brown icing?" George asked. He had set his doughnut down and was now tugging out a notebook from the drawer behind him. "If so, then I ate them."
"I got three," I said indignantly.
"So?"
Lockwood sat back in his seat, one chocolate doughnut in hand, and nodded at me. He had a bit of frosting smeared across the back of his hand. "Back to my earlier question. What happened in DEPRAC? What do you know?"
George uncapped a pen and flipped to a blank sheet of paper. He and Lockwood stared at me in anticipation.
I curled my hand tightly around my cocoa and tried to relax. "My Talent's been getting stronger. You saw for yourselves how I dealt with the Raincoat Man . . . anyway, I thought that I could find something else this time." I stared down into my drink. "It was strange. It started off joyful, all apples and tea, and then I felt fear . . . confusion . . . I saw something—eyes—"
George stopped in mid-chew. "What color?"
"Gray."
Lockwood drummed his fingers against the tabletop. "Luce, don't you think . . . if I'm remembering right . . ."
Our eyes met one another's. He smiled faintly at me, like he was trying to apologize before he said the words. I didn't do anything at all, just sat still in my seat and stared back at him.
" . . . Doesn't Meredith Watson have gray eyes?"
I'm not sure how long we sat at the table, slightly stunned. It could have been a few seconds, or maybe minutes. All I know is that a small rope of weight was hefted onto my shoulders after that. I felt drained of all energy.
The cat, which had been strangely quiet this whole time, piped up from its position on the kitchen counter. Lockwood gathered it up in his arms and sat back down.
There was another silence. We seemed to be having a lot of them lately.
"So. We just found a murderer," George said. He was wiping his glasses habitually on his sweater. Beady black eyes stared out from his round face at Lockwood and I. "Now what?"
"We call DEPRAC, I suppose," Lockwood replied slowly. He seemed far away, not quite here with us in the kitchen. One hand slowly stroked across the cat's back. "And Scotland Yard."
"Hold on," I interrupted. I felt my brows draw across my forehead; my hands tightened in their grip on my mug. "What's that going to do? And what are you going to say, anyway? Gray eyes. That's hardly any evidence at all. DEPRAC already hates us. They won't listen to a word we say, much less if it's something as insignificant as that."
Anthony Lockwood folded his hands on top of our marked-up kitchen table; the cat darted off of his lap and disappeared into the next room. His lips were set in a hard line. "As far as I recall, Luce, you were the one who was all over any piece of evidence we found. You were the one that wanted to find the murderer. What's up with this? Why the sudden change in attitude?"
"There is no change in attitude!" I cried. "All I'm saying is, let's take a moment and think about this."
"About what? Scour our minds for all the other gray-eyed people we've seen? If that's the case, then maybe Inspector Barnes is the murderer. God knows how that would have come about, though."
George dunked his doughnut into a mug of hot cocoa. "I dunno, he could be hiding tons of secrets in that scruffy 'stache of his."
"The gray eyes could mean anything, though," I persisted. "Maybe it was someone Matthew loved."
"You said that you saw the image of the eyes after you felt 'fear and confusion,'" George pointed out. "I highly doubt that it was someone he loved."
Lockwood had been watching me closely. Now, he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "This is because you're on good terms with Watson, isn't it?"
Again, the kitchen felt too warm and too cramped.
"She made me soup," I muttered. "That's hardly a characteristic of a murderer."
"And Fairfax seemed to be a genial old man that wouldn't harm an ant until we discovered he brutally killed a young woman and hid her cold body in a bricked-up chimney," George said.
"I agree with George's point." Lockwood's face seemed to be too long and empty when he wasn't smiling. When his lips were as straight and flat as they were now, it was like he was somebody I didn't know at all.
I hopped to my feet.
"Look," I said. "Call them if you want. I'm going upstairs."
And that's where I was headed, or where I was about to go, when the phone suddenly rang.
I was on my feet, and I was the closest, so it was with a groan that I snatched the phone off its cord and pressed it up to my ear. At first, there was nothing but the sound of low static.
Then:
"Is this Lockwood and Co.?" Meredith Watson asked.
