Only one more day till Valentine's Day, and love is in the air - except for this story, of course.

But what am I ranting about? Read on!

Starr had done a better job decorating his workplace than I'd anticipated.

Of course, given what I'd seen going through his hotel, that bar practically scraped against the ground, but I was blown away by how normal the place looked when I stepped off the elevator. It looked like pretty much any office floor you could imagine – cubicles, fluorescent lighting, the works. There were also paintings, which looked like Van Gogh but, knowing Starr, were probably counterfeits he made.

Not part of the usual scene – walking through the cubicles to the center of the room, I could see a large printer – an honest-to-God HP Inkjet. I guessed the printer was reserved for crafting Starr's forged documents and (possibly) counterfeit money. It would not have surprised me if he was making fake Bennies and Jacksons as well as painting decoys.

"Print shop," I observed.

"What makes you say that?" DJ inquired.

I shrugged. "That printer's smack-dab in the center. Also, the cubicles in here remind me of the set of Office Space."

"Scary," Imira observed.

I didn't respond. And I still wasn't sure how to answer her. I didn't really know whose side of the missile crisis she was on. Stupid, given that we were on the same team, but can you really blame me?

And why was my pendant trying to fly out of my shirt right now?

"Need help?"

Oh, great. The sleaze bag was right behind us.

I'd taken care to tuck my pendant under my shirt so Starr wouldn't catch on about my heritage. (The David's star was about as egregious a pointer as the yanking it tended to do when he was close, and I didn't want to take any chances.) It occurred to me that it had noticed Starr earlier, while I'd been looking around, and it was screaming in protest. I really ought to listen to that thing more. It might be obnoxious, but at least then Patrick Starr wouldn't be able to sneak up on me.

"We're good," I said in my calmest voice. The thing with criminals and bad guys – they only respond to strength. Any sign of weakness, they will slaughter you. Which is why we can't show it.

Starr glanced us over, sizing us up. I set my hand over my chest – just to keep my pendant firmly against it, mind you. People tend to take notice of a necklace pendant zinging out of someone's shirt on its own like a Chestburster. But then its voice – at least, the different one – came in almost a snap: come on, kid! Can't you understand why I'm upset?

I. Get. It. But. This. Is. Not. A. Good. Time, I thought back. That shut it up. Or at least, it stopped trying to escape my shirt.

"I know your type," Starr said quietly.

I suppressed the urge to gulp. Had he seen me filch his censer? I had to try really hard not to panic.

"Desperate kids, looking for a little quick cash," Starr intoned. "But not wanting their parents to know about it." He eyeballed DJ, who shot him a quick don't-even-think-about-it scowl. I didn't know whether he'd actually try to peek down her leotard, but I wasn't putting it past him. On the other hand, he'd risk his life with a move like that – especially with DJ and Imira. "Sneaky little brats, too, if you got past my security so well."

I rolled my eyes at Starr. Those guys at the front steps hadn't seemed too bright. I reckoned anybody could've gotten by them. But I didn't tell Starr that. I was a little more concerned about the way he was checking out my girls. Any wrong move, and I was prepared to smack him with my belt. I didn't even care about the age gap.

"Well, I am a highly in-demand forger," Starr droned on, glancing off to the side. He waved his hand at one of the fake paintings on the wall, which, from my adventure in the art hall of Norgate (long story), looked to be a mock Degas. Me, I was just glad his eyes were somewhere other than on my girls. "Learned all sorts of art styles. KC Art Institute, baby! Now there was a school! I could mimic any art style I found, combine them all. I mastered the potter's wheel in no time. I am an artist! I have talent!"

Talent you wasted creating fakes, I thought. I was hardly interested in hearing about his "credits" (full sarcastic air quotes). I just wanted to get out of this room, preferably unscathed, so I could search out the rest of his base. But when a bad guy starts talking about himself, you go with it. You're going to be there for a while.

"Every crook in the country looks to me to cover their thefts now," Starr continued. "Isn't it grand, hiding their efforts, keeping them from being arrested while they have the real thing? And they even pay me a good amount. But I was copying a censer I discovered in Vegas – a really rare one – and I lost the original." He leaned toward us. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

I could tell DJ was having trouble keeping her expression neutral. I myself was trying not to panic. Had Starr found us out?

"No," I said in my most forceful tone. I didn't want to give away anything more – especially the way my pendant kept screaming in my mind with Starr so close to me. It's a little hard to concentrate on thinking of an effective lie when there's a telepathic voice screaming, Kill Starr! Kill Starr! along with it.

Starr frowned, as if trying to sniff out whether I was lying. "Well, I think you might be right," he said. "But I can't tell that for sure. Ah, very well then." He scanned around the building. "Oh, where is my assistant? Charlie!"

At first, I thought Charlie was some big, tough guy Starr had hired to throw out unwanted guests. I didn't say this out loud (I was a little more careful about this after DJ's warning earlier), but that was where the mind went with a name like "Charlie," right?

I was a little unprepared for what came out. Or rather, who.

"Charlie" turned out to be a woman, early twenties by the look of her, wearing a white V-neck sweater with a black t-shirt, blue jeggings with a white belt, and black high-heeled boots. The outfit showed off quite a bit of youthful curvature. Her face was similarly stop-you-in-your-tracks gorgeous, with dark eyes, pale skin, and blond hair falling in waves around her shoulders. I thought she looked way too good to work here.

And yet, I couldn't help noticing something else about her – the way she avoided looking at Starr; a hurried, almost wounded look on her face that reminded me of an abused dog. (And yes, we saw quite a few of those, unfortunately.) Apparently, Starr's workplace wasn't the healthiest environment for her. Somehow, that fact didn't surprise me at all. I'd seen what his hotel room was like.

"Yes, Patrick?" Her voice was sweet but shaken. Wow. Starr had really done something to her. What had happened to make her such a wreck?

"Kids, meet my lovely assistant, Charlie," Starr said, indicating the woman with a sweeping motion of his hand. "Charlie, can you show them around the main base while I finish up my counterfeits?"

Charlie frowned. Then a smile, only slightly forced, came over her face. "Of course! Happy to!"

Her tone was strained. I guessed she was willing to take any excuse to be out of Starr's proximity. Just what had he done to her?

Starr then walked out of the room – to work on whatever he'd been doing when we showed up.

As we walked on, Charlie's face lightened up. She walked around the print shop, explaining the various works Starr had done for convicts, but I could tell her heart wasn't in the tour. She scanned around the place as if trying to find an exit. She also didn't seem like the type to be assisting Starr in his work – at least, not willingly.

At some point, when we were a floor below the print shop, I asked her, "Why do you work for that guy?"

Charlie glanced at me. "Well… it was Horzvedt's idea. He wanted a way for me to keep an eye on Starr for him. Didn't work really well for me, as I think you guessed. And you seem like pretty smart kids."

"Thanks for noticing," Imira muttered. "All of us?"

Once again, I ignored her. But this time, DJ noticed it.

She sighed and turned to me. "Amos, can we speak in private?"

She grabbed my arm and led me away.

From what I could tell, the floor we were on was his pottery shop. I could catch the wheel, the kiln, and enough clay to make a life size equestrian statue. (You know, if Starr even was into that sort of thing.) DJ had led me over to the kiln, which didn't seem like a smart idea. Even when they're not in use, those things get hot.

"Any reason why you're pulling me over here?" I inquired.

DJ glanced at me. "I understand how much you want to follow the Three Taboos, but that's not going to fly now, it seems."

"Is this about Imira?" I asked.

She sighed, giving me that Amos, you idiot look that I was all too used to. "You're not even giving her a chance to explain things for herself. I understand you're upset over the missile thing, but you don't need to take it out on her. She never sent the order. And from earlier this morning, I don't think she supports it."

"What conversation was that? I don't think I was a part of it."

She sighed. "Look, I just… bitter really isn't a good look for you, Amos. I'm just saying. You really should talk to her."

"Are you insane? She beats me up constantly!" And even if this wasn't Imira we were talking about, fielding difficult subjects with a girl was always a minefield. I wasn't even sure how to bring it up with her. Oh, hey, sorry I'm stonewalling you, but I don't know which side of the crisis you're on, and I'm scared I'll find out the wrong way?

Ugh.

DJ frowned, then began to shake. At first, I thought I'd hurt her, but then she burst out laughing. "You really think–" She grinned. "Amos, sometimes people are hard on you because they care. You think she doesn't?"

My expression must've been priceless, because she went into an even more hysterical fit of laughing. "Just – don't think she doesn't care. And try to talk to Charlie. I think she could use some serious counseling."

Even I could see that, I thought.

"I–" I hesitated. I spotted Vinny Lee and Imira, still waiting for us. "Excuse me."

Then I made a beeline for the elevator.

Not that I'd wanted to abandon everybody, but I needed some time with my thoughts. First I'd heard about the missile crisis, then we were forced to hunt down a forger my pendant hated with a passion. For the sake of all humanity. And now DJ was allowing an exception to the Three Taboos because she was concerned those rules were interfering with team solidarity – specifically, between me and Imira.

It was all too much. And I didn't care where the elevator took me, as long as I was alone, so I could process it all.

We'll have to see how he processes it all. That's a lot for one kid.

Verse for the update: Obadiah 10. Stay tuned!