you're going to ride with me, we should really get you the right gear."

Darius dismounted gracefully from the rear of the bike, and gave her an ominous glare. "Don't even think about putting me in leather chaps."

Georgia choked. "Priceless though that mental image is, I was talking about a brain bucket." She tucked her own helmet under her arm. "Even a hard-head like you shouldn't be riding around without one. I might have another spare somewhere..."

"I'll take care of it." Darius looked up and down the street. "Let's get going. Don't need people to think we're loitering."

Georgia blinked. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. "Oh. Right."

They started up the gently graded hill towards Mary Fiorelle's address. Georgia took in the neighborhood around them. Bright, well-maintained Victorians, lushwith clients lately, what with the financial crisis and all." She waved a dismissive hand. "Just a few bad eggs, but it has the big men in suits all gung-ho about security."

"I'm sure." The woman gave Darius a watery smile, and stepped aside. "Come in."

Darius stared at Georgia's blazer-clad back as she went first. A black-witch-biker-accountant with a gift for lying. How the hell did he find these people? He hesitated, then trailed her into the old house's small front parlor.

Georgia was already making herself comfortable on a floral-print couch. "Again, Ms. Davis, I'm so sorry about your aunt. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us."

Darius cast a quick eye around the room. Dappled light filtered through a large bay window, illuminated the dust hovering