We entered the inn, boots crunching against the granite floor. Someone had dragged sand into the room before us.

  The heating coils hanging from the ceiling were off, the giant room full of shadows. Tomlin stood on a table, measuring insulated wire thick as my thumb, a ten-meter folding ladder balanced precariously beside him.

  “Hey,” I said. “Your ma here?”

  Tomlin looked up without any trace of worry in his expression. Either he was a consummate liar or he had no clue.

  “She went out,” he said, going back to measuring the cable. His ruler snicked against it at regular intervals. “To Ol’ Vincentes, I think.”

  I decided he had no clue. No one is that calm in the face of a hostile mage with a submachine gun.

  “Ping her for me?” I said.

  “Sure.”

  Tomlin marked his point on the cable, put it on the table, and climbed down.

  “You want some breakfast?” he asked. “Ma left a double portion in the cooker.”

  “No,” I said. The room smelled of fried onions. My stomach growled. I ignored it. “Call her.”

  Tomlin gave me a look, but he keyed his com.

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  I waited while the white line on his com spun in a circle, over and over again.

  “Strange,” he said, disconnecting, then keyed again. Same result. Tomlin frowned.

  “Try again?” I said.

  “She always answers,” Tomlin said. “Only time she didn’t was when Da...” He trailed off.

  “Key Ol’ Vincentes?” I suggested.

  Tomlin did. The white line spun. I was about to suggest one of the Vi-Luongs when his com chirped.

  “Ma?” said Tomlin.

  “Junior,” rasped Ma Tomlin from the screen. There was bare rock above her head, a reddish-green ceiling with two light strips paralleling each other, only one of which was working. “Junior, remember what Da said about a place to go away? Go there now. Now, Jun—” Her speech was interrupted by a series of pops.

  Gunfire.

  Ma Tomlin’s image froze, the transmission hanging. Tomlin’s com cutting conversation. Tomlin stared at it, his eyes wide, his hands shaking.

  “What’s going on?” he said. He keyed the com, getting the spinning line again.

  “Can you track that?” I asked Hao.

  “To the node,” said Hao, tapping away at her com. She unrolled a big-screen she took from a pouch on her belt. Lines of com transmission protocol scrolled on it.

  “What’s going on?” Tomlin repeated.

  “Later, kid,” I said. “I need to find out where your ma is.”

  “The network is frozen,” Hao said. “Someone’s locked it.”

  “Meaning?” I said.

  “I can’t get at the node trace,” Hao said, tapping away at her com. “No way to know where that was.”

  “That’s easy,” said Tomlin. “It’s the old storage silos beneath the Vincentes complex. I used to play there as a child.”

  “Can you find it?” I asked Hao.

  “Think so.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  I started walking.

  “What’s going on?” Tomlin called from behind me.

  “At a guess?” I said, without turning. “Your ma and her pals stole something very valuable from me. Now Baylen has figured it out and wants it for himself.”

  “With guns?”

  “You bet,” I said, pushing open the inn’s heavy door.

  “I’m coming with you,” shouted Tomlin, and started running, his boots echoing against the stone.

  I didn’t argue.