<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">"I wasn't suggesting you were at fault for it," Cat reassured him.  "Just... sharing the pain.  I mean, I once worked a case where the lead agent had dubbed the perp 'The Bonebreaker' just because he kneecapped guys.  Made him sound way too dramatic for what he was -- some washed up former cricket player working for the Irish mob."<br/>
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She tapped the pen against her chin.  "Same kind of things you'd use for like, a tracking dog.  Something discarded, or does it have to be..." she dug through her mental vocabulary, culled from vaguely remembered fairytales.  "Does it have to be freely given?"  She remembered something -- somewhere -- of magic being more potent if the whatever was freely given.  Wait... that was... damn, she was thinking of Harry Potter again, and unicorns.  Whoops.  Well, she could be excused from asking a dumbass question when it might be relevant.<br/>
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"New street drugs?"  Cat sat up straighter.  "Is this -- hell, is this -- <i>please</i> don't make me have to work with the DEA."  It was a pitiful whimper, quickly stifled, and she waved a hand in the air.  "I'll make some calls.  I don't suppose you can be more specific about the strange symptoms?  If I poke around in our Chicago field office, will I find something?  Or is that... is it a bad idea to poke there?"</span></span>