"I've got this under control," I said softly, my lips barely moving. "Why don't you go fold more of those napkins?"

"I can see that," he said, smiling despite the tension in his soft voice. Jenks joined us from the ceiling, and under their twin scrutiny I rubbed my fingertips into my forehead. Crap, I was getting a headache. This wasn't the way I had planned it, but how was I supposed to know they both wanted to contract me to kill each other?

"I think she's doing great," Jenks said. "There are eighteen weapons in this place, and not one has gone off yet. Nineteen if you count the one in Patricia's thigh holster."

Exhausted, I glanced behind me to the slight Were. Yeah, with that slit skirt, a thigh holster would work really well.

Kisten touched my elbow. "I'm not leaving this room," he said, his blue eyes almost fully dilated. "But this is your run. Where do you want Steve and me?"

I slowed my steps, pleased to see that Mr. Ray had seated himself opposite Mrs. Sarong—a good five feet between them. "The door?" I asked. "One of them probably called in more people, and I don't want this to become a population contest."

"You got it," he said, and with a soft smile he slipped away. He spoke to Steve, and the large vampire went out to the parking lot, a cell phone in his thick hand and his fingers busy.

Satisfied, I headed to the table. Nineteen guns? I thought, gut clenching. Nice. Maybe I should put myself in a bubble and say "go." Call whoever's still standing in five minutes the winner.

"Jenks," I said as I neared the table, "stay back, will you? Work communication between us? It's only supposed to be me and them. No seconds."

Still hovering, he put his hands on his hips. His angular features seemed pinched, making him look older than he really was. "No one counts pixies as people!" he protested.

I met his eyes squarely. "I count you, and it wouldn't be fair."

His wings flashed a pleased embarrassment, and a sprinkling of dust slipped from him. Nodding, he zipped away in a clatter of dragonfly wings.

Alone, I took the chair with my back to the kitchen door, confident no one would be coming in that way with Steve outside. I could smell the odor of dough rising for pizza, and the tang of tomatoes. Pizza sounded really good for tonight.

Forcing the thought from me, I settled myself, opening my bag as I set it on my lap. The heavy weight of my splat gun was comfortable, and I tried not to think about the weapons Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong probably had on them.

"First," I said, trembling inside from the adrenaline, "I'd like to extend my condolences to both of you on the loss of your pack members."

On my right, Mr. Ray pointed rudely at Mrs. Sarong. "I won't tolerate you harassing my pack," he stated, cheeks quivering. "The death of my secretary was an out-and-out declaration of war. Something I'm prepared to see through."

Mrs. Sarong sniffed, looking down her nose at him. "Murdering my aide is intolerable. I will not pretend that it wasn't you."

God! They were at it again! "Both of you stop it!" I exclaimed.

Ignoring me, Mr. Ray leaned across the table to Mrs. Sarong. "You don't have the balls to warn me off of what's mine by right. We will find the statue, and you will sit at my feet like the bitch you are."

Whoa! I thought, and a sudden wash of cold reasoning shocked through me. This was about the focus, not their respective dead. I glanced at David, and his lips pressed together. Case solved. They were murdering each other.

But Mrs. Sarong was inching her hand to her waistband and the one-bullet gun she probably had there. "I didn't kill your secretary," she said, keeping Ray's attention on her face and not her hands. "But I'd like to thank whoever did. Killing my aide to feign that you don't have the focus makes you a coward. If you can't hold it by strength and must rely on stealth, you don't deserve it. I have more control over Cincinnati than you do anyway."

"Me!" the incensed Were shouted, bringing Steve in for a quick look around. "I don't have it, but I damn well will get it. I haven't so much as sniffed the footprints of your dog-infested pack, but I will take every last member of it if you keep up this farce."

From the corner of my sight, I watched David take a threatening grip on his vamp killer of a weapon. The two factions were getting antsy.

"That's enough," I said, feeling like a playground monitor. "Both of you shut up!"

Mr. Ray turned to me. "You're a thieving, mewling bitch!" the pudgy Were exclaimed, his supremacy firmly entrenched in his mind.

David hefted his rifle, and the Weres brought for muscle started to shift on their feet. From my other side, Mrs. Sarong smiled like the devil and crossed her legs, saying the same thing as Mr. Ray without uttering a word. I was losing control. I had to do something.

Pissed, I drew myself up and tapped a line. Immediately my hair started to float, and from the middle of the room came an uneasy murmur. I focused on the two of them, unable to break eye contact after I took it. "I think you mean witch," I said softly, my fingers moving in nonsense as I pretended to set a ley line spell. But they didn't know that. "I suggest you relax. And that fish was a rescue, not a theft," I added, my face warming. Okay, maybe my conscience was still smarting.

"You're both idiots," I added, staring at Mr. Ray. "Killing each other for a stupid-ass statue when neither one of you has it. How lame is that?"

Mrs. Sarong cleared her throat. "You know he doesn't have it… how?" she drawled.

A good dozen answers fell through my brain, but the only one that they would believe would be the one that was the most impossible. "Because I have it," I said, praying it was the answer that would keep me breathing for another day.

Silence greeted my claim. Then Mr. Ray laughed. I jumped when his hand slapped down onto the table, but Mrs. Sarong's gaze was fixed on the Weres behind me, her face paling. "You!" the heavy Were said between guffaws. "If you have the focus, I'll eat my shorts."

My lips pressed together, but Mrs. Sarong spoke next. "You take ketchup with your silk, Simon?" she said sourly. "I think she's got it."

Mr. Ray stopped laughing. His brown eyes noted her ashen hue, and then he looked to me. "Her?" he said in disbelief.

My pulse quickened, and I wondered if I had made a mistake and they'd band together to take it from me before turning against each other once more.

"Look at her alpha," the slight woman said, pointing with her eyes.

We all looked. David was sitting half on a table with one foot on the floor, the other draped down and hanging. His duster was open to show his trim body, and his rifle was in his hands. Yes, it was a big gun, but there were—as Jenks said—nineteen other weapons in the place. Yet there he was holding two aggressive packs still and silent.

David had always been an impressive individual, having the standing of an alpha and the mystique of a loner. But even I could see the new expectation in his manner. He wasn't just capable of dominating another Were; he expected it to happen without a complaint. It was the focus's magic trickling through him. He had gained the power of creation, and though it had resulted in the deaths of innocents, it didn't lesson the magnitude of what that meant.

"My God," Mr. Ray said. Eyes wide, he turned to me. "You have it." He swallowed. "You really have it?"

Mrs. Sarong had taken her hands from the threat of her weapon and set them on the table. It was a submissive move, and a chill took me. What have I done? Will I survive it?

"You were there, at the bridge, weren't you? When the Mackinaw Weres found it?" she said coolly.

I leaned back to distance myself. What I wanted to do was run away. "I had it before that, actually," I admitted. "I was up there rescuing my boyfriend." I fixed on her eyes, wondering if they were a shade chagrined. "The one you think I killed," I added.