"He lets me fly." Margrit barely heard her own whisper, but Alban relaxed again at her side. Tony saw it and stepped forward with a snarl.

"You know, maybe good breeding means I oughta step back and let the lady make her choice, but I’m from Brooklyn. I believe in fighting for what I want."

"Tony, don’t you dare. Tony, don’t you-!" Margrit surged forward, putting herself directly in front of the police detective. "Don’t you dare start a fight over me. How many times do I have to tell you this isn’t a John Wayne movie? It’s my life, our lives-"

"Our?" Tony stared down at her, then cast a nasty look at Alban. "Funny, Grit, but our lives look a lot more crowded than they used to."

"Margrit." Alban touched her shoulder. "You’re going to be furious with both of us either way. Perhaps you ought to allow us to settle at least some of this as men prefer to." The faintest strain lay on the antepenultimate word, startling Margrit into looking at the tall blond man.

"Alban, what-" Turning moved her just far enough from the way. Tony threw a punch she saw from the corner of her eye. "Tony!"

Knuckles smashed into meaty flesh as Alban brought his hand up, catching the hit in his palm with such immense grace it seemed slow and elegant. Astonished rage lit Tony’s eyes as Alban held the detective without strain. "I will not fight you, Detective Pulcella," he said quietly. "I am stronger than you, and faster, and it would solve nothing. Women are not trinkets to be battled over. I have learned that the hard way, by nearly losing a wife over just such foolishness, and I will not do it again. Margrit will make her choices and we will respect them by treating one another as gentlemen might, not roughhousing schoolboys. Do we have an agreement?"

Lazy clapping, sharp staccato sounds, shattered the impasse. Tony stopped struggling against Alban’s hold, staggering back a step or two when the resistance was broken. The gargoyle caught the detective’s wrist to make certain his rival didn’t suffer the indignity of falling, then released him almost as quickly.

"Oh, bravo, bravo, well done indeed." Janx’s delighted tenor sailed over the trio. "Such chivalry, Stoneheart. Perhaps that heart isn’t so stony, after all. Margrit, my dear." The redheaded dragonlord insinuated himself between Alban and Tony, taking her hand and bowing over it. "I had no idea you’d be arranging such a performance for me this evening. It makes leaving home worth the journey. And Detective Pulcella." Janx turned from Margrit, holding her fingertips with his own a moment longer than necessary. She shivered, withdrawing her hand and glancing toward the ice rink. Cameron and Cole were at the head of a short chain of skaters playing crack the whip, weaving in and out of the crowd. "How delightful to see you in a social context. This will go over well with your superiors, don’t you think?"

"Margrit?" Tony’s voice cracked with outrage, and she bit back the curse she wanted to lay at Kaaiai for sending the detective to her side. "Margrit, what’ve you gotten yourself into?"

"Margrit." Janx clasped a hand over his heart, turning to her with injured eyes. "You haven’t told him about us? I’m wounded. I thought we’d agreed the time for secrecy had ended."

A bubble of absurdity broke inside Margrit, thawing cold dismay and anger. "I’m afraid Janx is right. So are you. I’ve been keeping secrets, Tony. The truth is, you can’t put a successful bug on Janx to bring him down because Malik can disrupt electronics by phasing them into air molecules and back again. Where is Malik, Janx? He must be around here somewhere." She glanced around, finding Malik only a dozen feet away, unobtrusive but close enough to overhear the conversation. He glowered as she waggled her fingers in greeting, the fine line she trod making her heady. "That’s what happened to my phone back in January. Janx is actually a dragon, and that gargoyle costume Alban hid in at the Blue Room is really his natural form."

Tony’s countenance darkened with insult and injury as Margrit rattled blithely on, while Janx kept light amusement on his features as he watched her. Alban, behind her, radiated disapproval, though Margrit was certain if she turned to look at him she’d see none of it on his face. She was glad Janx had released her fingers, or his reptile-cool skin might have shattered her composure. She held on to what nerve she had left, finishing, "I’m here tonight because Mr. Kaaiai asked me to arrange a meeting. I had no idea it was going to turn into a circus sideshow." She smiled up at Janx, her heart leaping with a sudden awareness of the size of the men-human and otherwise-surrounding her. "Have I missed anything?"

"I believe you’ve touched on nearly everything of relevance." Janx’s green eyes were hard, none of the humor in his voice reflected there. "Where, pray tell, is Kaaiai?"

"You could at least tell me the truth, Margrit." Tony’s voice shook with emotion. "I don’t know who you are anymore."

"She is precisely who she has always been." Eliseo Daisani came lately to the match, his overcoat snapping in the wind. "A young woman of unusual audacity and self-confidence who, when forced into a corner, lashes out with all the weapons she can lay hands on. You lied to me, Miss Knight. Very few people are capable of doing that." Censure in his voice was tempered by respect that made Janx twist his mouth in what looked like agreement.

Margrit muttered, "Trust me, I amaze even myself," and then, more clearly, added, "I didn’t lie to anybody. I was just selective with my truth. Sorry. Tony, this is Eliseo Daisani. I think you know everyone else here."

Daisani offered a hand. "The young man who sat vigil over Margrit’s bedside so diligently it was difficult for the rest of us to see her. I admire your dedication." Tony, too stunned to do otherwise, shook Daisani’s hand, then looked pained.

"Margrit! Hey, Margrit!" Cam waved with cheerful abandon as she led the whip around rink’s corner, innumerable skaters stretched behind her. As one, Margrit’s group of conspirators turned to watch her skim by with Cole immediately behind her. Over the scrape of blades on ice, his watch beeped, marking the hour.

The woman behind him dropped his hand and grated to a stop ten inches from the guardrail. No one behind her stumbled or tripped, though Cole let out a startled yell as he and Cameron, no longer weighted by the whip, went flying off balance. The noise of their skidding tumble was drowned out by the scrape and crunch as each skater in the whip came to a flawless, sudden halt.

Not only they came to a stop. A ripple shuddered the length and breadth of the rink, figures overwhelming the bright clear surface of frozen water. Hundreds of people spread across the rink, so many that Margrit could hardly see how they’d managed to move without creating chaos.

And the wave continued, gathering mass and spreading beyond the rink, until it seemed that every visitor to the Center had come to a stop and turned, eyes downcast, to face Margrit’s little group at the end of the ice rink.

Daisani murmured, "No," in astonished disbelief. As if his whisper triggered action, every downcast glance lifted. Dark eyes, pupils swallowed whole by black irises, were revealed as the weight of hundreds of selkie gazes fixed on Margrit and her companions.

Cara Delaney glided one step forward from where she’d abandoned Cole on the ice, and lifted her voice, clear and pure over the silent rink.

"We are here to tell you that there is strength in numbers, and that a balance has changed."

Tightly controlled chaos erupted within Margrit’s group. She all but felt Alban’s muscles bunch, as if he might leave behind his limited human form and spring into the sky, too full of shock and excitement to hold himself still. She reached for his hand, staying him, and he knotted his fingers around hers, agreeing to closeness for the first time since he’d re-entered her life. Hope shuddered through her, stealing her breath and leaving a foolish smile curving her mouth.