"There’s a body upstairs in his office. We don’t know who it is yet. Crushed, though. Doesn’t take a genius to see it wasn’t the fire that got him." Tony glanced at her. "I hate to ask, but you know anything about that?"

"You mean, did I come by here this evening to pulverize Janx before you got a chance to arrest him? I didn’t." Margrit smiled faintly. "There was some kind of fight up there," she said a moment later, smile gone. "Just before you guys came in. The fire started there."

Tony sighed. "Maybe somebody tipped him off. There’re people on the force working for him, I know that. Arson might’ve been his way out. Grit, you should go home, get some sleep. You’re going to be all over the news tomorrow. We lost Janx, but we took down his operation, all because of you."

"Not because of me," Margrit said softly. Tony looked askance at her and she shook her head. "You’ve got no real link to me, Tony. Deep Throat gave you those files."

Tony scowled. "Why?"

Dizziness swept her and Margrit pressed the heel of her hand against her eye. "There’s always Daisani." Another lie. Misery swirled around her and she shoved it away, unable to offer anything else to the detective. He frowned, then nodded slowly, and she managed to drag a smile into place. "Don’t forget to take a shower before the press conference. Good luck."

He nodded stiffly, full of uncertainty, and Margrit waved herself off, leaving Tony behind in a halo of firelight.

"So this is what your promises come to." Grace O’Malley’s voice came out of the darkness. Margrit jerked awake with an aborted scream clogging her throat, clutching covers like an ingenue. She flung them away, disgusted with herself, and shoved out of bed, squinting in the faint red light offered by her alarm clock.

"Grace? What’re you-how’d you get into my house?"

"Grace has her ways." The black-clad vigilante stepped forward, light gleaming off her leathers, highlighting her curves. "You promised your war wouldn’t come to my world."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." Margrit reached for the bedside light, dismayed when clicking the switch did nothing. She rubbed her face and kicked a pile of laundry out of the way as she stalked to the wall switch. Light flooded the room and she squinted again, eyes watering. Grace turned to follow her path, one hand lifted and wrapped in gold links. "What is that?"

"Payment," Grace spat. "From Janx."

"A dragon gave you gold?" Margrit chuckled hoarsely. "He must really be trying to curry favor. What’s going on?"

The blond woman tightened her fist, metal shifting with quiet clinks. "Your gargoyle brought him to me. Down to where my kids are. He’s made my haven Janx’s new center of operations." She opened her hand abruptly, flinging the gold links onto Margrit’s bed. "You promised me!"

Margrit pulled her gaze from the snake of gold on her comforter. "You invited Alban into your world, Grace. This one’s not on me. I’m sorry, but I never dreamed he might do something like that. Where is he? I need to see him." She’d come home without trying to find him, and closed herself in her room, unwilling or unable to face her housemates. She’d showered and then crawled into bed still clutching Janx’s scale; it lay beneath her pillow now, where the water gun intended to keep her safe from Malik had once been.

Malik. She had been so careful not to let herself think of him, of the way his body had fallen, salt water preventing the transformation into mist that would have saved his life. Janx was right: they all shared the burden for that death, and the price would be higher for her than for Malik’s Old Races brethren.

Dark light slid into Grace’s eyes, nothing kind in her expression at all. "Yeah, love, and I want to taste the kiss of angels. We don’t get what we want, do we. I can’t have Janx down there, stealing my children and showing them the posh life crime can earn them. You promised me, Knight. I don’t care what it takes. Get him out of my tunnels and out of my kids’ lives, or angels help me, I will haunt you for the rest of your days."

"How would I get somebody like Janx out of your life?"

"You got him into it," Grace said implacably. "You’ll figure it out, love." She turned away, hand on the doorknob before Margrit said, "Your necklace."

"Keep it. A prettier piece than Iscariot got, don’t you think?" She closed the door behind her as Margrit surged forward to snatch up the links, then run for the bedroom door, to fling the necklace after Grace.

The hallway was empty, the front door closed and the chains on the locks in place. Margrit threw the necklace anyway, sending it clattering against the door, then sat down on the floor, her face in her hands. A creak announced Cole and Cameron’s door opening. Margrit cursed into her palms, then looked up to find Cole frowning down at her. "I thought I heard voices."

"Just me talking to Casper."

"What time is it?"

"I don’t know. Late. Probably about time for you to get up and go to work."

Cole sat down beside her, looping his arms over his knees and glancing at her through bangs growing too long. "Grit…"

"Whatever you’re going to say, Cole, can it wait until later?" She could still smell smoke on her skin and hair, despite having showered. "I don’t have anything left to fight with now. Can it just…wait? Please?"

He answered with a long silence, finally ending it with a sigh. "Are you okay, Margrit? I mean, really. Are you okay?"

"I don’t know."

Cole sighed again and reached out to put his arm around her shoulders and tug her toward him. "Okay. For right now, okay."

"Thank you." Margrit turned her head against his arm, grateful for his silence, grateful for his simple humanity. They sat together a while before he pulled in a deep breath. "I’m not picking a fight. But do you smell like a bonfire?"

Rough laughter scraped Margrit’s throat. "Yeah, I do. I-"

"Nope." Cole cut across the beginning of her explanation firmly. "I don’t want to know. We’re not fighting tonight," he said, stressing the words. "You can tell me later. We can fight about it then."

"Okay." Margrit unwound from his hug and scrubbed her face tiredly. "I should go back to bed. You should go back to bed. You have to be up in ten minutes."

"If I have to be up in ten minutes I should just take a shower." Cole crooked a smile. "You could make me an omelet for breakfast while I shower."

"I could make you scrambled eggs with stuff in them," Margrit countered wearily. "I never made a successful omelet in my life. I can’t flip them."

"Lawyers, always negotiating. Scrambled eggs with stuff in them sounds like a great breakfast." Cole’s smile improved a few degrees and he got to his feet, offering Margrit a hand. She let him pull her up and they parted ways, Cole into the hallway bathroom that was by default his and Cameron’s, and Margrit to the kitchen.

A white shadow on the balcony, little more than a blur against the night, caught her eye. For a moment the impulse to pull the curtains and ignore the world outside swept her. Then she lifted her chin and opened the balcony door, uncertain if it was relief or dismay that made her stomach jump as Alban turned to face her.

"You’re all right." He remained at the balcony’s far side, and she in the doorway.

"I’m not dead, anyway." Margrit hesitated, then dropped her shoulders. "Janx?"

"Alive. Infuriating our hostess with his presence. I had to bring him to-"

"I know. She dropped by to let me know." Margrit looked over her shoulder to where she’d thrown Grace’s necklace, reminding herself to pick it up before Cameron or Cole saw it. "The police have got Malik’s body, Alban."

"No." He all but whispered the word. "Or, perhaps, but they won’t by morning. Djinn were arrested tonight. They can’t be held with iron bars and metal handcuffs. They’ll take him away before any examination is done."