“That’s something PIT can worry about,” Jackson said as we finally headed out of the house. “After all, we’re only associates.”

“And hopefully not even that once all this shit is over,” I said. “But I’m thinking, given what Lan—”

“Ms. Pearson,” an aristocratic and familiar voice said from the shadows of the gate.

I squeaked in fright and jumped several feet sideways, fire automatically leaping to my fingertips—a reaction I was going to have to watch as I really didn’t want to out myself as something other than human.

“Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you,” Parella continued, amusement clearly evident as he stared at us down the long length of his nose.

Jackson stopped beside me. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“We did have an agreement, remember—one that you are not living up to,” Parella said. “I thought a little chat might be in order before I ordered a resumption of hostilities.”

“I wouldn’t recommend doing that,” Jackson said rather philosophically, “because we’re both over being attacked, and are just as likely to kill first, ask questions later, right now.”

“So I gathered from that little spark display.” Parella shed the rest of the shadows from his body. If he was in any way perturbed by the thought of being crisped, it wasn’t showing. “What else did you find in Brooklyn? Or what remains of it after you burned more than half of it down?”

“Other than rotting red cloaks, I’m gathering?” I asked.

He raised a silvery eyebrow. “Why would the cloaks be rotting?”

I shrugged. “The jury is out on whether it’s a natural progression of the virus or the result of Luke’s death.”

“So the rumors are true—you did kill him.”

“And his tame witch.” I paused. “Said witch was also Rinaldo’s thrall. It seems you and your bosses were more than a little wrong about the threat he represents.”

“We are beginning to see that.”

“Then why aren’t you taking the fucker out?” Jackson said.

“We might be able to if he’s now without both his sorcerer and the spells that have been keeping him hidden,” Parella said. “What is the situation with the research notes? Did you find them in Brooklyn?”

“No. We found Luke’s office and a rather stout-looking air lock.”

“Has PIT accessed that air lock?”

I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as ours. It isn’t like they’d tell us, and we can’t exactly ask anyone else, given Luke is ash and the cloaks haven’t a brain between them.”

He raised an eyebrow. I suspected amusement, though it wasn’t actually showing in his expression. Maybe it was such a foreign emotion, his face was incapable of making the appropriate movements.

“What was in the backpack the rats said you carried out of Brooklyn?”