“Go and get your things,” Kaylin told the old woman, coming to a decision. “We can conduct the rest of the interview at my house.” The ghosts that occupied Mrs. Erickson’s house were forgotten. Kaylin wanted to remove her from the vicinity of the neighbor.

“Come with me,” Mrs. Erickson said, without moving.

“I will. If you have no other business,” she said, to the neighbor, “we’ll be seeing to ours.” She had, until Mrs. Erickson had stepped between them, been spoiling for a fight. If the jerk touched or attempted to hit her, any action she took that didn’t break every bone in his body was likely to be given a grudging pass—especially if he opened his mouth.

But she was afraid now that he’d hit Mrs. Erickson instead. If not today, then tonight; if not tonight, then tomorrow. She shouldn’t have pushed him if she wasn’t the one who would bear the consequences. Cursing internally she once again turned toward the front door of Mrs. Erickson’s home.

If Hope leaped off her shoulder and bit the man’s nose, could she somehow fudge the report she was certain she’d have to make in a way that still allowed Hope to be her shoulder ornament during a working day? Highly doubtful.

He looked as if he’d object; his arm lowered, but his hands—both of them—were fists—large fists, which implied incoming pain. Kaylin couldn’t force herself to back down with any semblance of grace—and it was humility and groveling the man wanted. She’d seen his type before, admittedly not nearly as often on this side of the Ablayne.

She stepped out from behind Mrs. Erickson, baton clenched in fists that were just as white-knuckled as the stranger’s. Mrs. Erickson, no longer a shield between Kaylin and her neighbor, immediately turned toward the closed door of her house, as if this was the only way she could somehow avoid a confrontation between the neighbor and the Halls of Law. This was because Mrs. Erickson wasn’t stupid.

The man watched Mrs. Erickson as she scurried for the door. Kaylin watched him, her breath deliberately slow and controlled. She wasn’t angry. She was teetering on the edge of enraged.

Kaylin.

Severn, in his fashion, came to her rescue. He didn’t insult her by saying he should have come with her, either. He knew she could handle the man she now faced if violence started.

If I’d accompanied you, he wouldn’t be out on the lawn.

It was true. But Kaylin wanted to teach him enough of a lesson that the tabard of the Hawk would be a deterrent even if a five-year-old was wearing it.

That’s not respect, Severn said softly. It’s fear.

I’ll take fear. Mrs. Erickson—