“You pompous little bitch!” the infuriated Were shouted, red-faced and with his thugs backing him. “What are you doing here?”

Mrs. Sarong pushed past the men who had put themselves in front of her. “Arranging your removal,” she said, her voice sharp and her eyes glaring.

Removal? As if he were an overgrown tree clogging the sewer line?

The short businessman seemed to choke on his own breath, becoming choleric. Mouth gaping to look like one of his prize fish, he struggled to respond. “Like hell you are!” he finally managed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to her about!”

From my shoulder came a small, “Holy crap, Rache. How did you become Cincy’s assassin of choice?”

I stared at the two packs separated by little round tables. Mr. Ray wants to contract me to take Mrs. Sarong out?

The clicks of cocking weapons startled me from my shock.

“Grab some air, Jenks!” I shouted, kicking over a table and filling the space it had been in.

Jenks left me in a dazzling burst of gold sparkles. A whiff of musk and David had my back, that freaking big-ass rifle in his grip making him look like a gunslinger out for revenge. Kisten leapt forward. Blond hair swinging, he stepped between the two packs, his arms up in placation but his expression hard. The air pressure shifted, and suddenly Steve was there, too.

Everyone froze. My pulse hammered, and my knees went watery. It was too much like the time I had stormed in here looking for Piscary after he had blood-raped Ivy. Except this time there were a lot of pointed guns.

Sweating, I watched Kisten force the visible tension from his face and stance until he was the casual, confident bar manager on the surface. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you kill each other,” he said, his voice carrying well. “But you’ll take it out of my bar and into the lot, like everyone else.”

David pressed into my back, and with his warmth grounding me, I took a deep breath. “No one is going to kill anyone,” I said. “I called you here, and you are all going to sit down so we can settle this like Inderlanders, not animals. Got it?”

Mr. Ray took a step forward, a short finger pointing at Mrs. Sarong. “I’m going to rip—”

A burst of angst lit through me. “I said shut up!” I shouted. “What is wrong with you?” My bag was heavy on my shoulder, and though I could bring out my splat gun, I didn’t know whom I’d aim it at. At this point no one was aiming at me. I think. And to tap a line and make a circle might just set them all off. No one was shooting—I’d work from there.

“I’m not going to kill Mrs. Sarong,” I said to Mr. Ray.