“I think she’s doing great,” Jenks said. “There are eighteen weapons in this place, and not one has gone off yet. Nineteen if you count the one in Patricia’s thigh holster.”

Exhausted, I glanced behind me to the slight Were. Yeah, with that slit skirt, a thigh holster would work really well.

Kisten touched my elbow. “I’m not leaving this room,” he said, his blue eyes almost fully dilated. “But this is your run. Where do you want Steve and me?”

I slowed my steps, pleased to see that Mr. Ray had seated himself opposite Mrs. Sarong—a good five feet between them. “The door?” I asked. “One of them probably called in more people, and I don’t want this to become a population contest.”

“You got it,” he said, and with a soft smile he slipped away. He spoke to Steve, and the large vampire went out to the parking lot, a cell phone in his thick hand and his fingers busy.

Satisfied, I headed to the table. Nineteen guns? I thought, gut clenching. Nice. Maybe I should put myself in a bubble and say “go.” Call whoever’s still standing in five minutes the winner.

“Jenks,” I said as I neared the table, “stay back, will you? Work communication between us? It’s only supposed to be me and them. No seconds.”

Still hovering, he put his hands on his hips. His angular features seemed pinched, making him look older than he really was. “No one counts pixies as people!” he protested.

I met his eyes squarely. “I count you, and it wouldn’t be fair.”

His wings flashed a pleased embarrassment, and a sprinkling of dust slipped from him. Nodding, he zipped away in a clatter of dragonfly wings.

Alone, I took the chair with my back to the kitchen door, confident no one would be coming in that way with Steve outside. I could smell the odor of dough rising for pizza, and the tang of tomatoes. Pizza sounded really good for tonight.

Forcing the thought away, I settled myself, opening my bag as I set it on my lap. The heavy weight of my splat gun was comfortable, and I tried not to think about the weapons Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong probably had on them.

“First,” I said, trembling inside from the adrenaline, “I’d like to extend my condolences to both of you on the loss of your pack members.”

On my right, Mr. Ray pointed rudely at Mrs. Sarong. “I won’t tolerate you harassing my pack,” he stated, cheeks quivering. “The death of my secretary was an out-and-out declaration of war. Something I’m prepared to see through.”

Mrs. Sarong sniffed, looking down her nose at him. “Murdering my aide was intolerable. I will not pretend that it wasn’t you.”

God! They were at it again! “Both of you stop it!” I exclaimed.