Two things went through her head at the same time. One: The Committee has its own coffee mugs? That seems a little douchey. Two: Shit, shit, shit. Crapsticks. Shit.

She should have realized the Committee would be involved. This was a problem. Noel Matthews had been working for, or maybe with, the Committee when he recruited her to help steal the Nshombos’ gold. Were people still angry about how that went down? Crap.

The coffee wasn’t terrible. Before she finished it, Agent Ray and Baden returned with a short man. The slightly tubby guy introduced himself as J. C. Jayewardene.

Baden said, “Thank you, Ms. Steunenberg, for agreeing to meet with the Secretary-General and me on such short notice. We appreciate it.”

Mollie’s mouth went dry. Bad enough that Ray had come all the way to Idaho just to put Mollie in a room with the de facto leader of the Committee. But the goddamned Secretary-General of the goddamned United Nations? Didn’t he have diplomats and world leaders to harass? For somebody like him to make time for a stupid hick from potato country, she figured the situation had to be pretty fucking grim.

Was it ever.

Because, while the sun rose and Ray stood in the corner with his arms crossed, Baden and Jayewardene sat down and proceeded to tell Mollie the worst story she’d ever heard. Worst not because it was unbelievable—oh, she believed it all right, because only something absolutely terrible could explain what happened in Talas and in the barn—but because it was so fucking hopeless. The end of the world and supernatural evil and aces going batshit like the baby eaters in Talas … Jesus. Mollie and her family had nearly killed each other after just a few minutes. How long had that team been stuck over there?

Compared to this, Mollie’s role rounding up jokers for the fight club was positively heroic. Sure, she’d been forced into it, and a lot of those people had died, but at least it had helped to keep the unstoppable world-consuming evil at bay, though she hadn’t known it at the time.

Nothing the UN guys said made her the least bit interested in participating or helping. Helping meant voluntarily getting exposed again to that … that … whatever it was. Horrorshow. Hellraiser. Those were the names they used. She’d rather kill herself before she experienced that again. She’d kill her loved ones, too, if she had loved ones, before the malignant madness had a chance to take them. And not in a psycho face-eating pitchfork-murdering sort of way. Gently. To save them from something worse.

Despite having received the full download from Baba Yaga, Agent Ray and the others still thought there was a way to fight this. What an idiot. They couldn’t understand. Not really. They hadn’t been inside it. Hadn’t embraced the madness as it took them. Hadn’t welcomed the veil of scarlet rage as it settled over their minds.