Derek opened his arms. Mick got up and slowly sat in his chair. Derek picked up his crossbow and we went out of the building.

“You suck,” I told Grendel outside. “You didn’t even help.”

He wagged his tail.

“Think he’s going to stay up there?” Derek murmured.

I nodded. “He’s too scared to move and I gave him an out—if he does as he’s told, he can help his pals in the end. He can tell himself he had a moral obligation to hide and not interfere. Can you take care of the other shooter?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

He trotted into the darkness, melting into the gloom as if he had been born from it. I counted to six hundred in my head to give him a nice head start and strode to the Mole Hole.

Years ago someone had carved steps in the crater’s sides, turning it into a kind of amphitheater. I stepped over the rim and took the steps down to the bottom.

The six people watched me with unfriendly eyes. Four men and two women. The shorter woman and three of the men had the familiar Red Guard bearing: their clothes were neat, the men were clean-shaven, the woman’s pale brown hair was pulled back. The taller woman and a guy standing next to her looked like street thugs: dirty, mismatched clothes and a hungry, desperate look in their eyes. Probably brought in for numbers and muscle.

I walked toward them, Grendel trotting next to me. I was in no hurry. Two Red Guard veterans would be a lot to handle. They were in shape and had the proper training. Four Guards and two street thugs would be difficult. My best bet was to avoid a fight altogether. Sometimes if you demonstrate enough willingness to hurt someone, they decide it’s not worth it.

In the cage Saiman stirred.

About twenty yards from them an older, lean man barked, “Far enough.”

I looked up. Saiman’s eyes, cold like frosted ice, looked back at me. Hello, Ice Giant. Atlanta hasn’t been treating you so well, I see.

“Nice cage,” I said. “Must’ve set you back quite a bit.”

“Where is the money?” the older man asked.

The male thug swore. It sounded familiar. I racked my memory and ran across a petition I’d handled about a year ago, during my time with the Order. I’d met this lowlife before. He liked breaking into older people’s houses and beating them until they gave him their money.

“Hi, Frankie. Long time, no see. They let you out already?”

Frankie blinked.

“Your legs healed nicely,” I told him. “Can hardly tell they were broken. Move around for me. I want to see if you walk funny.”

Frankie stuck his arms up in the air. “I’m out.”

The older guy scowled at him. “You walk out, you lose the money, Frankie.”