Falise closed her eyes, feeling the whiskey running in her blood. She pinched the bridge of her nose, as if it would enable her to think better. “That irritating little gutter slit is right about one thing. We need to get smart about Port Authority and how Donovan works. My fucking brother is sitting on a fortune, and I’ve just made a fool out of myself.”

She chuckled bitterly. “What did the freak-child say? Only Hofer was more a laughingstock? Who’s Hofer?”

“Doesn’t matter, Lady.” Clarice took a deep breath. “Cinque is out working with Talina Perez. Bartolome is over there ingratiating himself with Mosadek and Dushane. We’re sitting here, looking defeated, while the tale of how your brother humiliated you travels like wildfire. The last image people have is of that skinny wisp of a girl buying us whiskey and giving us money.” She made a face. “Like it was charity for the indigent.”

“Finish your whiskey,” Falise told them. “The freak-child told the truth: These people play by a different standard. Everything we know. Every cunning advantage we count on. All of our skills don’t apply. We’ve got to learn the rules, because we’re losing here.”

Clarice upended her glass. Made a face and choked down the strong drink. “So, what are you planning?”

“We’re going back to find Derek. He’s the key. I don’t know how, and I will hate every pus-gagging second of it, but I will apologize. I will grovel if I have to. And I fucking well want to do it while I’m full of whiskey, because I’d vomit if I had to do it sober.”

With that, she got to her feet, realized that she needed to hurry, before the last glass had a chance to hit her bloodstream. She managed the transit of the irregular paving stones, led the way up the steps, ignoring the hundreds of gazes that followed her departure. Was especially conscious of the half-smile on Bartolome’s face.

Fine, let them talk.

She’d forgotten the rain. With no other recourse, she pulled the willowy fabric of her pantsuit tight about her, ducked her head, and started purposely north along the avenue. As she went, her previously soaked shoes kept feeling looser and looser on her feet. In the light of one of the few working streetlights, she glanced down, horrified to see the seams separating from the delicate fabric.

“Will this horror never end?”

“Lady?” Ednund asked. “Want me to run to the dome? Find you better attire? Different shoes, something to keep the rain from—”

“No, damn it. I want to get this over with before I talk myself out of it.”