“Or what, you’ll beat the truth out of me? Hon, I’m the one with the gun. I’d rather not use it, but if you keep trying to play alpha librarian, I’ll put a bullet through your knee. Same goes if you make one move toward those books of yours in your trench coat there.”

“It’s a duster, not a trench coat.” I studied her weapon. The barrel was relatively short, no more than two inches, but at this range it would be hard for her to miss. “Six-shooter, eh? What’s it take, .44 caliber? .45?”

I didn’t wait for her response. Just as I’d done with Lena, I pulled Smudge’s story and power into myself and hurled it forth, into the bottom chamber of Deb’s revolver.

The bullet discharged. Normally, the force would have propelled the bullet out of the case, down the barrel, and through my flesh . . . but that bullet hadn’t been aligned with the barrel, meaning all that energy had to find another way to escape.

Fire flared from the cylinder. A sliver of hot steel embedded itself in the wall beside me. The gun clattered to the floor.

“Son of a fuck!” Deb jumped back, clutching her hand. The gun’s cylinder looked like a cracked walnut. “What the hell was that?”

“That was the last of my patience.” I pulled an M&M from a bag in my pocket and slipped it to Smudge as I returned his fire. He didn’t like it when people messed with his magic. Having been on the receiving end of something similar from Gutenberg, I didn’t blame him in the slightest. He scarfed down the M&M and demanded two more before he forgave me and settled down.

I looked around to make sure none of her minions had started moving again. “Last chance, Deb.”

Deb sat down on the edge of the mattress and nudged the leftover Chinese food, sending the ants into a frenzy. She licked her thumb, pressed it down, and brought a group of injured, squirming ants to her mouth. “Trust me, hon. You’re on the wrong side of this one.”

“Are you suggesting the right side is the one embracing terrorism and assassination? Do you realize how much harder you’ve made things for all of us? They’re going to use tonight as an excuse to come down even harder.”

“Oh, Isaac. You really need to step out of the sci-fi section and brush up on your history. You think they needed an excuse?”

“So tonight was what?” asked Lena. “A preemptive strike?”

Deb’s laugh was dry, bitter, and more than a little disturbing. “Tonight was retaliatory.”

I stepped sideways, where it was easier to keep an eye on Deb and her pet vamps. “This is about the Detroit nest.”