Candlefly clips her across the face with the gun. She hits the floor and rolls into a ball, clutching her cheek. He points the gun at her.

Then–

Mookie, now free of Sorago, slams into Candlefly. He drives him forward into another rack: bottles fall, thud, roll free. Candlefly tries to bring up the gun but Mookie knees him in the groin, grabs the man’s wrist and twists–

Snap. Bright white bone spears – like sharp teeth, Werth thinks – poke free from Candlefly’s wrist as the man cries out.

Mookie hefts Candlefly up by the throat, drives a cannonball fist into the man’s face – boom – just as Not-Spall’s fangs sink into the meaty back of Mookie’s neck.

Another hit. Candlefly’s face rocks back. Blood squirts from his nostrils.

Not-Lutkevich coils around Mookie’s leg–

Fangs sink into Mookie’s calf.

A third punch. Candlefly’s face looks like a package of ground chuck. A red, half-collapsed mess.

Now Sorago steps in.

The assassin doesn’t move swiftly. He stands up from the wreckage of a wine rack, dusts himself off. Werth watches the Snakeface stalk across the floor with confidence.

The Naga comes up behind Mookie like a shadow.

Werth thinks: Help him!

But help who? Which one?

Instead, he does nothing.

Sorago’s fangs again sink into the side of Mookie’s neck.

Mookie’s hand darts to his side. Grabs the cleaver there. Unhooks it from his belt, raises it up–

It hangs over Candlefly’s head. The Sword of Damocles. Swaying gently.

His arm drops to his side.

The cleaver drops to the floor. The corner of the blade ka-chunks into the wood and sticks there.

Candlefly’s breath comes as a ragged whistle through a ruined nose. Blood bubbles up from lips split and torn by his own now-loose teeth. He wipes his face across the sleeve of his suit, leaving a crimson streak on soft beige.

With his unbroken hand, Ernesto pushes gently on Mookie’s chest.

The big thug falls. The floor shakes. A lamp rattles.

Werth stands. Stock still, like any movement might be construed as a treachery against… someone, anyone. He doesn’t know what to do. Every part of him is paralyzed by indecision and uncertainty. His loyalty is flapping loose in the wind.