Billos stood in the storeroom alone, fighting a terrible volley of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he knew that Darsal was right to level her glares at him. He was the one who’d gotten them into this fix in the first place.

He’d broken ranks and abandoned her, knowing deep inside that she would follow because she was as loyal as a puppy dog—had been ever since he rescued her. And he had been as loyal to her.

But he couldn’t deny the fact that he hated the way she was acting now. From the moment she’d stuck her head into his business here, liking her had been a challenge. Something was wrong with her.

Or with you, Billos.

Nonsense.

Still, he knew that he’d changed a little since becoming aware of the power at his fingertips. Marsuvees Black was both intoxicating and disturbing, as was all true power. Darsal stood in the way of that power. The question was whether her doing so was a good thing or a bad thing.

A low voice spoke on his left. “They’re going to string you up like a straw doll.”

Billos whipped his gun around and faced Marsuvees Black, who leaned against the rear wall. The black-clad man was grinning, picking his teeth with a tiny spike of wood. His big hands looked as if they could crush a face like a tomato.

Billos found his voice. “What?”

“You started out well, my man. Put four of them on their backs and returned to finish it all—not bad for a scrapper from the past.”

“Six,” Billos said. “The two with the sticks and balls . . .”

“That’s a pool table.”

“One behind the counter.”

“And the counter is a bar.”

“One warrior at the door.”

“A cop,” Black said.

“And the two singers.”

Black hesitated. “That’s a jukebox. It runs on electricity, not blood. Doesn’t count.”

“All with suhupow,” Billos said.

“Bullets, my man. The gun shoots bullets.” Black straightened. “The point is you got a handful, and that’s just fine. But there are a couple hundred more, and I want you to kill every single one of them. Like Joshua in the battle of Jericho. Don’t leave a single one of them breathing. You hearing me?”

Now it was Billos’s turn to hesitate. “Yes.”

“Well, you don’t sound or look Yes to me. You look a bit like a ghost in a black costume.”

Black was insulting him. Anger flared up Billos’s neck. What was to say he couldn’t tilt up the suhupow gun and put this thug on his back right now?

The man’s hand blurred. He transformed in the blink of an eye from casual observer to warrior, clutching a gun he’d snatched off his hip. His lips twisted with each word.

“I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with, sugar lips.”