Madame twisted the mancatcher just enough to let me catch her smile. She was enjoying this, the world as it should be, the pedigree bloodhound she had purchased for her Son exerting fresh dominance over the stray He had led home. I will never call myself a mutt. My blood remains as Greek as Patroclus’s, but in my childhood path, which should have led me straight to service at Censor’s or Caesar’s side, I did stray.

“But it shouldn’t be you that does this,” I pleaded, “not now, not either of you. Think of your fellow Blacklaws. With Natekari’s motion to kill Sniper under debate, if Sniper dies now everyone will accuse the Blacklaws, and it’ll be ten times worse if Blacklaws really did it. Use someone else. Use pawns. Use thugs. Brother Dominic, use your new Mitsubishi resources. Use me. Use anyone but a Blacklaw!”

Madame straightened my hat. «Mycroft, though knowest this is too personal to leave to others.»

«Then use me!» I begged, switching to desperate French to please them.

«Thou canst not do it; thou art too close to the blasphemer.»

I bristled as the old beast in my depths bristled as well. «You doubt my ability to kill someone I’m close to?»

Madame’s musical chuckle ricocheted across the upholstery. «Never, dear stray; we doubt thy ability to kill someone who’s been studying thy methods for thirteen years. Landing a wary fish requires novelty.»

The old beast calmed. «Then why involve me at all?»

«Thou art bait.»

I half liked this plan. «You’ve told Sniper where I’ll be?»

«I shall drop notes at the homes of some fans, coaches, teammates. Word will reach our target.»

«But Sniper won’t come in person,» I warned. «Sniper wouldn’t risk it.»

Dominic snorted. «Of course not. Any idiot could smell a trap, but when the blasphemer’s pawns find thee half dead, she won’t be able to resist carrying a loved one home to heal, will she?»

«Half dead? What…?»

«When they find thee, thou shalt be slowly bleeding to death from a rapier wound. In the thigh perhaps… just back here.» Dominic’s touch on my inner thigh was keen as flame. «Or perhaps in the back, a more commonplace target.»

«Ἄναξ Jehovah will never forgive you if you kill me,» I warned.

«Thou shalt not dare tell Him it was me. But thou’rt right, it must be carefully done, or else thou might indeed bleed out too fast, and die, and that would make our Maître very sad—perhaps even sad enough to come to me in tears.» With one membranous claw still on my thigh, Dominic grasped my chin with the other, tilting my head back against the blades. «Thou shalt be good and hold very still while I stab thee, yes? Or wouldst thou rather help me make notre Maître very sad?»