“And yet here you are, alive and well, while my top enforcer is a pile of dust on Sam McGuire’s floor. So, you’re gonna help me understand

what really happened.” He didn’t bother to say or else, only sat back.

“Look, I’m not an unreasonable man. You help me, and I’ll help you.”

Her mouth twitched. “How will you help me?”

“You were always too good for Marcus. I could give you the kind of life you deserve. The kind you’re worth . . .”—that slimy smile—“if you ask nice.”

Ask nice.

Play nice.

Marcella was so fucking tired of nice.

Across the room June let out a short, derisive laugh.

The smile slipped from Tony’s face. “Something funny, kid?”

June turned toward them. “I asked you nice once, Tony,” she said flatly. “It didn’t make a bit of difference.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Have we met before?”

June leaned her elbows on the back of the empty chair, and pouted.

“Oh, Tony.” This time, when she spoke, her accent was on full display, strong and sweet. “Don’t you recognize me?”

The color drained from his face. “No . . .” Marcella didn’t know if it was shock or a denial, but one hand went for the top drawer of his desk.

“Really?” June straightened, and as she did, the teen girl disappeared, replaced by a perfect replica of Tony Hutch himself.

“What about now?”

Marcella watched as the Tony Hutch behind the desk drew a gun from the top drawer and fired three quick rounds into June’s chest.

June looked down as the blood blossomed, sudden and bright across her shirt, but she didn’t cry out, didn’t fall, just smiled. Behind the desk, the real Hutch gasped and clutched his chest as three perfect holes appeared, blood spilling down his front.

“What was it you said to me?” asked June, leaning on the desk. “Ah, yes . . . Don’t fight it, baby. You know you like it rough.”

His lungs hitched once, twice, body shuddering to a stop.

As the man died, June seemingly lost hold of her powers.

The reflection of Tony fell away like clothes that no longer fit, and for an instant Marcella glimpsed someone else—a girl with auburn curls

and hazel eyes and freckles like a band of stars across her nose—but it was only for an instant, and then June was back again, as the skinny dark-haired teen she’d worn into the office.

Marcella watched it all in amazement as the true potential of June’s power settled over her.

The girl wasn’t just a mirror, or a mimic.

She was a living voodoo doll.

Marcella broke into a grin just as the frosted doors were flung open and the two guards barreled in, weapons drawn.