“Celebrating,” said June, tossing back her drink and signaling for another before pulling a slip of rolled paper from her pocket. At first, Marcella thought it was a cigarette, but then, as June unfurled it, Marcella realized it was a list.

Four names in tight scrawl.

Three of them had already been crossed out.

And there, at the bottom—Antony Hutch.

As Marcella watched, June plucked a pen from the edge of the bar and struck the name out. “Well, that’s done,” she said, half to herself.

And just like that, June was back, a manic light in her eyes as she spun in her seat, folded her arms on the bar. “What do you plan to do next?”

Marcella looked into her empty glass. “I think,” she said slowly, “I’ll take over the mob.”

June snorted into her drink. “Brilliant.”

But Marcella wasn’t joking.

She had only settled for a place at her husband’s side because no one would give her a seat at the table.

But she was done settling.

According to Marcus, power belonged to the man with the biggest

gun. Marcella thought of the remains of Tony Hutch’s body, staining his white carpet.

“How many of us do you think there are?”

“EOs?” June hesitated. “Who knows? More than you’d think. We don’t exactly go around advertising.”

“But you can find them.”

The glass was halfway to June’s mouth. Now it stopped. “What?”

“Your power,” said Marcella. “You said when you touch someone, you can take their appearance, but only if they’re human. Doesn’t that mean you can tell when they’re not?”

June’s smile flickered, and returned twice as bright. “You’re awfully sharp.”

“So I’ve been told.”

June stretched on her stool. “Sure, I can tell. Why? You looking to find more of us?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?” June shot her a sideways glance. “Trying to eliminate the competition?”

“Hardly.” She finished her drink and set the empty glass down, running a gold nail around the rim. “Men look at anyone with power and see only a threat, an obstacle in their path. They never have the sense to see power for what it really is.”

“And what’s that?” asked June.

“Potential.” Marcella tightened her fingers on the stem of her glass.

“This ability of mine,” she said as her hand glowed red, “is a weapon.”

As she spoke, the glass dissolved to sand, slipping through her fingers.

“But why settle for one weapon when you can have an arsenal?”

“Because an arsenal stands out,” said June.

Marcella’s lips twitched. “Maybe it should. People with powers like ours, why should we hide? The life I had is gone. There’s no getting it back. I’d rather make a new one. A better one. One where I don’t have to pretend to be weak to survive.”