“I don’t know why,” I told her.

“We may just be those types of people,” Sveta said, her voice slightly muffled. “A little closer to being dangerous than average.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Lookout asked Goddess. “You know, if you give me a computer, I can gather information, or I can pull up records on people you have here, see if we can find the right tool in the toolbox for your particular problems.”

“You’re among my problems, according to my danger sense,” Goddess said, her voice hard. “Teacher has more coming. Not an army this time, but a trap.”

“Mama Mathers?” Rain asked.

“Yes. I won’t put my hand into that bear trap. We meet strength with subtlety and subtlety with strength. Coalbelcher? I’ll have you as part of the army that sweeps over that part of the city. Destroy everything, and destroy her with it.”

“I can do that.”

“Work with Seir and Knock Knock. Keep them in line. Do this and I’ll reward you.”

“I’ll get everyone organized.”

“Be ready to move quickly. The Wardens may choose that time to attack. Once we know she’s gone, you’ll fold back, and catch the Wardens by the rear. Immobilize, don’t kill.”

“I’m not much of a killer,” Coalbelcher said. “I’m not much of an immobilizer either.”

“If you can’t do it, I’ll ask someone else.”

“I can do it. Let me find people. I think I know someone who can move large groups.”

“I assigned one to Knock Knock,” Goddess said. “City Slicker.”

“That’s the one I was thinking of. We’ll get it done,” Coalbelcher said.

Goddess didn’t respond, didn’t change in expression, or move her head or hands. She stared at Coalbelcher, and he shifted his weight a little, before raising his heavy chin, emulating a soldier standing at attention, if a soldier could be of the greasy, drooling-black, baseball cap sort.

“You have a choice, Coalbelcher. My power is telling me there’s something about you that I should be wary of.”

“I have no idea what you mean. You’re promising power, fame, fortune, a territory of my own, and a slice of normal pie after two years of living in this shithole we slapped together here? I’m all about that. I’m yours, I’m loyal.”

“Perhaps,” she said. She turned her head, found someone, and indicated for them to come.

It was Crock o’ Shit. The lie-detector. The tattoos of scales on her arms were standing out slightly in relief.

“Say it again. That you’re loyal, and that I don’t need to worry about you.”

“I’m loyal. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Crock o’ Shit nodded. “He’s fine.”