I saw her pause. She scowled, and she was good at scowling. She was probably the type who scowled while reading, scowled while watching television…

“Do it,” she said. “Antares’s dad, do what she said.”

My dad, incapacitated as he was, was able to create his orbs. He moved his arm into the right general area, then created an orb, holding it down over the trap at the center of the area. Here and there, it scootched over a half foot one way or the other, as his arm spasmed.

It detonated, his hand containing the direction of the blast. The blast didn’t hurt him, and it was small enough that it didn’t disturb anyone nearby.

I didn’t see a discernible difference. Had the red lightning stopped its intermittent crackling?

“There’s some validity to this, then,” Swansong said.

“I had a mark on my finger, and a weird heavy feeling, like I get any time I have an injection,” Bluestocking said. “I had Bitter Pill take a look at it.”

“I took it for a splinter,” Bitter Pill said.

“He broke the truce, the heroes go after him and his co-conspirators,” Prancer said. “They leave us alone. We point the way and we don’t even have to get our hands dirty or risk our own skin, because they’re going to take over dealing with that asshole.”

“You could help, make amends,” I said.

“I’ll leave that to these guys,” Prancer said. “Up to them. But I’m leaving. I’m going. Greener pastures. I have some money, I’m going to get settled in another corner. Somewhere smaller and quieter. People are welcome to come.”

“Poaching, Prancer?”

Prancer shrugged.

“I’ll help,” Moose declared. “Carry your scary little buddies.”

“Now I have to wait for you,” Prancer said.

“Well… deal,” Moose told him.

It was a little thing, but the tone of it suggested that the tensions weren’t as high as they had been. He could get away with that kind of comment and pushback. Bluestocking didn’t look like she was going to attack any more.

The red lightning was dissipating. I wasn’t sure if it was because the trap that held the reserve power was gone, or if the network was spread too thin.

Not that things were okay.

Paris, Vulturehawk, Thud, and Contender lingered at the rear of our group.

Prancer seemed aware.

“He shook your hands. He would have, as part of the hiring,” Prancer said.

“Paris doesn’t need anything to make him monstrous,” Byron said, too quiet for Paris to hear.

“A small mark on the hand, or uncharacteristic anger?” Prancer prompted. “Both?”

Paris shook his head.

“Whatever reputation you think you’re getting or holding by sticking to the contract, you’re losing by going against all the alliances. You can’t work with a truce-breaker,” Bluestocking said.