From the corner of her eye she saw Daisani’s jaw actually fall open a few centimeters. She glanced toward him as he pulled himself together, his spine straightening. "You’ve surprised me, Miss Knight," he said after a few long seconds. "I would never have imagined you to be so opportunistic, especially with the body still cooling. I’m caught between utter admiration and being completely appalled."

Margrit’s stomach lurched and she came to her feet, cold sweat standing out all over. "Body? What-Malik can’t be dead." Her heartbeat was suddenly loud and fragile in her ears. If the djinn was dead, those beats were numbered, and she had a frantic desire to count them, acknowledging each last one.

"Malik? No. My God. You don’t know." Daisani stood as well, reaching for her elbow. "No, as far as I know, Malik is alive and well. It’s Russell Lomax, Margrit. He was found dead this morning at the Legal Aid offices, less than an hour ago."

Margrit lost her case, and lost it badly. The judge asked twice if she was interested in the proceedings, and Jacob Mills gave her more than one concerned glance across the aisle. She rallied a little for the closing arguments, but Jacob’s obliterated hers. As she watched her client being led away, she only hoped she hadn’t done so badly as to earn an appeal.

Tony met her just outside the courtroom doors. She stopped dead, taking in his drawn expression and the lack of color in his usually ruddy skin. "So they’re investigating it as a homicide."

Dread washed out of Tony’s features, replaced by dismayed relief. Margrit squeezed her eyes shut, unable to blame him for not wanting to be the one bearing bad news, and equally sympathetic to his sorrow that she’d already learned what he’d come to tell her. "Are they investigating it as a homicide? Or are you just here because I need you?"

"Both." Tony’s voice cracked on the word and Margrit moved forward, walking blindly into him. He caught her and she knotted her arms around his ribs, trembling with the effort of holding on. People brushed by them, reporters and lawyers, witnesses and victims. A camera flashed and the weight of Tony’s arms lessened as he reached out. Margrit caught a glimpse of him putting his hand over the lens. The photographer swore, but backed off, and Tony tugged Margrit a step or two away. "C’mon. Let’s get somewhere more private."

She nodded, letting him lead her from the bustle. Her heels clacked and echoed as they stepped out of the main hall into a quieter passageway. Tony turned to her then, expression still serious. "We don’t know anything yet. We’ve been reviewing security tapes, but we haven’t seen anyone unusual entering or exiting the building, at least not this morning. It happened early enough that we’re pretty sure we’ve already talked to everyone who did enter the building through normal channels. We’ve started going through last night’s tapes, and we’ve got somebody working on his case files."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Margrit’s voice sounded thick to her own ears.

Tony put his hands on her shoulders in gentle concern. "Probably not. Most of your office has taken the day off, Grit. Maybe you should, too. We just have to do our job."

"I could-" She swallowed. "I’d feel better if I could do something, even if it’s trivial. Maybe I could…help go through case files."

"Margrit." Tony squeezed her shoulders carefully. "It’s our job, not yours. I’ll keep you as informed as I can, okay?"

"Yeah." She closed her eyes, then opened them again hastily, the tiny weakness too clearly a prelude to tears. "Thank you."

"No problem." He frowned until it looked like it hurt. Margrit reached up to run a thumb over his forehead, smoothing wrinkles, and his scowl turned to a weak, concerned smile. "You okay?"

"No." Margrit smiled just as weakly. "No, I’m really not, but I can’t fall apart yet. Not here."

Regret spasmed over Tony’s face. "I wish I could bring you home and take care of you for a while."

"It’s okay." She summoned a better smile into place and squeezed his arm. "I’ll be all right, really. I’ll take a cab home and go to pieces on Cameron or Cole."

"Yeah. It’s just, you know. I’d kinda like to be the one you go to pieces on."

"I know." Margrit stepped into his arms to hold on to him again for a long moment. "I know. But you’ve got to go to work and find out what son of a bitch did this. Be careful, Tony, okay? For me?"

"I’m always careful." Tony stole a kiss, then brushed his fingers over her cheek. "You be careful, too, okay? I’ll let you know everything I can, as soon as I can. Walk you out?"

"Yeah." Margrit held still, though, making Tony turn back to her. "How did he-how…?" She took a breath as reluctance darkened Tony’s eyes. "It’s going to be in the papers anyway. I’d rather you told me."

"Yeah." Tony thinned his lips, then sighed. "He was suffocated. They don’t even know with what yet."

Margrit lifted a hand to her throat, coloring with the recollection of struggling for air, and shuddered. "Okay. Thank you."

Tony frowned again, taking her hand and pulling her into another hug. "We’ll get him, Grit. Whoever it is, we’ll get him. C’mon. Let’s get you in a cab to go home. I’ll come by tonight if I can, all right?"

"That’d be good." Weary emotion knocked at Margrit’s heart, a brief wish that it might be Alban who’d see her that evening, but the gargoyle had made it more than clear that she was no longer his concern. Living in both worlds was impossible.

That, unexpectedly, broke her. A sob caught in her throat as Tony led her down the courthouse steps and hailed a taxi. "You’ll be okay," he promised as he helped her into the vehicle. "Just hang in there, Grit. I’ll see you tonight."

Margrit nodded, not trusting her voice. Tony gave the cabbie her address, then closed the door and stepped onto the curb to watch her go. She waved goodbye and slid down in the seat, keeping her eyes closed throughout the drive. A litany of disbelief ran through her now that the court case was no longer a distraction: "No, oh no," whispered over and over again. She tilted her head back, trying to stretch tightness out of her throat, and swallowed against the sting there, to no avail. The cabbie’s voice telling her they’d arrived startled her, and she handed over a twenty and climbed out without waiting for the change. Reaching her apartment seemed like the only important thing to do; in its refuge she could let go of control for a few minutes and give in to grief and shock. For once she took the elevator, exhausted by the idea of five flights of stairs.

She let herself in quietly, as if the sound of the lock turning might send her flying apart. Closing the door just as silently took concentration, and when she had, she put both hands on the knob and rested her forehead against the door.

A high-pitched giggle broke the silence. Margrit’s mouth turned up at the corner and she tipped her head toward her housemates’ bedroom, glad she’d come in quietly. They’d get drawn into her misery soon enough. It would’ve been a shame to interrupt their time together by storming in. Margrit took a step back from the door, inhaling deeply.

Their bedroom door flew open. Cameron leapt out with a shriek that rang octaves above Cole’s bellow from the kitchen end of the hall. Water sprayed everywhere to the whir of machine guns, with Margrit caught in the cross fire. She gasped, too startled to scream as Cameron’s and Cole’s shouts turned from glee to surprise. The machine-gun sounds ceased, as did the rain of water, and Margrit, dripping, looked back and forth from one to the other.

Cole wore boxers and nothing else, his black hair slicked with water and dropping into curls around his ears. He stood in a puddle on the kitchen floor and clutched a brilliant green water gun awkwardly, as if it might disappear if he held it still enough. Cameron, at the other end of the hall, wore a sports bra and boy shorts, her long blond hair plastered to her skin. Her machine gun was orange and she held it aloft, water running down her elbow toward the floor. Her eyes bulged with surprise, and her cheeks were flushed with laughter and embarrassment.