Margrit drew herself up and faced Cam, who stood only a few feet away. She put her hand out imperiously and Cameron, turning ever-pinker with guilt, handed the gun over. Margrit turned on her heel and stalked to Cole, her other hand extended. Cameron followed behind her, footsteps squishing in the damp carpet. Cole, looking mortified, gave Margrit his gun. She stepped past him into the kitchen, gun muzzles lowered, then looked back at her sheepish housemates.

"It’s two in the afternoon," Cole mumbled. "What’re you doing home, Grit?"

"That’s, um, not a dry-clean-only outfit, is it, Grit? I’m sorry," Cameron said just as diffidently. "We didn’t expect you to come home."

"It’s not dry-clean," Margrit assured her, then lifted the guns and smiled at Cole. "I’m slaughtering you both, that’s what I’m doing."

The guns whirred and shot bolts of water as Cameron and Cole split, both shrieking like children. Cole slid across the kitchen floor, crashing into the balcony windows with a shout, and Cameron disappeared down the hallway, returning seconds later with a much smaller water pistol, the trigger of which she pulled repeatedly as she waded forward against Margrit’s onslaught. Cole sat down, howling with laughter and kicking his feet against the slick linoleum and Cameron wrested one of the machine guns from Margrit. The two women stood three feet apart, shooting water and laughing until the tubs were empty. Margrit threw hers away, cheeks and stomach aching, then passed a wet hand over her face. Hot tears warmed her fingers, high emotion shattering the defenses she’d gotten through the morning with.

"Margrit?" Cameron’s hilarity fell away as Margrit’s face crumpled, and Cole scrambled to his feet. "Grit, what’s wrong?"

Margrit took a shaking breath, trying to control herself. "I’m home early because Russell was murdered this morning."

Cameron’s arms closed around her, and Margrit began to cry.

"What I really want to know," Margrit said a while later, still sniffling, "is where you got the water guns."

Cole, who’d pulled a T-shirt on and brought Cameron a robe, ducked his head and smiled. "Chef brought them in this morning. His oldest turned twelve yesterday and they had a blow-out water fight birthday party. Everybody was supposed to go home with one, but some of the parents wouldn’t let them, so he brought the spares in to work."

"Bet getting rid of them was his wife’s idea, not his." Margrit rubbed her wrist under her nose. The couch sucked her in, even with Cameron’s arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah," Cole said. "Women. They’re no fun." Cameron flicked a finger in Cole’s direction and he smiled again. "Valkyries don’t count."

"It’s good to be on a pedestal." Cam hugged Margrit. "You okay, hon?"

"No. I’m exhausted. I want to go to bed and sleep for about three days. I completely blew the case this morning." Margrit shook her head. "And I’ve got to…I don’t know. I should find out what’s going on with work. See how people are doing."

"They’re probably doing about like you are, Grit. Russell was a good guy. Even when he pissed you off." Cole looked rueful. "Which he did a lot."

"Yeah, I keep thinking about that. The stunt he pulled with the Daisani building up in Harlem, you know? The whole public perception thing. Pretty black girl makes good, gives back to her community by defending a squatters’ building. Never mind that I grew up in Flushing with a zillion dollars. What mattered was selling the image. I was so angry. ’Course, I learned to play that card, too. Cara Delaney would’ve made such a great witness. She looked so fragile. Everybody would’ve loved her and hated Daisani."

Cameron hugged Margrit’s shoulders. "Well, that’s what a good lawyer does."

"What, plays the hypocrite?" Margrit laughed, perilously close to tears again. "I know. He was a good teacher. Yesterday he was getting all over my case about my career path. I can’t believe he’s dead." She put her hands over her mouth, her fingers icy. "I thought he’d be around forever." A miserable smile moved her fingers. "Or at least until I took his job."

"Ah, c’mon, Grit. You have bigger plans than Legal Aid, don’t you?"

Kaimana Kaaiai’s broad face flashed in Margrit’s mind, bringing a cascade of images, all the men and women of the Old Races she’d met. She curled a lip, their thoughts unwelcome in the face of loss. Unwelcome, but pointed; Kaaiai’s request lent her an opportunity for bigger things on a scale Margrit could barely find an equivalent to in the human world. "I guess so."

"Thought so." Cole got off the couch, scrubbing his fingers through his hair and creating a poof of loose curls. "Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll make something fantastic for dinner and we can all go out afterward and get shit-faced?"

"You know," Margrit said after a moment, "I can’t think of a single reason why that wouldn’t be a good idea. Cam?"

"Aside from being a teetotaler, nope. I’ll bloat myself with ginger ale." Cameron nudged Margrit off the couch. "Go rest. I’ll wake you up if Tony or anyone calls."

"Thank you." Margrit got up and headed for her bedroom, peeling half-dried clothes off as she went.

"Margrit?" Cam scratched on the door and pushed it open, voice quiet and apologetic. Margrit rose up in bed with a sharp breath, sleepily confused as to where she was. "Hey," Cameron said softly. "Sorry. You’ve got a phone call."

"Tony?" Margrit scrubbed her hands over her face and swung her legs off the bed, trying to wake up.

"No, he says his name’s Kaimana Kaaiai. Isn’t he-"

"Yeah. The guy I met at the reception the other night. What time is it?" Margrit squinted toward her clock. "God, I’ve been asleep two hours? Feels like about three minutes." She got to her feet, and thrust her hand out for the phone imperiously.

Cam handed it over. "Yeah. I’m sorry, but I thought you might want to talk to him."

"No, it’s okay. I was expecting a call."

Cameron nodded and waved goodbye as Margrit brought the phone to her ear, wishing she sounded more awake as she said, "This is Margrit."

"Margrit, hello, Kaimana Kaaiai here. I’m sorry to call at such a bad time."

"No." Margrit shook her head and reached for a pair of jeans, trying to wake herself up through action. "It’s okay. Nothing you can do about it." She’d traded sounding tired for brusqueness, and couldn’t decide if it was an improvement.

"Still, please accept my condolences."

"Thank you. Mr. Kaaiai, if you have a little time this afternoon-"

"Please call me Kaimana."

Margrit took a deep breath and held it a moment, trying to work civilization back into her tone. "Kaimana. Thank you. If you’ve got time this afternoon, or if I can meet up with Cara, that’d be great. I forgot to set up a time to do that yesterday." For a moment the impulse to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head assailed her. It seemed impossible that it had only been yesterday that she’d re-met Cara.

"Just what I was going to suggest. Marese has cleared my schedule. You could come over, or I could drop by."

"Here?" Margrit coughed in horror. "I live in a shoebox apartment with two friends, Kaimana. It’s great for us, but it’s a little underwhelming for you."

Kaimana chuckled. "I wasn’t always rich, Margrit. But if you’d be uncomfortable with me visiting, come to the hotel. We’ll have an early dinner."

Margrit looked at the jeans she’d pulled on and swallowed a sigh. As if he’d heard, Kaimana added, "In the room, if you like. No need to dress up."

"That would be great. Something light," Margrit said, mindful of Cole’s offer to cook for her. "I’ll be over as soon as I let my housemates know, and catch a cab."

"I look forward to it." Kaimana hung up and Margrit put the phone down, staring mindlessly across the room for a few seconds. Then she shook herself and got a box out of the closet, unfolding tissue paper to check the state of the sealskin she’d been keeping safe. The fur was never as soft as she expected it to be, though it looked rich and comforting. Satisfied with its condition, she closed the box and pulled a fitted T-shirt on before leaving her room for the kitchen, where the scent of a red sauce was starting to fill the air.