"Hey, look who’s awake. You get any rest?" Cole turned away from the stove to smile at her. Margrit wobbled a hand.

"A little. I’ve got to run an errand. I might be late for dinner, but if there are leftovers I’ll be grateful, okay?"

"We can wait, if you want."

"Nah." Margrit managed a small smile of her own. "You know how Cam gets if she doesn’t eat regularly. Moody," she intoned.

"In the same way grizzlies are moody."

"I heard that!"

They both laughed, Cole calling, "I looove you," toward the living room. Cameron snorted and Margrit went to find shoes, her heart lighter than it had been all day.

Had she chosen another pair, she reflected as the city crawled by, she might have walked to the Sherry faster than she’d arrive in a cab. There was no rush hour in New York, only brief spates when the crush lessened. Six in the evening was not one of those times. Margrit frowned at the low backless heels she’d put on as if it was their fault she’d chosen them. Concentrating on them gave her something less debilitating to think about than the day’s events, but she was grateful when the cab pulled up to the hotel and she could put off emotional warfare with social niceties. Marese let her into Kaimana’s suites with the same deadpan expression as before, and Kaimana himself turned from a small table by the balcony.

"I went ahead and ordered some appetizers. If there’s nothing you like I can always call for more."

"It’ll be fine. Thanks." Margrit smiled and shook the selkie’s hand. "Is Cara here?"

"I’m afraid not. She’s attending to some other business for me." Kaimana nodded toward the box Margrit carried. "If you’d like to put that aside, I’ll be delighted to deliver it to her."

Reluctance clutched Margrit’s heart and she hugged the box, then wrinkled her nose and balanced it on the couch corner. It didn’t matter who gave it to Cara, as long as the selkie girl got it back. "I hope I’ll get a chance to see her again. Is she part of your entourage now?"

Kaimana gestured to the table, then held Margrit’s chair for her. "My entourage. What an idea. But I suppose so, in a way." He took the seat across from her, eyebrows arched as he lifted a bottle of white wine. Margrit made a moue and nodded, and Kaimana poured two glasses as he spoke. "I’m sure you’ll see her again. In fact, that’s something I wanted to discuss with you, in a roundabout way."

"Cara?" Margrit lifted the glass and took a small sip of wine, then did a double take. "That’s very nice."

"It should be. I think it’s older than you are." Kaimana smiled at the startled expression Margrit felt cross her face, then brought the conversation back on topic. "Less Cara than the others, but you’ll certainly see her again. I’d like you to arrange a meeting with Janx and Daisani. Somewhere public."

Margrit set her wine glass aside with a sound of disbelief. "Janx and Daisani don’t meet in public, Kaimana."

"I have confidence in your resourcefulness."

"Why?" Margrit cut his answer off before he spoke. "Not why do you have confidence, although I’d like to know that, too, but why in public? You’re not as rich as Daisani, but it can’t be good for your image to be hanging around with people like Janx."

"If I were concerned with my human image, you’d be right, but this isn’t about my mundane existence. It does have to be public, somewhere easily accessible, and ideally somewhere that crowds gather. I’d prefer not to tell you the details, for your own sake."

"There’s no way not knowing is going to make me safer."

Kaimana narrowed his eyes in thought. "In this case, I think it might. It allows you to plead ignorance, which might be the wiser course."

"You want me to lie to Eliseo Daisani and Janx-" Margrit broke off in turn, realizing she’d never heard the dragonlord referred to by a second name. "And Janx? Are you nuts? They’d kill me. Both of them. They’d take turns."

"Not lie. Misdirect. And I think I can guarantee they won’t be interested in you once we’ve met. They’ll have other things on their minds."

"It’s the ‘I think’ part that makes me nervous." Margrit picked up an appetizer and bit into it without looking to see what it was. Heat flooded her mouth, bringing tears to her eyes, and Kaimana nudged a wine glass toward her. She took a swallow that did no justice to the vintage and wiped her eyes as alcohol cut through the hot oils. "Why would I agree to this, without knowing what your plan is?"

"Because I believe the end result will rattle the sea floor and change will ride on the tide, and you think we must change or die." Kaimana waited a moment, watching her, then nodded as Margrit felt reluctant agreement settle over her. "Tomorrow, if it’s possible, Margrit. Set the meeting for tomorrow night."

Margrit climbed the steps to her apartment and let herself in, rubbing the back of her neck as she did so. The lingering scent of sauce and grilled meat made her stomach rumble, reminding her she’d eaten only a bite or two at the hotel. "Anybody home?" Voices fell silent in the living room, then picked up again with, "There she is," and, "In here, Grit." She kicked her shoes off and walked barefoot through the kitchen.

"I could use another eight hours of sle -Mom?" Margrit blinked in surprise as her mother stood up from the easy chair Cole normally claimed. Cole scrambled to his feet as well, old-fashioned manners coming through as they always did when Rebecca Knight visited. Margrit had never been able to decide if she was relieved or distressed that other people found her mother as intimidating as she did.

Rebecca looked out of place in the mismatched apartment, her elegant fragility more suited to museum halls as a sculptor’s masterpiece. Her fine-boned, narrow figure lent her an illusion of height, and while Margrit had learned her dress sense from her mother, Rebecca’s tailored suits always hung better and enhanced her cafe-latte skin’s warmth better than anything Margrit ever wore. A few dark freckles across her nose were her most humanizing factor. When she blended those away with makeup and took her hair down for an evening out, Rebecca Knight became the equivalent of a screen goddess to her daughter’s eyes. Margrit had always had the half-formed idea that Rebecca’s refinement came from her outward form, and that her own lusher curves made her hopelessly earthy in comparison to her polished mother. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, even a dressy one, while Rebecca wore a fitted suit, made the idea stand out in relief in Margrit’s mind as she hurried to give her a hug. "Mom, what’re you doing here?"

"I was in the city today and heard about Russell on the afternoon news. I thought I would come over and see if you were all right. Why didn’t you call me?" Rebecca put her hands on Margrit’s shoulders and looked her over.

"I had a court case this morning," Margrit said inanely. "I just didn’t think of calling. I’m sorry. Thank you for coming."

"You’re welcome. Are you all right?"

"I’m okay, all things considered. Still really tired." She pressed a hand against her forehead. "I lost my court case."

"You wanted to lose it, didn’t you?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah, but I wanted to lose it because evidence was on the prosecutor’s side, not because my boss wa -" Margrit cut herself off, not trusting emotion to remain steady. "Did you let Daddy know?"

"I did. We thought maybe you could come out to the house this weekend and get away from the city for a little while."

"Maybe next weekend. I don’t know anything yet, but I imagine Russell’s-" Margrit swallowed to strengthen her voice. "Russell’s service will be this weekend. I’d like to come out," she added more quietly. "I could go to church with you and Daddy. I’d like that."

"All right." Rebecca kissed her cheek, looking pleased. "Now, would you like me to stay? I’m in the city again tomorrow anyway."