Candy looks at Brigitte.

“Mom, can I have one if I’m good?”

Brigitte laughs.

“Maybe for your birthday, dear.”

Candy strokes the tiger’s ears.

Rose’s breathing and heart spike like someone rigged his scrotum to a 220 line.

“Please don’t touch that,” he says, and crosses the room in a few strides to where Candy is standing. She backs off and goes back to Brigitte while Rose combs the tiger’s fur back the way it was.

“Do you ever make anything besides animals?” says Candy.

She’s setting him up for me to knock down. Rose isn’t relaxed enough to attack, but he’s plenty distracted. I take off my glove and put it in my pocket.

“Like what?” says Rose.

I walk into his workspace balancing the 8 Ball on my Kissi hand.

“Something like this.”

I toss the ball at Rose. He catches it. Clutches it to his chest like a life preserver.

“How did you get in here? Get out before I call hotel security.”

I look at the girls.

“You know, people used to have pride. They’d keep a baseball bat by the door and hit you themselves. Now everyone has hired goons. What happened to the American can-do spirit?”

Candy and Brigitte snigger. Rose doesn’t move. He’s looking at my funny hand. I go to the hotel phone on the wall. Pull it out of the wall and crush it like a soda can in my trash-compactor fingers.

“Sweet Jesus,” whispers Rose.

I can read Rose like the Sunday funnies. He’s on the edge of panic. There are way too many people in here, but he’s conflicted. Who does he ask to go? The pretty ladies or the crazy man with the mechanical meat hook? He’s afraid of me but he’ll weep bitter tears every night if he passes up the chance to get a better look at my Kissi arm.

I use it to take back the 8 Ball. Wave it in front of him.

“Focus. Where did you see the real 8 Ball? Who did you make the fake one for?”

Candy and Brigitte stroll around the room playing with Rose’s tools. Running their hands over his animals’ fur and feathers.

“The sooner you answer, the sooner we’ll be gone,” I say.

He glances at the 8 Ball and shakes his head.

“I’ve never seen that thing before in my life.”

“It has your mark on it.”

“Then it’s a damn fake.”

Candy tosses Brigitte a wriggling koi. She catches it, laughing as it tries to squirm out of her hands.

“If you think we’re being unreasonable, think about it from my point of view. Not only did I lose the real 8 Ball, but your goddamn fake almost got me killed. Right now we’re going to play volleyball with every kitty cat and titmouse in here until you fess up and tell me who has the real ball.”

“I don’t know.”

“Who wanted the fake one?”

“It’s all lies.”

I stop for a minute. Is there a chance I’m torturing the wrong guy? I’m good at reading people, but Rose’s heart rate and breathing are off the chart. His pupils are the size of baked hams. But I’m still not convinced he’s all that innocent.

“Please. You people have to leave.”

Reset and try another approach. I pull up my sleeve and show him my whole Kissi arm. Rose’s vitals slow. He’s back in his own zone. He’d love nothing more than to dismantle me piece by piece.

“I’ll let you look at it if you want. Examine the hell out of it and see how it works. Just tell me about the Qomrama.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There it is. The microtremor in his lips when I said the 8 Ball’s name.

“You’re lying. Who was the fake one supposed to kill? Garrett? Or the buyer? Who was the buyer?”

Candy has a diamondback curling around her arm. It looks delicate and pricey.

“Declan Garrett,” says Rose.

The idiot from Donut Universe. Good.

“And who showed you the real Qomrama?”

“I never saw it. Just pictures. And diagrams in books they gave me.”

Shit. Rose is telling the truth. I can feel it. He never saw the real 8 Ball. Maybe whoever commissioned the fake one might never have seen it either. Just knew about it in an old book and had Atticus run him off a mobster clone. If that’s true, then chasing Moseley, getting shot, and almost getting blown to refried beans was for nothing. Still, there might be something to salvage.

“Who hired you to make the copy?”

Rose can’t take it anymore. There’s too many of us. We’re too loud. I might kill him with my creepy hand and Candy and Brigitte might fuck up his life’s work. He turns away. I think for a second that he might be crying. But he’s not. When he turns back he’s fished a small box, like a cable remote, from his pocket. He punches in a code with his thumb. A second later Candy slams into one of the worktables as someone blurs by her, heading for me. I step aside at the last second and let Kid Flash fly by. When he turns, color me surprised.

It’s Trevor Moseley. Upright, clean, and completely uncrushed by a number 2 bus.

Moseley comes at me like a flat-footed tornado. All fury and power but not really knowing what to do with it. I slip his first couple of punches, then give him a quick pop in the kidneys. The asshole doesn’t even react. He was doped when we danced our first waltz and I guess he still is.

I go down low, giving him a good target. Moseley takes the bait, and when he throws a kick at my head, I grab his leg and plant a boot into his balls.

I don’t know what Moseley is on, but I want some of it. I’ve still got hold of his leg when he springs off the other and slams me on the side of the head with his foot. The world spins and I flop down flat on my ass. Moseley grabs something bright and sharp from a worktable and comes at me. I pull the na’at from under my coat, swing it like a whip so it wraps around his arm. Flick the grip so the na’at goes rigid, then twist it to break his arm. It works. A little too well. His arm snaps clean off, spewing blood, hydraulic fluid, gears, and cams all over the floor.

I retract the na’at and whip it again, this time at his head. Half of his face comes off, revealing polished wood and carved bone underneath. The fucker is one of Rose’s automatons.

There’s a soft explosion behind me, like a giant snake coughing. I turn and there’s another Moseley on the floor with a big hole in his chest. He’s oozing goo and machine parts. Across the room Brigitte has her gun out and in ready position. I nod a quick thanks for covering my back.

The other Moseley grabs me from behind. I spin and plant an elbow full force on the side of his head. And the head comes off, rolling like the world’s most surprised bowling ball, coming to a rest at Rose’s feet. At least I know why Moseley wasn’t afraid to step in front of the bus. With all the spare Moseleys around to take his place, why not?

“You’re a talented prick,” I say to Rose. “Why hire help when you can build your own? Is the real Moseley still around or did you kill him after you copied him?”

A smile creeps across Rose’s face like a tarantula.

“Oh, he’s alive, but you’re so dumb I doubt you’ll live long enough to meet him.”

“Did you tell him to shoot me at Donut Universe?”

“I don’t ask clients what they do with my creations after I deliver them.”

“I forget. What was the client’s name?” says Candy.

“I forget too,” says Rose, thumbing another code into the remote. “Of course, I have confidentiality agreements with all my clients, but now that you know this secret part of my work, none of you can leave.”

He presses a button on the remote. Closes and locks the apartment door.

Machines kick into life around us. Saws. Drills. Lathes. Growls, hisses, and birdcalls float on top of the machine rumble. Rose has activated all of the equipment and every one of his mechanical familiars.

Candy is the first of us to attack. She goes full Jade—nails curved into claws, a mouthful of white shark teeth, and eyes like red slits in black ice—and leaps on top of a jaguar. Digs her teeth into the nape of its neck. Rakes her claws down its side. It makes a grinding, ripping sound.