"Evening, hot stuff," Bob said with a yawn.

"Bob," I said. Well, it came out more of a grunt.

Dawn was rapidly approaching, which meant I had a few hours to sleep before meeting Rawlings at McAnally's at ten. I knew a handy waypoint that would make the trip a little shorter if I was willing to face whatever was on the other side. At my current energy level, it was probably a bad idea. I'd catch a cab and doze on the way like a normie. It was better than asking Marcone or Murphy for a ride. Hendricks would do it without question, and he'd stay quiet, which was a plus. However, I didn't like leaning on Marcone any more than I had to. Murphy would give me a ride as well, but the cost would be a soul-searching conversation. So not happening.

"Did you catch them?"

"Yes and no," I sighed. "I got the kids out safe, but the warlock is in the wind, and the White Council has been alerted to his flight. I really fucking hate that. It means they'll start here and work their way out. I'll be on the down-low for a few weeks at least. You know they don't really believe that Gard is the only one doing the Black Knight gig."

The first weeks of my new position had been the most fraught. The White Council had sent Warden Luccio to investigate the claims of a wizard operating in Chicago, on the suspicion that Daniel might have been able to Kemmler himself out of natural death and start wreaking havoc here. When that hadn't been the case, they'd moved on to the less dangerous assumption there was an untried wizard on Marcone's payroll. He'd fed them lie after lie about the Valkyries that served in his organization, eventually mollifying the Captain enough that she'd leave us in peace. They'd been back a few times, searching for warlocks this time, but hadn't found anything then, either. Their forays were brief and lackluster, but still scary as hell. I knew that they couldn't devote resources to a real manhunt, and as long as only the bad guys dropped, they wouldn't look too hard, but I hated every idle day where I had to tiptoe around their presence here.

Bob tilted his skull in what translated roughly as a shrug. "You could track him down and kill him yourself."

"I would, if it wouldn't leave Chicago open to attack. On to something a little less depressing. I'll need to make some delivery calls. Who's on the Za rotation now?"

Bob's eye lights rolled. "The Major General and thirteen others. They're demanding higher wages. Pizza Hut, instead of Pizza 'Spress. The seventh division wants to dabble in Tex Mex, and the eighth division would like to switch from MingHin to Chiu Quon Bakery. I've made a note on the legal pad. Would you like me to make the call while you shower? I can do it you know. It's not as hard on the phone, and they can actually hear me, thanks to that interface you cooked up."

I glowered at him. "I might let you make the call after I shower. The last time I made the mistake of letting you wander the Bat Cave, you were being a peeping Tom."

"You've got a rocking bod, boss, you can't blame a spirit for wanting a closer look. I mean that show you put on with the vampire was something else, and I could only look at it from an oblique angle. Shower water is almost as good a look as sweat on you. Highlights all those muscles you've got. Though I have to admit it's more attractive when you're on top and-"

"Bob!" I hissed, blushing to the roots of my hair. "That's enough!"

I hadn't meant for the skull to catch a glimpse of my most recent encounter with Thomas. Hell, I hadn't meant to do it. I'd bumped into him after a skirmish with the Fomor. I'd lost. I was battered, yes, but more importantly, I'd been raw, steeped in the pain and confusion of the man I'd failed to save. Thomas had his own well of pain. He'd fallen off the wagon. I'd let him. We hadn't even made it to the bed. I'd had sex with an incubus on the concrete floor of an auto garage, only landing in the circle of power by happenstance. It had powered a lot of my spells that week, even though it hadn't been my intent at the time.

"Just saying," Bob chirped without an ounce of remorse. "Would you like me to make the call?"

"How much would we have after the order if we make the switch?"

Bob considered it for a moment. "The standard order would come up to about fifty bucks if they decide against a dessert pizza. About sixty if they order one. You swiped a hundred from the dead guy two days ago, which would leave about...eight hundred left. Divided between the different divisions that leaves around twenty for your personal necessities."

I groaned. Dollar store soap it was. The sacrifice was worth it, most days. The network of little faeries Harry and Daniel had cultivated over the years was invaluable. Two divisions of about twenty-five faeries each served on any given idea, one carrying out recon, ferrying intelligence to the right people, and setting small but useful traps, while the other recharged the spells on my defensive foci. I'd made myself a crude set of armor to match my new title, but didn't have the time or energy to devote to making the enchantments sturdy enough. Harry's duster was a work of defensive art along the same lines as the corset jacket Lasciel had helped me create. I just didn't have the juice to do something like that in an incredibly short amount of time.

So the faeries were my compromise. I'd laid the groundwork on the armor and foci, using kinetic energy to fuel the spells, like electricity instead of battery power. Then I'd set the dewdrop faeries to work on them. Running on what amounted to hamster wheels to beef up my spells was undignified, but they'd do it for fast food. I could generally count on keeping the armor charged at all times, so long as the price was right. You'd be shocked what they'll put up with for carbs. There were almost five hundred of them now and counting.

"You could just ask Marcone, you know," Bob said thoughtfully. "He's a man after all. Wear a nice, low-cut top, and give him big doe eyes, and he'll give you what you need. He'd probably buy you some expensive soap for a chance to wash it off himself."

I made a face. "No."

"Why not?" Bob asked.

"Because that's just...gah...it's wrong! One, because I don't want to rely on that asshole, and two, because he doesn't think of me that way. I'm an ally and a dangerous one at that. He doesn't like me and he doesn't trust me."

"I know," Bob said happily. "That's what makes it hot. All the pent-up mistrust makes for epic sex, I hear."

"Gah! No, he's not thinking that!"

"He's a man, of course he's thinking that! Ask him if he wants it, and he'll say yes."

"I am not propositioning Marcone!" I spluttered.

"Not out there you aren't," Bob said. "You should do it here, where I can watch. And try to do it where I can see this time."

I stormed past him, muttering darkly. If he weren't so damn useful, I'd smash the skull and spirit to pieces.

He'd probably like it, the pervert.