"Are you listening to me, Carpenter?" Marcone demanded, voice vibrating through the quartz earpiece.

Bob and I had finally perfected a communication spell and equipped the higher-ups within the Brighter Future Society with them. We used them sparingly, but they'd saved lives. Murphy was pushing to have lesser practitioners band together and create their own spin on it, hopefully letting them communicate with us and each other so that someone could intervene if they were snatched. I'd come up against my first Fomor Sorcerer that way, and coordinating with Gard and Hendricks magically had saved my life.

I could hear seething anger bubbling beneath his words, which meant I'd managed to truly piss him off this time. The last time I'd heard his control slip this thoroughly, he'd been bound and at Tessa's mercy. That he was reacting this way spoke volumes. The next time we met, I was in deep shit.

And I couldn't find it in myself to care. I had places to be, and no time to explain why I'd done what I'd done to my boss. I was due to meet Mom and Dad in an hour, and I didn't want Marcone to tail me there. I was pretty sure that my mother would knock his block off, witnesses be damned. He'd dragged me into danger, exposed me to still more psychic trauma, which meant he was less than pond scum in her eyes, and at the moment I echoed the sentiment. All the fond feelings I'd had when he comforted me outside a warehouse two weeks ago had gone down the drain in light of what was happening.

"I heard you. I just don't care," I hissed back. "You're the one who's not listening. I told you to fuck right off. I don't need to explain myself to you."

"You went too far. There's a chance we can fix it before it escalates if you'll just come to my office and apologize-"

I tugged the quartz out of my ear and smudged the drop of blood off one side. Bob and I agreed that blood was probably the best catalyst, given that it was inherently a force of life, regardless of someone's magical ability. Rubbing it off would make the connection staticky or non-existent, either of which suited me just fine.

If he thought I was going to apologize to a White Court lord, he had another thing coming. I dropped the quartz into the inside pocket of my surcoat and threw a veil over myself, heading for home. I had about fifty minutes to make it to the Carpenter house, don the black dress mom bought me the night before, and slip into the illusory form I usually used for public appearances.

And then I had a funeral to attend.