"Will you do it?"

Pax's voice made me jump. They'd been silent for a while, sensing or being told directly by the subconscious that I needed to focus on the task at hand. Any slip in concentration during this mission could be disastrous. The intrusion fouled up the cat eye I'd been trying to apply and I had to hastily perform damage control before it could dry. The task was already difficult enough. I had to squint through the illusion to apply the stuff properly. If it slipped, I didn't want to look like a clown, even if that was the least of my worries.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, too focused on what I was doing to think back at him.

"Psychomancy. Will you do it?"

He sounded curious, not judgemental, which gave me pause. Though I'd been trying to instill moral lessons where I could, the twins were still fuzzy on the whole good vs evil thing. It didn't surprise me, given their parentage. Lasciel was literally a mother from hell, and I wasn't exactly a paragon of virtue. I'd twisted my morals into a pretzel while serving with Nicodemus. I still bent them on occasion to get the job done, stopping just short of performing obvious black magic. I had no idea what exposure to that stuff would do to them. What it had already done to them. If I was right, they'd been spiritual embryos while I was at my worst. How aware had they been at that stage? What lessons had I taught them if they were?

I dabbed at the leftover eyeliner and started over, leaning back to admire my reflection when I was done. I'd projected my illusion with the flyaway red curls down around my face, so I was stuck with it for the next eight hours. It was a flattering contrast to the strapless green dress Marone hung in the hall closet. No room for a sword, unfortunately, but I had a thigh holster on one leg and a knife sheath on the other. The Cartier jewelry made me a little nervous. I wasn't a showy kind of girl. I'd have preferred to wear the small sigil-etched chain I'd fashioned around my neck like a choker, but I'd made do with stuffing it into my clutch with a handful of other, small foci.

And I knew I was only focusing on the small things to avoid the question. Damn it.

I sighed. "I don't know."

"You think it is evil, but you'd do it anyway?"

Again, there was no judgment, but the words still made me cringe. I wasn't sure if he was as adept at reading my thoughts as Lasciel or if I my misgivings were loud enough to bounce around my skull and reach him far back in the subconscious.

The door between my room and Marcone's shut with a click and my heart kicked up a notch. It was time, and I still hadn't made up my mind about what I'd do if we managed to capture the mole alive. One thing was for sure. I was banishing him to my subconscious and ordering the Council of Molly to hide whatever happened from the kids. There were some things you didn't want children to see. Bad enough they were along for the ride for my rounds and the chaos that ensued. They'd already seen death, I didn't want them to witness torture.

"Like I said, I don't know. It's complicated."

"It is? How?"

I kneaded my temples. They were still babies in so many ways. The twins could spout statistics and pinpoint the etymological roots of words, but they were utterly ignorant when it came to this. How did you explain nuance to a being that was only a few years old? I lived in shades of gray.

"We have to keep Marcone alive for now. Unless he does something heinous, we have to put up with him."

"But why?"

Oh dear Lord. I'd go nuts if they started a 'why' kick inside of my head. It was annoying enough when my brothers and sisters had done it, and I could walk away from them. There was no escaping Pax and Fortnea.

"Do you know what the trolley problem is?"

He thought about it for a moment, sorting through the information he'd inherited from Lasciel. Sometimes they had to really dig for it and at other times it came as easily as breathing. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for what they did or didn't know.

"A thought experiment that examines ethical dilemmas." He paused. "Ah. Saving him will spare more people overall. We're the person on the other track. Fewer people get hurt if we're killed or impaired."

Again, I flinched. I knew he didn't mean anything by it, but the clinical tone was eerie. Good God, what was I doing to these poor kids? He should be innocent, not weighing my death and what that would mean for himself and his sister. They'd be better off in almost anyone else's head. Dad would have known what to do with them. Instead, they were stuck with barely sane me. Fate was a cruel bitch.

"I need you to go away for a bit, Pax. I have work to do."

"Okay," he said. "Thank you for explaining. Fortnea wanted to know too. I'll go tell her."

Oh goodie. Now my daughter would be mulling over my moral turpitude as well.

I smoothed my dress to soothe myself and then stepped out of the bathroom. Marcone was waiting on the other side, clean-cut and professional as usual. He gave me a blatant once-over and while there was a spark of interest, it had actually been more intense this morning.

"You don't like the illusion? It was a bitch to make."

"It's fine," he replied smoothly. He opened the door for me and offered me his arm as we stepped into the hall. "Shall we?"

I smirked. "I guess it's true what they say. Gentlemen prefer blondes."

His lips twitched, contemplating a smile. "Something like that. You do know an argument can be made that the film is a critique of a certain sect of society. Women who pursue men for their money, and men who pursue women for their beauty."

"And who says we're not using each other? That's part of the agreement, right?"

"Yes, I suppose."

But he didn't sound happy about it, which seemed odd. He'd been pretty clear about our roles from the start. Why was he getting cranky now? For once I wished he were easier to read so I could lift the answer in his thoughts and feelings.

"But yes," he continued, examining the untamable red curls. "I do prefer blondes."

"Good to know. When I find a blonde willing to seriously date you, I'll slip her your number."

He elbowed me in the ribs. It didn't wipe the satisfied smile off my face. How often did someone get the last word when talking with John Marcone? Score two for me. I was on a roll.