Days later...

It wasn't a question of if Marcone would find me, but when. The man put out more feelers than a hentai, and at least one of them had groped the right straws. Once he'd tweaked to my involvement with Dr. Roman's death, it was only a matter of time before he came to confront me in person. House Skavis couldn't necessarily prove I'd been the one to do it, but I was the prime suspect. What other wizard was operating in Chicago at the moment?

I spotted Marcone in my periphery, standing in the last row, staring forward with the somber formality one expected at a funeral. I doubted the man beside him even knew who he was rubbing elbows with. Guard and Hendricks were conspicuously absent, which had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I wanted to crane my neck and scan Graceland for any sign of them in case this was about to turn into St. Valentine's Day Massacre, the redux. Our eyes met for the briefest moments, and it was enough to make me hunch forward, a guilty schoolchild before a stern patriarch.

I cursed myself for the reaction a moment later. I'd done what I had to. So what if it had some inconvenient repercussions for Marcone? There was one less predator prowling around Chicago. It was what he'd hired me to do. It wasn't my fault that he didn't like the way I did business.

Dad's arm was a reassuring weight on my waist, propping me up when the worst of the procession's grief threatened to overwhelm me. I wanted to join the line at the front of the crowd, to say something comforting to Nelson and her parents but...who was I to them now? Just an acquaintance of a long-dead friend. Any words I shared would sound like shallow platitudes. So I just dabbed at my eyes as I watched Rosie's friends file through.

The service concluded with a bagpipe rendition of Amazing Grace and one last prayer from Father Forthill.

"Incline Thine ear, O Lord, unto our prayers, wherein we humbly pray thee to show thy mercy upon the soul of thy servant, whom thou hast commanded to pass out of this world, that thou wouldst place her in the region of peace and light and bid her be a partaker with thy saints. Through Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," I echoed with the rest of the attendees, crossing myself on reflex.

The crowd broke off in ones and twos, supporting each other away from the grave site. The oppressive weight of so much negative emotion lifted, and I could breathe again. I risked a glance behind me and found Marcone seated in one of the metal folding chairs, legs crossed, staring levelly at me. As I watched, he stood, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his designer suit before stepping out of his row, moving with purpose toward me.

But before he could come level with our row, Dad moved into the aisle, blocking me from view. To an outsider, it probably looked casual. In our circles? It was as good as drawing down on Marcone. He knew who my father was, what he'd once been capable of, and what he was willing to do for his children. Marcone actually took a half-step back before he could catch himself.

Before his injury, I would have put money on Dad winning a fight with Marcone. He could still beat the average man through skill and good timing. But Marcone wasn't the average man. He had training and the cold determination to use it. Still, he didn't try to shove past my father. An attempt to preserve his image, or the wary respect due someone of my dad's former profession?

"No," Dad said. His voice somehow managed to be gentle, despite the firm finality he put behind the syllable.

"No?"

"No," Dad repeated. "These people are in mourning. This is not the time or place for the discussion of my daughter's conduct. If you want to speak to her, do it on your own time and in your own office. Make a scene, and I'll be forced to intervene."

There was no emphasis, no subtle threat in the words, but Marcone's body language shifted regardless. The calculated posture was poised between flight and attack. It was something you saw in predators who knew they'd been had. The tension crackling between them was almost painful.

Marcone remained very still for a moment. He didn't try to move past Dad, but he didn't move to leave either. When he spoke, it was in a level undertone that betrayed absolutely nothing.

"I just stopped by to ask how Ms. Carpenter wants the wergild to be distributed. I'd assumed a portion would go to the family of the deceased, but the rather...sizeable settlement could be funneled into Rosanna's pet causes as well."

"Wergild?" I asked, stepping out from behind Dad's bulk before I could stop myself. "I thought you were here to make me apologize to the prick's House."

Dad twitched and his mouth turned down into a frown at the curse word, but he didn't actually comment. Marcone noted the reaction with amusement. He beckoned me forward with two fingers.

"Your father is correct. This isn't the place. Come with me."

Dad shifted his weight again, once more hiding me from view. "You don't have to go anywhere with this man, Mo... Mercy."

I slid my hand into the crook of his arm and stood on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his cheek. "I know, Daddy. I'll be okay."

Dad's emotions worked on a quick cycling motion, flashing very briefly across my consciousness before he could lock them down. Worry. Anger. Sadness. Resignation. He leaned in and kissed my temple after a moment muttering, "Be careful" before he released me. His unhappy stare was a weight on my back until we rounded a corner and slid out of sight.

"So, there's a wergild?" I prompted a few minutes later. "How'd you swing that? From the sounds of things, House Skavis wasn't willing to settle for anything less than my hide."

"That was the impression I had as well," Marcone said. "It wasn't necessarily that you'd killed him, but how you did it. You framed him like prey for the first responders. Hanging is for the kine, according to Lady Gwendolyn."

I allowed myself a brief, savage baring of teeth. "He was prey. My prey. And he had it coming. You don't just get to throw people off buildings and get away with it. Not in my town. Now, how did you get House Skavis to pay you a wergild?"

"After digging through my records, I found that Ms. Jenson's day job was as a sales rep at a company I happen to own. She was one of the best, and as such, her murder cost me revenue. The wergild is what her department would have earned in a year, plus damages. The sum should be in the low millions."

I whistled. "That's...wow."

"Indeed," he said dryly. "And if you'd come to me, I could have looked into this sooner. Some of the unpleasantness could have been avoided."

"But he'd still be alive," I pointed out. "I like my way better."

"Don't be so sure. I don't tolerate predation on my employees. Dr. Roman would have paid for his crimes, I would simply have been more...discreet about it. How would you like the sum divided?"

"Half to her family, half to the places she volunteered."

He nodded, filing the instruction away for later.

We came to a stop a few minutes later and stared down at a pair of graves. The older of the two had a quartz headstone and twin vases, both filled with lily of the valley. The second was newer, its edges not yet rounded by the elements. I'd slipped some carnations into its vases last week when I'd come to visit. Both graves were nestled firmly in a family plot under the shade of an enormous oak tree.

"Your grave," Marcone said, staring at the stone with an unfathomable look on his face. "And your brother's. Only one of them actually occupied."

"I come here sometimes when I need to think. You don't really appreciate how finite your life is until you stare at your own grave marker." I glanced up at him through my lashes. "I'm probably going to die doing this. It's only a matter of time before something punches my ticket. Could I ask you for a favor?"

"That depends on the favor."

"Would you ID my body? My parents have already gone through this hell twice already, and I'd rather not make them stare at my corpse for real this time. Cremate me if I'm in bad shape, then turn my ashes over to my family so they can bury me here. If I'm...intact do as you see fit. I'll make sure Butters knows."

He was silent for a beat. Then, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure I don't want to put my parents through this again. It's a big ask, but..."

"I'll do it."

"Really? Why?"

Our eyes met, and there was something almost...soft in the warm green of his eyes. I wasn't accustomed to seeing him look anything but coldly practical. He offered a hand, and after a moment, I took it. His fingers closed around mine, the warmth of them sinking deep. I hadn't realized that I'd been shivering until he touched me.

"You're one of mine, whether you acknowledge it or not. I protect my people. If that's what you want, I'll do it."

I let out a shaking breath. "Good. You're the only one who can be dispassionate about it."

"Don't be so sure," Marcone said again, turning to go back the way we'd come. "I assure you I'll have feelings on the matter."

I raised an eyebrow at his retreating back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He turned and gave me a very slight smirk. "Good afternoon, Ms. Carpenter. I'll have Ms. Gard inform you when the funds have been distributed."

"Enigmatic motherfucker," I muttered as he walked away.

But seriously...what the hell had that meant?