the still-frying bacon to one side of the skillet and cracked two eggs into the grease in the cleared space while Ex shook his head and said, "I don't like it. We're under siege here. We need to take precautions."
"Not siege," Chogyi Jake said. "Attack, yes, but to say siege presupposes that our movements are limited."
"And it's not really you," I said. I hadn't thought about the words, they just came out. Four pairs of eyes turned to me. I shrugged. "They came after me. Well, me and Midian. I pulled Aubrey into it, and he pulled you guys."
"She's right," Ex said. "Coin doesn't have a lock on the three of us. If there's legwork to be done, it should be-"
Midian coughed out his derision.
"Don't be a schmuck, Ex. The girl's cutting you loose. Over easy all right? I can do over medium if you really want, but I'm not feeding you a hard yolk."
"It's fine," I said, trying not to look at Ex or Aubrey. I was sure my embarrassment was showing, and it only made me more embarrassed. "And I'm not...I don't see how I'm in a position to cut anyone loose or keep anyone on, for that matter. But I am a big girl. All grown up. I don't want any of you in trouble over me."
Somehow saying it out loud lent me the confidence to meet Aubrey's eyes. He looked sympathetic but also resolute.
"Eric was a friend of ours," Aubrey said. "Of all of ours. This isn't just your fight."
"We know the risks," Chogyi Jake said.
"Better than you do," Ex finished.
"Three fucking musketeers. That makes you d'Artagnan," Midian said, handing me a plate. The eggs were touched with rosemary, two strips of crisped bacon at the side, a slice of golden-brown toast with an almost subliminal layer of butter, and a sprig of parsley to set the whole thing off.
"Thank you," I said. I actually meant about the food, but Ex was the one who replied.
"Not needed," he said. It was the kindest tone he'd taken all morning. "This is what we do."
The conversation barreled ahead as I ate. By the time I used the last crust of the toast to sop up the last golden trail of egg, Aubrey had a game plan in place. He would take me to run my errands-bank and Eric's storage facilities both-while Ex went back to the apartment on Inca to make sure everything that needed cleaning was cleaned and also to retrieve the books and whiteboard I'd seen when I was there. Chogyi Jake and Midian were going to stay at the house and go over Eric's wards and protections, including digging up any information that would explain why I'd suddenly gotten good at fighting and hadn't set off Midian's alarms. We would reconvene that evening with any new information in hand and decide what we were going to do.
Going out to Aubrey's minivan, I saw the van Chogyi Jake had talked about last night, its paint a faded noncolor and windowless in a way that would have made me nervous if I was walking alone. A black, almost chitinous sports car was parked beside it.
"Ex?" I asked, nodding at the sports car.
"Ex," Aubrey agreed. "You've got the directions to your banks?"
I held up three MapQuest printouts.
"And the storage joints besides," I said as he pulled out. The air conditioner hummed, cranking out a cool breeze to fight the August heat. I watched the house in the side mirror as we drove away. It could have been anyone's. There was nothing about it that gave any hint that Eric Heller had been anything particularly special. We turned at the intersection of a bigger, busier street, and the house vanished.
"I've got one thing I need to do when we're done," Aubrey said. "It's just a quick stop to pick up some things."
"Your place?"
"My work, actually," he said.
"Oh," I said, then laughed. "You know, I never really thought of you as having a job. What do you do when you aren't fighting the forces of darkness?"
"I'm a research biologist," he said. "I've got a grant from the NIH, and I'm based at the University of Denver. It's how I met Eric."
"Seriously? And you're studying what? The biomechanics of ghosts?"
He laughed. I liked the way he laughed. I had the sudden physical memory of leaning in last night, almost kissing him. It was disorienting.
"Parasitology," he said. "Did you say Seventeenth Street?"
"And Stout, yeah. So you work with...what, stomach worms?"
"My dissertation was