she had a good bit of work to go. I wondered if Berna had seconds.
“Good idea,” I said, turning around, then motioning Paige to follow me. We walked back into the back room, the table now empty of booze and card players.
“Have a seat,” Gabriel said.
I did as I was told. “That guy has a big gun,” I noted.
“She caused big trouble.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Is this her punishment? Doing dishes?”
“It’s not my job to punish her,” Gabriel said. “And, frankly, there aren’t enough dishes in my lifetime or yours. But that’s not the point. The task is irrelevant. The doing is what matters. You know what my number one problem is with the Order?”
A dozen snarky answers popped to mind—They beat you in softball? No official T-shirts? Cheap booze at Order/Pack mixers?—but I managed to keep them to myself. Paige, wisely, did, too.
“They have monumental power, and for the most part, they use it to serve themselves.”
“That’s not entirely true—” Paige interrupted, but Gabriel wasn’t asking for a discussion and stifled her with a glance.
“I know you imagine yourselves to be problem solvers. But you created the very problems you seek to solve; that doesn’t make you philanthropists. It just makes you narcissistic.”
“The Packs wanted to decamp to Alaska to avoid involvement in all supernatural problems,” I pointed out. “How is that any better?”
“Because we aren’t out there pretending to be holier-than-thou sorcerers with answers to all the world’s problems.”
Paige looked down at the tabletop. That wasn’t an admission the Order had problems, but it was better than the denial everyone else seemed to be wrapped up in.
“Do you have a long-term plan?” I wondered.
“Survival is her long-term plan,” he said. “Surviving in our environment—no coddling, no magic, no respect that isn’t earned.”
That made sense to me. On its face, it was more suited for an unruly teenager than for a sorceress with a black-magic problem, but whatever worked.
Twenty minutes later, Catcher came back through the door. He and Gabriel shared quiet words, and after that, a handshake that I thought boded well for the state of supernatural relations.
“She’s all yours,” Catcher said. “She just went upstairs for a break.”
Gabriel nodded. “She gets fifteen minutes after every two-hour shift when she’s on manual labor. It’s a very fair system.”
Was it weird that the shifters had a system for situations like this? Nevertheless, I looked at Gabriel. “I’d like to talk to Mallory if that’s okay?”
“Your call, Kitten.”
“In that case,” I said to Catcher, “I think Paige will need a ride somewhere.”
She rose and nodded, too. “I need to talk to Baumgartner. It’s probably not a bad idea if you do, too.”
Catcher nodded, then glanced warily back at the door behind which Mallory had been at work.
“Go home,” I told him. “She’s safe here, and you look like you could use some rest.”
“If I weren’t exhausted, I’d tear you down from the insult.”
“You are exhausted, so I’ll pretend you made a sarcastic retort.” I put a hand on his arm. “Seriously. Go take a nap.”
He nodded, then led Paige out of the room.
“You sure you’re ready for her?” Gabriel asked.
I blew out a breath. “I think the better question is whether she’s ready for me.”
After Gabe offered directions, I found Mallory in a small bedroom at the top of a narrow staircase at the back of the kitchen.
There wasn’t much to the room. A twin-sized bed. A small table. The walls were hung with old-fashioned wallpaper bearing cartoonish strawberries.
Mallory sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the chapped hands in her lap.
She looked up at me and blew a wisp of lank blond hair from her face. “What are you doing up here?”
“I wanted to check on you.”
Silence descended. I’d imagined my reunion with Mallory would be awkward, and I’d been right. “Awkward” was a gentle word for the thousand unspoken words that hung between us. But she was the one who had explaining to do, so I walked inside and shut the door. I sat down on the hardwood floor cross-legged and, in the awkward silence, took a look at my nails. They didn’t look great, but I had fought a mutant gnome, a sorceress, and a Tate.
“How are you feeling?” I finally asked.
She laughed mirthlessly and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “The same. Bad. Stupid. I felt wrong, Merit. Deep in my bones, I felt wrong. I still do.”
“I know.”
She looked back at me. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”
“That you weren’t trying