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Moerae.”
    “Very well, then. You may return to the antechamber until you are sent for.”
    I blinked, mouth dropping slightly open. Wait. She was dismissing me without the usual Q&A session? “But—”
    Her fists clenched on the table before her. “That will be sufficient, Tisiphone. We will send for you if we have any questions.”
    My gaze flew to Stacia, who gave me a silent look of warning. I fought for composure, pushing back from the table and retracing my steps of moments before. Something was beyond rotten in Denmark.
    The doors seemed to slam shut more forcefully than usual, though that was probably my imagination.
    The missing flunky now inhabited a desk across the antechamber, fingers flying over the keys of a laptop computer as she sorted through e-mails from earthbound Furies that would run the gamut from petty complaints about their current posts to noteworthy news gained while performing their various duties.
    And a pile of petitions from sisters requesting official audiences with the Conclave. Yeah, technically speaking I should have sent advance warning before droppingby for our little chat But screw formality.
    My news hid been too urgent to wait, dammit.
    When Rage welled up anew, I summoned Nemesis and Nike into physical form to help ground myself.
    I let my gaze roam around the antechamber, settling it on the flunky seated behind the sleek, contemporary cherry desk loaded with office accessories that could have—and probably had—come straight from Staples. The ultramodern laptop looked newer, and more expensive, than the battered model I used at home. As usual, the incongruity of finding the mundane amenities nestled among the ancient architecture had my lips twitching in amusement. And wasn’t it ironic as hell that the seniormost Furies, who generally eschewed mixing with mortals more than necessary, didn’t hesitate to use the best technology humanity could provide?
    This time I really did cool my heels, settling into a cushioned bench, fingers tapping against thighs’ in random rhythm. Gods, they really needed to pipe in some elevator music or something.

    I began to rack my brain, trying to figure out what I could have done differently to get the Elders to recognize the urgency of the day’s events. I felt sure that the fake Fury corpse showing up, my suspension, and the attempt on my life were related—and those events were probably only the tip of a sinister gods-bedamned iceberg. The Elders should have shown some sort of emotion in response to my testimony, even if only unwillingness to connect the dots I’d painted for them.
    Inevitably, my thoughts turned back to Vanessa and that long-ago conversation that had proven to be our last. She’d been so excited as she packed for her first solo mission, but I’d done my best to burst her bubble. As usual.
    “Nessa, it’s just too soon for this. You’ve never done a stint this long, or so far away, especially not solo. And after that whole fiasco with Andre Carrington—”
    Her eyes took on a brownish tinge. Annoyance. “No fair bringing Dre into this, Riss. We haven’t heard from him in over a month, now. The restraining order—”
    Frustration had me stalking right up to her and allowing anger to color my own eyes. “Restraining orders don’t always protect women from jealous psycho exes, Nessa. I’ve learned that the hard way working with the PD.”
    She rolled her eyes. “PD, schmee-dee. You and your obsession with the mortal police.”
    My frown deepened. “The ‘mortal’ police, Ness? We were both fully mortal not even a decade past, and you sound like a crotchety Elder already. That attitude is what sparked the Time of Troubles to begin with.”
    Vanessa’s hands jerked as she tried to jam the suitcase lid down on the scraps of fabric poking out.
    “Don’t throw that mortal PR at me, Marissa. Call it what it was—the War.”
    I waved a hand in the air. “Not the point, Vanessa.”
    Another eye roll. “No, the