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down my way a time or two early on, before they knew who they were futzing with. I made ’em get a wiggle on, toute suite . But I hadn't heard hide nor hair of them in months, so I figured they'd skeedaddled when the White Lady started sniffing round. Apparently not.”
    “Exactly,” Piotr said, encouragingly. “You are the perfect emissary for me, then.”
    “Emissary?” Elle sat up. “You want me to crash a Nob Hill shindig? You've gone daffy!”
    “Elle,” soothed Lily, “if anyone can discover why the Council is sending Walkers after Piotr, it is you. You were born to affluence, you speak their language.”
    “Hell, guys,” Elle groaned, “it ain't like you can drop a c-note on the ground and get that bunch of big cheeses to sing a pretty tune! There's rules up Nob Hill way! They don't just let any mook off the street up at the Mark Hopkins, and to them I'm just some wacky kid with arrows a'plenty!”
    “All the better,” Lily interjected smoothly, “for they are wise to recognize your prowess in battle. Elle, you know as well as I that Piotr would be worse than useless in this scenario, especially if the Council truly does wish him harm. He needs you. We need you.”
    “Thank you so very much,” Piotr snapped, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his tone.
    She flapped a hand at him. “I speak only the truth, Piotr. There is no room for your false pride. It took you long enough to believe our words when your memories were lax. Believe me, as you are now you would be naught but meat for their dogs.”
    “ Da ,” he agreed, sighing heavily. “You are right. But I do not appreciate being called useless.”
    “‘Worse than useless,’” Elle quoted with a dark grin. “Get it right, Petey, or I might not get all dolled up and rub elbows with the high hats up Nob Hill way.”
    “You will do this, then?” Lily touched Elle lightly on the knee, her expression concerned but cool. “Despite the potential danger?”
    “What're a few goons to me?” Elle hopped to her feet and winked broadly. “Let's get a wiggle on. I've gotta be off my nut to wanna crash a Council brawl, but…for you two? I'd do anything.”

 
    T he sash of her window was stuck. Irritated, Wendy popped the side of the glass with the heel of her hand. It shifted with a shudder and she slid the window up without further problem.
    Sliding one leg through the window and into her bedroom, Wendy paused to muse on how ridiculous she felt. Her father was out on assignment again—he was one of the best efficiency experts in Silicon Valley, sent in as a hatchet-man to strip down companies and build them back up again—but reorganizing behemoth megacorps usually took weeks at best and chances were that he wouldn't be home for another week. There was no logical reason why she should be sneaking home through her window like a thief again.
    Since the death of her mother, her curfew had been lifted. Wendy could have stayed out until dawn and sauntered in at breakfast without earning herself so much as a raised eyebrow. Still, it just felt right to be coming in this way, no matter if it made sense or not.
    “Just go with it,” she muttered under her breath as she closed the window behind her and drew her curtains down. The twins were both still up—as usual, she could hear them arguing about something in the kitchen.
    Wendy had no more than sat on her bed and begun unlacing her right boot when thunderous steps pounded up the stairs and a fist hammered at her door.
    “Yeah?” she called, making a face at the door and stifling a groan. She was exhausted. Couldn't refereeing Chel and Jon's bickering wait until morning?
    Chel opened the door and stuck her disheveled blonde head through the crack. Wendy was amused to see that her sister had only slathered on part of a facial mask; half her face was fluorescent pink, the other splotchy with acne. “We need you.”
    “You need me,” Wendy repeated dryly, glancing at the ticking cat clock on