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Rose smiles nervously at me.

“Please don’t.”

One more push. The sphinx falls and explodes. It’s a terrible sight. It really was lovely.

Rose puts his good hand to his mouth. I think he’s on the verge of tears. His legs are shaking. He leans his back against the wall.

“What time is it?” he says. “You took my watch.”

“I don’t have one either.”

He leans his head against the wall. Stares at the ceiling, thinking.

“Well, I came in around nine and you’ve been manhandling me for, what, half an hour?”

“Something like that.”

“In that case, I will give you a name,” he says.

“What is it?”

“Bruno Morrell. Do you know him?”

“Should I?”

He lowers his head and looks at me. If he was tearing up before, he’s calm now.

“If you work for the false Wormwood you must know Eva Sandoval.”

“Know her and hate her. Why?”

“Because by now, there’s nothing you can do to keep Bruno from killing the bitch.”

There’s a ball-peen hammer that I missed down at his end of the table. Before I know what he’s doing, he uses it to smash the manticore’s human head. The creature jerks once, and the scorpion tail snaps out—burying itself in Rose’s heart. He’s dead before he hits the floor.

There isn’t a single decent shadow on this side of the room. I sprint past the birds and cats and dive into a good one near the stairs.

I COME OUT in Sandoval’s office, but it’s empty. I run out into the shot-up foyer, but it’s empty too. Voices drift from a room on my right. I pull the Glock and hold it by my side. Listen for another second, then head in.

All of them are there—Sandoval and Sinclair, Howard, and the roaches. They’re drinking coffee and eating croissants in a kitchen as large as the whole main floor of Max Overdrive. Everyone looks up when I burst in. Everyone is chatting, except for Sandoval, who’s looking at papers spread out over a comically large cutting board. Sinclair is on one side of her and on the other side is a younger man. He’s clean-cut and drably handsome, like a TV game show host. He must be one of the roaches, but I’m not sure. Aside from Sandra, I never paid enough attention to them to tell them apart. I stand there by the door looking stupid.

Sandoval looks up at me.

“Why can’t you ever enter a room like a normal person? Did you do what I asked?”

I ignore her. Grab a croissant from the table and throw it at the crowd on the other side.

“Catch, Bruno.”

People are creatures of habit, slaves to their impulses and reflexes. Tell someone it’s raining on a sunny day and ninety-nine times out of a hundred they’ll look at the sky. Tell someone wearing loafers that their shoe’s untied and they still can’t help but look down. No one likes getting hit in the face. Toss something at someone and they’ll try to get out of the way or grab it. Always.

Bruno tries to grab the croissant. He’s the game show host, and too far away for me to grab. I snap the Glock up and fire, but he’s already figured out his mistake and dived behind Sandoval. He gets a choke hold on her and drags her back, grabbing a butcher knife from the counter. He tries to stab her in the side, but Sandoval puts her arm out and the blade goes all the way through. She screams and spins away, exposing just enough of Bruno’s side that I get two good shots off. Both into his stomach. I don’t want him dead yet. I want him alive, awake, and in pain. Panicked and bleeding out, he’s going to tell me what Atticus Rose wouldn’t.

When I get around the table, he’s on the floor oozing blood. Sandoval is next to him. I’m waiting for someone to help her or for her to faint and get out of my way, but she’s no different than Bruno. Sandoval is as much a creature of reflex as him and when a good part of your professional life has been about control, murder, and revenge, you act accordingly. Screaming like an air-raid siren, she yanks the butcher knife from her arm and slams it down into Bruno’s chest.

I yell, “No!” but she doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care. She puts her weight on the blade, driving it in farther. I grab Bruno and shove her away. Howard is on her immediately, wrapping a hand towel around her arm to stanch the bleeding.

I drag Bruno to safety, but it’s already too late. With the bullets in his stomach, a knife was just too much for his system to handle. He’s dead.