Chapter 35: The Basement Door
The basement door swung open on silent hinges, and Mandy stepped through the ward with the hair on her arms standing up like she'd walked through a field of static electricity.
The cold hit her first. Not the supernatural cold of the ward, but the damp, clammy chill of a space that had never been meant for human habitation. The basement stretched out before her, a low-ceilinged cavern of concrete and rust, lit only by the flickering neon-blue glow of the malfunctioning enchanted fridge in the corner. Its pulse was erratic, stuttering like a dying heart, and the air smelled of salt and ozone and something else—something metallic and sharp that clung to the back of her throat.
Rachel's residue. The astral fingerprints of whatever Inez had done to this place before they'd arrived.
Mandy's eyes swept the room.
The water heater crouched against the far wall like a squat metal troll, its ancient pipes weeping rust down the concrete. A workbench cluttered with tools and old paint cans sat to her left, and a stack of cardboard boxes labeled "XMAS" in Casey's handwriting leaned precariously to her right.
And in the center of it all, Calista was on her knees.
A man stood behind her—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the dark tactical gear of a Consortium agent. His face was hidden behind a black mask, but his eyes were visible through the slits, and they were wide and wild and absolutely terrified. One hand was tangled in Calista's silver hair, yanking her head back at an angle that made Mandy's own scalp ache in sympathy.
The other hand held a knife to her throat.
The blade was cheap. Mall-grade. The kind of thing you'd buy at a gas station for five bucks and forget about in the bottom of a drawer. But it was sharp enough to draw a thin line of blood across Calista's alabaster skin, and that was all that mattered.
"Back off!" the agent screamed. His voice cracked on the second word, and Mandy heard the fear underneath the aggression. "I swear to God, I'll cut her! I'll fucking cut her right now!"
Behind him, wired to the water heater with a nest of copper wire and blinking red lights, sat the real bomb.
It was bigger than the fake one in the tunnel. Squat and ugly and pulsing with the same crimson light she'd seen on the decoy, but this time the signature was real. Mandy could feel it in her teeth, in her bones, in the pit of her stomach—a cold, creeping despair that radiated from the device like heat from a furnace.
Forty-seven seconds.
The countdown display was visible through the tangle of wires, the red numbers ticking down with mechanical indifference.
Forty-six.
Forty-five.
Calista's eyes met hers.
They were gold and wet and absolutely certain. There was no fear in them—no panic, no desperation. Just a calm, steady trust that hit Mandy like a punch to the chest.
Her sister believed in her.
Her sister knew she would figure this out.
Mandy didn't back off.
She took a step forward instead.
"Hey," she said, her voice calm and conversational, the voice she used when a client called in a panic about a crashed hard drive. "Hey, buddy. Let's talk about this."
"I said back off!"
"I heard you. I heard you." Mandy raised her hands, palms out, the universal gesture of I'm not a threat. "I'm not coming any closer. See? I'm right here. I'm not moving."
The agent's hand shook. The knife wobbled against Calista's throat, and Mandy felt her heart lurch into her throat, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady.
"What's your name?" she asked.
The agent blinked. "What?"
"Your name. I'm Mandy. What's yours?"
"I—I'm not—" He shook his head, his grip tightening on Calista's hair. "Shut up. Stop talking."
"I can't do that." Mandy took another step forward. Small. Casual. Non-threatening. "See, I'm a fixer. It's what I do. When something's broken, I fix it. And right now, it looks like you've got yourself into a situation that's a little bit broken."
"I said shut up!"
"Is that a standard-issue knife? The GX-7 model?" Mandy tilted her head, squinting at the blade. "Those things have a hollow handle. Really bad for grip. You ever notice that? The weight distribution is all wrong. You try to stab someone with that, it's going to twist in your hand."
The agent's brow furrowed behind his mask. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The knife. I'm talking about the knife." Mandy took another step. "You ever take it apart? The handle's got a compartment inside. Usually for a survival kit—matches, fishhooks, that sort of thing. But if you don't seal it right, moisture gets in. Rusts the blade from the inside out."
"I don't—"
"And the bomb." Mandy gestured at the device behind him. "That's a Kessler model, right? The K-40? I've seen schematics. It's got a redundant detonation system—primary charge, secondary charge, and a fail-safe that triggers if the primary circuit gets interrupted. Very sophisticated. Very expensive."
The agent's hand was shaking harder now. The knife was rattling against Calista's throat like a wind chime in a hurricane.
"How do you know that?" he whispered.
"I'm an IT specialist. I read a lot of manuals." Mandy smiled. It was a friendly smile. A customer-service smile. The kind of smile that said I'm here to help you, and also I know exactly where all your weaknesses are. "You ever read the manual for that bomb? Really read it? Because I'm guessing you didn't. Most people don't. They just point and click and assume everything's going to work out."
"Shut up!"
"Did they even give you a manual? Or did they just hand you the bomb and say 'good luck'?"
"I said—"
"Because that's what Inez does, isn't it?" Mandy's voice sharpened. Just a little. Just enough. "She gives you a job and a weapon and a pat on the head, and she doesn't tell you anything. She doesn't tell you about the fail-safe. She doesn't tell you about the secondary charge. She doesn't tell you that if you trigger the bomb manually—if you push the detonation button before the timer runs out—the secondary charge goes off first. Right in your face."
The agent went very still.
"That's not—" He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing behind the mask. "That's not true."
"It's in the manual. Page forty-seven. Section six, subsection three." Mandy took another step. She was close now—close enough to see the sweat beading on the agent's forehead, close enough to smell the fear rolling off him in waves. "You want to know what happens next? After the secondary charge? The primary detonates. And you know what's left of the person standing next to it?"
"Stop."
"Nothing. Not even ash. Just a crater."
The agent's hand dropped.
The knife clattered to the floor.
And Calista moved.
She twisted in his grip like a snake—fast, fluid, absolutely precise. Her elbow caught him in the solar plexus, and he doubled over with a wheeze. Her knee came up, and his head snapped back. Her hand closed around his throat, and she slammed him against the wall with a crack that made the paint cans rattle on the workbench.
Her eyes were gold fire.
"If you move," she whispered, her voice low and sweet and absolutely terrifying, "I will burn you from the inside out. I will fill your lungs with flame. I will turn your blood to steam. Do you understand me?"
The agent nodded frantically, his eyes wide above her hand.
Calista smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
Mandy was already at the bomb.
Forty-one seconds.
She dropped to her knees, her hands flying to the nest of wires. Red, blue, green, yellow—they twisted and tangled like a nest of snakes, each one pulsing with a different frequency of magic. The countdown display ticked down with mechanical indifference.
Forty.
Thirty-nine.
"Okay," she muttered, her fingers tracing the wires. "Okay, okay, okay. Kessler K-40. Redundant detonation system. Primary charge, secondary charge, fail-safe." She closed her eyes, calling up the schematics from memory. "The fail-safe is the green wire. The green wire triggers the secondary charge. The secondary charge triggers the primary. So if I cut the green wire—"
The bomb beeped.
Thirty-five.
"—the secondary charge doesn't fire. But the primary charge is still armed. And the primary charge is connected to the blue wire. And the blue wire is connected to the timer. So if I cut the blue wire first—"
Another beep.
Thirty-two.
"—the timer stops. But the primary charge is still live. And the primary charge is connected to the red wire. And the red wire is connected to—"
"Mandy!" Calista's voice cut through her concentration. "Less talking, more cutting!"
"Right. Right." Mandy grabbed the wire cutters from her belt—she'd grabbed them from Bruce's workbench on the way down, thank God for paranoid Scottish engineers—and positioned them around the blue wire.
Twenty-nine.
"Okay. Blue wire first. That stops the timer. Then green wire. That disarms the secondary charge. Then red wire. That disarms the primary charge. Then yellow wire. That's just for show."
Twenty-seven.
"Blue wire. Blue wire. Blue wire."
She squeezed.
The timer stopped.
Twenty-six.
The display flickered. The red numbers froze. The pulsing crimson light dimmed to a dull, sullen glow.
Mandy didn't pause. She moved to the green wire, her hands steady despite the adrenaline flooding her system.
Green wire. Snip.
The secondary charge's indicator light went dark.
Red wire. Snip.
The primary charge's indicator light went dark.
Yellow wire. Snip.
The bomb was dead.
Mandy sat back on her heels, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was pounding. Her entire body felt like it had been wrung out and hung up to dry.
She looked at the countdown display.
Twenty-six seconds.
She'd cut it that close.
"Holy shit," she whispered.
"Holy shit," Calista agreed.
The agent was still pinned to the wall, his eyes wide and terrified above Calista's hand. He was making small, choked sounds—trying to speak, maybe, or trying to breathe. It was hard to tell.
Calista looked at Mandy.
Mandy looked at Calista.
And then they both started laughing.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It wasn't a relieved laugh. It was the laugh of two people who had just stared death in the face and told it to go fuck itself. It was the laugh of two sisters who had been through hell together and come out the other side, bruised and battered and absolutely, gloriously alive.
"Your face," Calista gasped, her hand still clamped around the agent's throat. "Your fucking face when you started talking about knife handles."
"I was improvising!"
"You were stalling!"
"Same thing!"
The agent made a strangled sound.
Calista looked at him.
"Oh, right," she said. "You."
She released his throat. He slid down the wall, gasping, his hands flying to his neck. Calista stepped back, her eyes still burning with that golden fire, her expression cold and unreadable.
"Don't move," she said. "Don't speak. Don't even breathe too hard. If you so much as twitch, I'll finish what I started."
The agent nodded frantically.
Mandy pushed herself to her feet. Her legs were wobbly. Her hands were still shaking. But she was alive. Calista was alive. The bomb was dead.
They'd done it.
And then Calista was in her arms.
The hug was fierce and desperate and absolutely crushing. Calista's face was buried in Mandy's shoulder, her silver hair spilling over Mandy's back like a waterfall of moonlight. Her body was shaking—not with fear, but with the aftermath of adrenaline, the crash after the rush.
"You scared the shit out of me," Calista whispered.
"You scared the shit out of me," Mandy whispered back.
"I thought I was going to die."
"I thought we both were."
They held each other for a long moment. The basement was silent except for the agent's ragged breathing and the distant hum of the malfunctioning fridge. The bomb sat dead and dark behind them, its countdown display frozen at twenty-six seconds.
And then Calista pulled back.
Her eyes were still gold, but the fire had dimmed. Her face was streaked with tears she hadn't realized she'd been crying. Her lips were trembling.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you too," Mandy said.
"I love you too," Mandy said, and she meant it with every fiber of her being, every scrap of adrenaline and terror and relief that was still coursing through her veins.
They pulled apart, and Mandy's knees nearly buckled. The adrenaline was draining out of her now, leaving behind a hollow, shaky exhaustion that made her hands tremble and her vision swim. She grabbed the workbench for support, her fingers curling around the edge of the metal surface.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay. We're alive. The bomb's dead. Now we need to—"
The basement door burst open.
Diego came through it like a man shot from a cannon, his dark eyes wild, his face pale beneath his tan. He was holding a fire extinguisher in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other, and he looked absolutely ready to use both.
"Where is he?" he demanded. "Where's the—"
He stopped.
He stared at the agent pinned against the wall. At Calista standing over him with her golden eyes still burning. At Mandy slumped against the workbench with wire cutters still clutched in her shaking hand. At the dead bomb sitting silent and dark behind them.
"Oh," he said. "You already—"
"Yeah," Mandy said. "We already."
Diego lowered the fire extinguisher. He lowered the knife. He stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his expression cycling through relief and frustration and something that looked almost like disappointment.
"I wanted to help," he said.
"You can help by tying him up." Mandy gestured vaguely at the agent. "There's zip ties in the drawer. Bruce keeps them there for—actually, I don't want to know why Bruce keeps zip ties in the basement."
Diego moved to the workbench, his eyes still fixed on the agent. He pulled open the drawer, rummaged through it, and came up with a handful of bright orange zip ties.
"These are the ones Bruce uses for cable management," he said.
"Same thing."
Diego approached the agent slowly, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. The man was still slumped against the wall, his hands at his throat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His mask had slipped down during the struggle, revealing a face that was younger than Mandy had expected—mid-twenties, maybe, with dark hair and brown eyes and a jaw that was still soft with youth.
Diego stopped.
His face went very still.
"Tomas?" he said.
The agent looked up.
His eyes went wide.
"Diego?" His voice cracked. "Diego, I—I didn't know you were—they said you were dead. They said the Williamsons killed you."
"The Williamsons saved my life." Diego's voice was flat and cold. "They patched me up after your people shot me in the back. They gave me a place to sleep. They fed me. And now I find out you're the one who was going to blow them all to hell?"
Tomas shook his head frantically. "I didn't want to. I swear to God, Diego, I didn't want to. Inez said—she said it was the only way. She said if we didn't stop them, they were going to use their magic to control everyone. She said—"
"She lied."
"I know that now." Tomas's voice broke. "I know that now, okay? But I didn't know then. I believed her. I believed everything she said."
Diego stared at him for a long moment. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides. Mandy could see the war playing out behind his eyes—the loyalty to his old cell, the betrayal of what they'd become, the exhaustion of a man who had been fighting the wrong fight for too long.
"I cried," Tomas whispered. "After every interrogation. Every time we had to hurt someone, I went back to my bunk and I cried. I couldn't—I couldn't stop. I knew it was wrong. I knew we were wrong. But I didn't know how to get out."
Diego's expression flickered.
"I know," he said quietly. "I know you did."
Mandy pushed herself off the workbench. Her legs were steadier now, her hands less shaky. She crossed the basement floor and stopped in front of Tomas, looking down at him with an expression that was neither pity nor contempt.
"You want to know how to get out?" she asked.
Tomas looked up at her. His eyes were wet. His face was streaked with tears. He looked like a child who had just realized the monster under his bed was real.
"How?" he whispered.
"You confess." Mandy's voice was firm. "Everything. Every operation, every order, every crime. You tell the FBI and the Wands and anyone else who will listen exactly what Inez Murphy told you to do and exactly why you did it. You become a witness for the state."
Tomas's breath caught. "I—I can't. She'll kill me."
"She's going to be in prison for the rest of her life." Mandy crossed her arms. "You think she's going to be able to reach you from a maximum-security cell? You think she's going to have the resources to order a hit when every asset she has is frozen and every agent she's ever trained is sitting in an interrogation room?"
"She has people everywhere."
"She had people everywhere. Now she has people in handcuffs." Mandy tilted her head. "Here's the thing, Tomas. You can cooperate. You can tell the truth. You can help us put her away, and maybe—maybe—the DA will cut you a deal. Maybe you'll get ten years instead of fifty. Maybe you'll get witness protection. Maybe you'll get a chance to start over somewhere far away from all of this."
She paused.
"Or you can stay loyal. You can keep your mouth shut. You can go to prison for as long as Inez does—and trust me, that's going to be a very long time—and you can spend the rest of your life knowing that you could have made a different choice."
Tomas stared at her.
His hands were shaking. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. For a moment, Mandy thought he was going to break down completely—going to dissolve into tears and apologies and the kind of incoherent babbling that would make him useless as a witness.
But then something shifted.
Something hardened in his eyes.
"I'll do it," he said. His voice was hoarse but steady. "I'll tell them everything. I'll testify. I'll—I'll do whatever you need me to do."
Mandy nodded.
"Good," she said. "That's good."
She looked at Diego.
"Can you get him upstairs? There's a phone in the living room. Call the police and tell them we've got a bomb and a suspect and we need a bomb squad to secure the device."
Diego nodded. He grabbed Tomas by the arm and pulled him to his feet, his grip firm but not cruel. Tomas stumbled, his legs still shaky, his face still streaked with tears.
"Come on," Diego said. "Let's get this over with."
They started up the stairs.
Mandy watched them go.
And then she turned to Calista.
"You okay?" she asked.
Calista was still standing by the wall, her arms wrapped around herself, her golden eyes fixed on the spot where Tomas had been. She looked small. She looked fragile. She looked like a girl who had just been reminded, in the most visceral way possible, that the world was full of people who wanted to hurt her.
"I don't know," she said.
Mandy crossed the room. She pulled Calista into another hug—gentler this time, softer, the kind of hug that said I've got you, I'm here, you're safe.
"It's okay," she murmured. "You're okay. We're okay."
"He was going to kill me." Calista's voice was very small. "He had a knife at my throat, and he was going to kill me, and I couldn't—I couldn't do anything. I just sat there. I just let him—"
"You didn't let him do anything. You were waiting. You were waiting for the right moment, and when it came, you took it." Mandy pulled back, her hands on Calista's shoulders. "You saved yourself. You saved me. You saved everyone in this house."
Calista's eyes were wet.
"I didn't feel brave," she whispered.
"You don't have to feel brave to be brave." Mandy smiled. It was a tired smile, a shaky smile, but it was real. "Trust me. I've been terrified for the last hour, and I still cut the right wires. That's what bravery is. It's being scared out of your mind and doing what needs to be done anyway."
Calista was quiet for a moment.
Then she laughed.
It was a small laugh, a broken laugh, but it was real.
"When did you get so wise?" she asked.
"I've always been wise. You just never noticed because you were too busy being tall and beautiful." Mandy released her shoulders and stepped back. "Now come on. Let's go upstairs before Diego tries to make coffee and burns the house down."
---
Half an hour later, the house was full.
Felicity had come down first, her blue eyes still wide with fear, her pale face streaked with tears. She had thrown herself at Mandy the moment she stepped through the basement door, her arms wrapped so tight around Mandy's neck that she could barely breathe.
"Don't ever scare me like that again," Felicity had whispered.
"Promise," Mandy had whispered back.
Bruce had come second, his expression grim, his steampunk wrench still clutched in one hand. He had taken one look at Tomas, sitting on the kitchen floor with his wrists zip-tied behind his back, and had nodded once.
"Good," he had said. "The police are on their way. The Wands, too. I called Agent Hernandez—she's on her way from the municipal building with the rest of the team."
"How did you—" Mandy had started.
"The alarm system. I patched it into my phone before I went down to the basement." Bruce had shrugged. "Just in case."
And then Portia had appeared.
She had stepped out of time in the middle of the living room, her short hair still windswept from whatever temporal vortex she had traveled through, her dark eyes sharp and assessing. She had looked at Mandy, at Calista, at the dead bomb sitting on the coffee table, and had nodded once.
"Good," she had said. "You're alive."
"You knew we would be?" Mandy had asked.
"No. But I hoped." Portia had crossed her arms. "Now what?"
Mandy had told her.
And Portia had listened.
---
The municipal building was chaos.
Kim could feel it in her bones—the pulse of magic in the air, the crackle of spellfire, the heavy thrum of despair that radiated from the failed bomb in the tunnel below. She had been fighting for what felt like hours, her sword flashing in the dim light, her muscles burning with the effort of keeping Maryam alive.
Maryam was beside her still, her Louisville Slugger spattered with something that was probably blood and definitely not hers. Her backwards baseball cap had fallen off somewhere in the chaos, and her short dark hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat.
"You good?" Kim asked.
"Peachy," Maryam gasped. "Absolutely fucking peachy."
Stacy was across the chamber, her 9mm barking in the confined space, her expression cold and focused. She had run out of bullets three minutes ago and had switched to a backup revolver that she had pulled from somewhere Kim didn't want to think about. The bodies of Consortium agents lay scattered around her like broken dolls, none of them dead—Stacy was too good for that—but all of them very, very unconscious.
And then the cavalry arrived.
The first thing Kim saw was Rainbor's axe.
It came through the service door like a thunderbolt, cleaving the metal clean in half, and then Rainbor himself stepped through the gap, his massive green shoulders filling the doorway, his face split in a grin that would have been terrifying if it wasn't so genuinely friendly.
"Sorry I'm late," he rumbled. "Traffic was a bitch."
Behind him came Jan.
She was limping—the gunshot wound to her leg was still healing, and she leaned heavily on a silver cane that Kim recognized as one of Yukio's spares—but she was smiling, her green eyes bright with mischief, her braid whipping in the wind of her own magical aura.
"Fat Aunt Jan to the rescue," she announced. "Godfrey, stay close."
The Maltese at her heels yapped once in acknowledgment, his service animal vest looking absurdly official on his tiny body.
Behind Jan came Vivian, her red hair a flame in the darkness, her shadows swirling around her like living armor. Dale was beside her, his shaved head gleaming, a shotgun in his hands that he aimed with the calm precision of a man who had done this a hundred times before.
Cameron was there too, his blue eyes intense, his fists crackling with the blunt-force disruption field that Jan called "Ranger's little trick." Mai was behind him, her dark eyes bright with excitement, a trident in her hands that looked like it had been borrowed from a very aggressive fish.
"Hi!" Mai called out, waving at Kim. "Did we miss the party?"
Kim laughed.
It was a relieved laugh, a relieved laugh, the kind of laugh that came when the odds suddenly shifted in your favor.
"Just in time," she said.
The Consortium agents were falling back now, their formation broken, their confidence shattered. Rainbor's axe swept through the air in wide arcs, not killing but disabling, sending men and women sprawling to the ground with broken weapons and shattered nerves. Vivian's shadows wrapped around the ones who tried to run, holding them in place until Dale could zip-tie their wrists.
And then Inez screamed.
It was a scream of pure fury—a scream of rage and frustration and disbelief. It echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the walls, making the water ripple in the flooded tunnel below.
"My bomb!" she shrieked. "My bomb! What did you do to my bomb?!"
Kim felt it then.
The residual joy magic still pulsing in her chest, the power she had been holding onto since the orgy, the power she had been saving for this exact moment. It was warm and golden and alive, and it knew exactly what to do.
She looked at Jan.
Jan looked back.
"Do it," Jan said. "You don't need it anymore."
Kim smiled.
And the magic exploded outward.
---
Fifteen minutes later, on the surface, the strangest parade in Miami's history poured out of the open manhole.
Rainbor came first, pulling Jan up behind him. The evening air was cool and salty, and the streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement. A rental car had pulled up near where Katie had parked her van, and Brigid was already stepping out, her red hair bright in the darkness, her expression determined.
Behind her came Rachel and Cody.
Rachel was a redhead like her brother, though her hair was longer and her eyes were softer. She looked nervous—her hands were clasped in front of her, her lips were pressed into a thin line—but she was there. She was standing. She was ready.
Cody was beside her, his dark hair a mess, his expression grim. He had the look of a man who had spent years trying to please a mother who could never be pleased, and who had finally decided to stop trying.
Amanda and Jenny were behind them, their matching expressions of support making them look almost like twins despite their different coloring. Amanda's blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and Jenny's red curls were wild around her face. They were holding hands, and their grip looked fierce.
And then the rest of the group came pouring out.
Mike first, his shaggy grey hair wild, his expression somewhere between exhausted and amused. Casey was right behind him, her dark hair streaked with silver, her smile sharp and satisfied. Amy and Jason were next, their hands linked, their expressions dazed but happy. Yukio limped out with her cane, her tattoos visible through the tears in her shirt, her expression fierce and proud. Mai bounced out after her, her trident still in her hand, her energy undimmed despite the hours of fighting.
Then Beth, her short blonde hair a mess, her camera still slung around her neck. Katrina, her long black hair tangled, her storm-grey eyes bright with relief. Stacy, her silver-streaked hair pulled back, her expression cool and professional. Rick, his dark hair a mess, his arm around Stacy's waist. Kim and Maryam, their weapons still in hand, their chests heaving with exertion.
Ben and Jess came last, their hands intertwined, their faces flushed with the aftermath of battle.
Then came the Consortium agents.
They came out in a line, their hands zip-tied behind their backs, their expressions ranging from sullen to terrified to something that looked almost like relief. They were met by a collection of Golden Wand agents in their charcoal suits, by FBI agents in their windbreakers, by Miami PD officers in their blue uniforms.
And then Inez came out.
She walked slowly, her steps unsteady, her expression dreamy and distant. Her hair—that severe bun she always wore—was gone. It hung loose around her shoulders, dark and tangled and wild. Her suit was gone too. Her blouse was gone. Her bra was gone.
She was completely naked.
Her skin was pale in the streetlights, her body thin and angular, her breasts small and sagging. She didn't seem to notice the stares, the gasps, the camera phones that were suddenly raised in her direction. She just smiled—a dopey, contented smile—and waved at Cody and Rachel.
"Hi, babies!" she called out. "Mommy's going to jail!"
Cody stared at her.
Rachel stared at her.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Then Rachel stepped forward.
"Mom," she said, her voice shaky but steady. "Cody and I are going to live with Grandpa Elias from now on."
Inez nodded.
"That's probably for the best," she said cheerfully. "Elias is a good man. He'll take care of you."
She turned to the nearest FBI agent—a tall man with a buzz cut and a confused expression—and announced, "I'm Inez Murphy. I'd like to be arrested now, please."
The agent blinked.
"Ma'am," he said, "you're already—"
"I'd like to be arrested now," Inez repeated. "I've been very bad. I've done very bad things. I'd like to confess to all of them."
She smiled again.
"All of them," she repeated. "Every single one."
Jan watched from the sidelines, her arm around Stacy's shoulders, Godfrey sitting at her feet like a tiny, fluffy sentinel. Her green eyes were bright with satisfaction.
"She's going to go away for a long time," Jan said. "Mara's ten-million-dollar lawsuit, the revenge porn charges, the kidnapping of Mike and Casey and Jason and Amy—hell, that was the second time for Casey—and all the terrorism charges. Not to mention whatever laws the very existence of a despair bomb violates."
Stacy nodded.
"And we won't have to worry about her again," Jan added.
Stacy raised an eyebrow.
"Somehow I doubt that," she said. "When does the Green Moon magic wear off?"
"At that dosage? About two weeks." Jan grinned. "And not before she's made a series of full confessions."
"Will those confessions stand up in court?"
"Mara could answer that. But in the meantime, there's plenty of other evidence that can send Inez to prison." Jan patted Stacy's shoulder. "Not a bad day's work, saving the city."
Stacy nodded.
"Not bad at all," she agreed.
---
It was nearly midnight when the beach house filled with people.
Mike came through the front door first, his expression shifting from exhaustion to surprise to something that looked almost like amusement. Casey was right behind him, her eyebrows rising as she took in the scene before her.
Mandy was on the couch.
Calista was beside her.
Felicity was curled up on the armchair, her blonde hair spread out around her like a halo. Diego was on the floor, his back against the coffee table, his expression dazed and happy. Bruce was in the corner, his steampunk wrench abandoned on the floor, his head thrown back in pleasure.
They were all naked.
They were all fucking.
Mandy looked up as the door opened, her face flushed, her breath coming in short gasps. She was straddling Calista's hips, her hands braced on the half-elf's shoulders, her hips rolling in a steady rhythm. Calista's hands were on her waist, her golden eyes half-closed, her lips parted in a moan.
"Hey," Mandy said, her voice casual despite the fact that she was very clearly in the middle of something. "You're back."
Casey blinked.
"Bug," she said, "what—"
"Adrenaline," Mandy said. "We needed to burn it off."
Felicity moaned from the armchair, her head tilting back, her fingers tangled in her own hair. Diego was between her thighs, his mouth doing something that made her gasp and shudder and call out words that weren't quite English.
Bruce was on the floor, his back against the wall, his eyes closed in bliss. Portia was kneeling between his legs, her short brown hair falling forward, her mouth wrapped around his cock. She was bobbing her head in a steady rhythm, her hand wrapped around the base, her tongue swirling around the tip.
Mike stared.
Casey stared.
"That's—" Mike started.
"Portia," Casey said. "That's Portia."
"Yes," Mike said. "Yes, it is."
Portia pulled back with a wet pop, her lips shiny, her expression smug.
"Problem?" she asked.
Mike opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"No," he said finally. "No problem."
Mandy looked at the group still standing in the doorway—Mike, Casey, Katrina, Beth, Rick, Stacy, Ben, Jess, and Mai—and raised an eyebrow.
"Are you going to all just stand there?" she asked. "Or are you going to join in?"
Mai started stripping.
Of course she did.
Her shirt hit the floor. Her bra followed. Her shorts and underwear were gone in a blur of motion, and then she was naked, her dark skin gleaming in the dim light, her eyes bright with anticipation.
"Finally," she said. "I've been waiting all night for this."
Ben laughed.
Jess shook her head.
Katrina looked at Mike and Casey, her storm-grey eyes questioning.
And Casey shrugged.
"Fuck it," she said. "We just saved the city. We deserve a reward."