"Alright, so tell me, already," I grumbled, as Ro finally came back from the showers, drying his long hair with a towel. I tried not to notice how good he looked in nothing but a pair of underwear, and focused on my lingering cupcake resentment, just to be safe. "Where have you been?"

He sauntered to the window, shutting and locking it, before turning to me with a questioning quirk of his brows.

"You've had this open the whole time I've been gone?" he asked.

"Well... yes. So you could get back in," I said, though I had a feeling he wouldn't thank me for my thoughtfulness.

He tossed the towel over the back of a chair.

"You really have no instinct for self-preservation, do you?" he mused, dressing himself in a loose cotton bathrobe. I bit my lip as he cinched the cloth belt about his slender waist. "I'm perfectly capable of letting myself back in—lock or no lock. It's everything else you should be worried about."

"You said it was safe here," I argued, dragging my mind from the gutter and up to his face.

"Relatively safe, yes. That doesn't mean you can let your guard down." He rolled his eyes. "Come on—I don't like to repeat myself, and Janelle should hear this, too."

He led the way downstairs, and I followed, having nothing better to do, anyway.

Ensconced in Janelle's comfy chair once more, Ro waited until Kyrie joined us from the kitchen before he began. Then, rather than explain his whereabouts, he told Janelle how I'd spontaneously summoned fire.

"You did?" Janelle looked at me, penciled brows raised.

"It was just a few sparks," I said.

"Green, like your magic, though?"

I nodded.

"How'd it happen?"

I glanced at Ro. "I was... a little upset."

She studied me thoughtfully. "Hmm. Not unusual for strong emotions to bring it out, but that's your second element in barely two days."

"Is that... bad?"

"Not bad, no. Just... uncommon. Usually, a witch has a single, primary affinity. In time, they might discover a secondary, and with dedication, may master more than one. But to have two manifest naturally in such a short time is rare. Especially since it took quite a lot to draw out the first. What were you feeling when it happened? Were you angry?"

"No. Just a little... alarmed." I glanced at Ro apologetically, but his face was unreadable.

Janelle nodded. "So, it was fear, both times. Makes sense, I guess. Fear is a powerful emotion, and not one we experience every day—if we're lucky."

"My father terrorized me, though," I argued. "If he could have scared the magic out of me, he would have."

"He was an impatient man," Ro said, regarding me thoughtfully. "Some things take time to ripen."

Janelle gave him a look. "Speaking of patience; I only got so much. So, what's the scoop?"

Ro shifted in his seat, and I hid a smile. He didn't like to be rushed.

Then I frowned, wondering how I knew that. And yet I did know, with absolute certainty, that Ro liked to do things in his own time.

"I went to visit some old... acquaintances," he began. "I wanted to find out if any of them had seen something like that spectre."

"Spectre?" I asked.

"The 'hyena thing' you saw," Ro clarified.

"Oh." I'd forgotten he'd called it that before.

"They hadn't," he went on, "but from the sounds of it, only a witch deep into the darkest of the dark shit could summon and control something like that, much less keep their activities hidden."

"What is it, though?"

"Not all demons are daemons," Ro said, cryptically.

I squinted at him.

"'Demon' is an umbrella term for all sorts of beings," Kyrie said, taking pity on me. "Like how 'animal' includes everything from humans to worms. Daemon familiars are just one 'order' or 'class,' and within that group there are many... species, if you will. This 'spectre' is from another order entirely. Think of the difference between a house cat and a crocodile. Both are animals, but one will curl up in your lap, while the other will eat you if it gets the chance."

"The way it appeared to you—there, but not there—is what makes it a spectre," Janelle added. "As for what specific kind of demon it might be—who knows? Something big, and powerful, and unpleasant, though, from what you described."

"The point is," Ro said, "it's not the sort of thing you can summon from afar and order about at will. Whoever summoned it must have performed a complex and dangerous ritual, and done so from within the city limits, at most. That's the other thing I was doing—verifying the locations of the remaining Thrones. Your father died after a banquet following a council session. Everyone was there; anyone could have cursed him. But this time, we can eliminate suspects."

"Can we?" I asked. "You said it was a 'hit.' What if whoever wants me dead just hired someone else to do it? How are you so sure it's one of the Thrones, anyway? It doesn't exactly sound like my dad had a lot of fans."

"All good questions," Janelle said, looking at Ro. "I can answer the first one: no witch does another's dirty work. Magic has a price. You do bad shit, you better be ready to deal with the shit that comes for you. Nobody risks that for profit—it's not worth it. Now, if your father had been shot or stabbed to death, or your apartment blown up with C4, that'd be another story. But whoever killed your dad and came after you did so with magic. That means they did it themself."

"And as for it being a Throne," Ro put in, "as Janelle pointed out before, it makes sense that Oscar suspected one of them. Once he knew he was cursed, he didn't have much breath to waste before he literally puked up his guts. He spent it ordering me to find out who cursed him, and to protect you in the meantime. I should have seen that earlier."

Kyrie adjusted her robes and folded her hands in her lap. "The other Thrones also have the most to gain from your father's death. With the Ivy vacant and no heir appointed, one of them will be promoted at the next meeting of the council, at the Autumn equinox. The new Ivy will have the power to take the Thrones in any direction they choose. For all his flaws, your father was an even-handed leader, and held moderate views, overall. There are many whose rule would be more oppressive."

I digested this, and turned back to Ro. "So, what did you find out?"

Ro pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it flat on the table. On it, I saw a list of the Thirteen Thrones, some of which had X's, and some checkmarks, next to them:

Asha Vale - Evening X
Lucian Drake - Morning ✓
Darin Ray - Day X
Jade Wu - Night ✓
Lily Schneider - East X
Banyan Clarke - South ✓
Hilda Solano - West ✓
Quang Van Le - North X
Josef Mendoza - Fire X
Esther Ngeny - Water ✓
Ana Torres - Earth X
Jacob Mills - Air ✓

"I was able to eliminate half the suspects by proving they were well out of range for a magical attack," Ro said. "As for the rest... now it gets tricky."

"In what way?"

Ro combed his fingers through his hair. "The Thrones all know what I look like—in both forms. If I go poking around, asking questions, I'll tip them off for sure. I'll have to find another way to get close."

I frowned at him. "What about me?"

"What about you?" he asked slowly, raising his brows.

"Let me help. I can—"

He shook his head. "No way. I'm not letting you figure out who wants to kill you by having you go talk to all the people who might want to kill you. That's what sane people call a 'bad plan.'"

My frown deepened. "But they don't know what I look like. Maybe they figured out where I live, but I'm, like, the only person in the world with no pictures of them on the internet. If I use a different name—"

"I said, 'no.'"

The snap in Ro's voice shut me up, and I stared at him a moment in surprise. Then cold anger washed through me, and my tongue took on a life of its own.

"I think you're forgetting which one of us has to do what the other says, Ro."

The surprise on his face was obvious, but not at all satisfying, and I knew I should stop talking, but I kept on anyway.

"I order you to let me help."

His eyes narrowed and his lips paled as he pressed them together. Kyrie and Janelle looked on with interest, and as the seconds ticked by, I wondered if Ro would refuse. He was stronger than I was, by every measure, and could no doubt defy me if he chose.

Instead, he let out his breath, crossed his arms, and looked away. "Fine. It's your funeral. Don't expect me to cry at it."

Effectively stung, I blinked. "I don't. I just... want to help."

He glanced at me, an angry glint in his eye, and I flinched and bit my tongue to stop myself from saying 'sorry.'

My dad always hated when I apologized.

After a letting the tension settle a moment, Janelle spoke.

"Ellie's right on this one, Ro. I don't like it myself, but he's—I mean, they're —the perfect person for the job, really. And it's not like Ellie has to march in and announce themself. Do what you do best, and snoop around. Look for new job openings, or social functions, that will put Ellie in close contact with the Thrones. Be discreet."

My blood ran cold at 'social functions,' but I schooled my expression towards eagerness as best I could.

Ro huffed. "Fine. But it won't be a quick process. And in the meantime, Ellie stays here."

"Agreed." Janelle nodded.

I was tempted to point out that Ellie was here, right in front of them, and ought to have a say in the matter, but I gave up.

Ro wouldn't look at me, anyway, and while I may have won the argument, I feared I'd lost something else—something I didn't have a name for yet, but which I sensed was more important, somehow.