Rook

but did not move. “What do you want?”
    “You know what I want!” he screamed. Yellowy foam sprayed from his lips onto her cheeks, and she flinched. Aghast, she scrubbed at her face.
    “What the hell—look, I have no idea what the fuck you want, but you better talk now or I’m getting out of this car.”
    “I want my
deelhebber!
I want Ernst von Suchtlen!” he snarled.
    Genuinely bewildered, Myfanwy blinked. “What?” she asked.
    “
What
what?” he spat.
    “What are you talking about?”
    “What?”
he yelled.
    “I don’t understand,” she said, trying to calm him down. “What is it that you want?”
    “I want you to produce Graaf Ernst von Suchtlen!”
    “Who?”
    “The other leader of the Wetenschappelijk Broederschap van Natuurkundigen,” he said through teeth that would have been clenched if they’d lined up.
    “I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “But we don’t have this person.”
    “Don’t patronize me,” he said, sneering. “He vanished from our
fabriek
months ago, leaving instructions for the continuance of our strategy here and for the concealment of his absence. From
me.
” He clenched his fingers on the rim of the tank. “Both worked so well that I was not aware of his disappearance until a few weeks ago.”
    “He’s been gone for months, and you didn’t realize?” asked Myfanwy.
    “Time passes differently for us than for you,” he said with contempt. “Once I discovered he was missing, I tracked him. We founda record of a piece of mail sent to Myfanwy Thomas, who is a Rook of the Checquy. Our mortal enemies. It is the only thing that indicates where he has gone. I sent my personal agent to find him, and you promptly took him and tortured him! Now”—and here he took a deep, controlling breath—“where is Ernst?”
    “I’m sorry, but I have no idea,” said Myfanwy.
Hell,
she thought.
Thomas didn’t even know the Grafters were active. If some Grafter guy had turned up on her doorstep, that would have been the first thing mentioned in her first letter.
    “If you fuck with me, I will start killing right now!” he yelled. “Do you want murder in your streets?” He was thrashing in his tank, sending waves of the goop sloshing everywhere. In horror, Myfanwy watched as her jeans from the knee down became soaked.
Is he having a seizure?
she wondered. The windows were splattered, and when he swept his arms in her direction, gobbets were flung onto her face and her top.
    “Listen to me, you flayed fuck,”
she shouted in his face. “I have no idea what you are talking about, but you need to calm down.”
    “If you do not produce him in three days, I will release a wave of horror upon your people that will blight your country!” he screamed. The tank tore under his fingers, and the remaining fluid began to pour out onto the floor. “I will drown this city in bile and blood!” In his flailing, he was actually doing himself damage. She saw minute tears open up on parts of him, and trickles of red. “Now out, Rook! You have only the time I give you!” He was still raving as Myfanwy opened the door and a wave of his fluids poured out onto the sidewalk. She stumbled getting out, dropping her purse and spilling its contents into the goop.
Great, just great,
she thought as her cell phone emitted a piercing squeal and died in the slime. The bald man was standing by the door, looking anxious. When he heard the shouting from within the car, he paled.
    “Get him out of here,” said Myfanwy shortly.
    “Did you do what he wanted?” said the man frantically, as he got into the front seat.
    “Does it sound like it?” she asked. He cringed, shut the door, and the limousine peeled away, leaving her covered in a pungent slime, standing across the street from the club and a crowd of gawkers.
    I can’t believe this is the second time I’ve walked into this hotel looking like an abused wife,
Myfanwy mused as she walked up to the doormen. To her surprise and irritation, this time they did not leap to open the door for her.
    “Excuse me?” she said, blushing angrily.
    “Sorry, dear, but we don’t allow the homeless in here,” said one. He was apologetic about it, but also quite firm.
    “Homeless?” she squawked. “I am not homeless! I…” She frantically sought an explanation for her appearance. “I’m a rock musician.”
    They looked at her dubiously.
    “I have credit cards,” she said.
    They carried on looking at her.
    “I tip generously?” she