Rook

dress.
    “Was she there the whole time?” asked Sir Henry. “Is she also a Grafter?” Clearly, he hadn’t read the report.
    “That’s the whore,” said Lady Farrier icily, and everyone flinched.
    “Well,” said the woman on the video. “If you ever need anything else, you have my number.”
    “One thing,” said Van Syoc, and the woman looked surprised. He reached out a hand toward her.
    Ooh, don’t take his hand,
thought Myfanwy, cringing. But the woman did, with a little smile. Van Syoc was wearing the same little smile, which tightened as he pulled her to him smoothly. Myfanwy watched, transfixed, as the woman twirled into his arms like a dancer. For a moment, they looked like golden-age Hollywood stars, his hand cupping her chin and her eyes turned up to his, and then he tensed and tore her face off.
    Myfanwy’s hands had been knotting themselves uneasily in her lap, but they were suddenly pressed against her mouth in horror, clutching back a scream. She was breathing rapidly, and it felt as if her heart were about to punch itself out of her chest.
    Oh, my holy
fuck,
what kind of job have I gotten myself into?
As Van Syoc casually broke the woman’s neck, Myfanwy looked at those around her and was slightly relieved to see that all of them were aghast. Even Alrich, who had struck her as a pretty cool customer, had his eyes wide open with surprise.
    On-screen, Van Syoc was pursing his lips as if for a kiss when there was a thundering knock at the door, which made everyone watching jump. Van Syoc also jumped and dropped the body and the face on the floor; the squelching thud made the audience wince.
    “Just a moment,” Van Syoc said, staring at the door while he stealthily reached into his suitcase, pulling out a pistol.
    “Mr. Van Syoc?” came a woman’s voice, hesitant and polite.
    “Yes?” he asked, doing whatever intricate mechanical things were needed to get a gun ready to shoot.
    “This is Louisa, from the front desk. I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s been a problem with your paperwork.” Van Syoc didn’t put down the gun. Instead, he backed across the room, away from the door. “So,” continued Louisa, “if you could step out, then perhaps we could resolve this.”
    “Yeah, I’m sorry, I was just getting in the shower,” Van Syoc lied as he brought the gun up and pointed it at the door. “Perhaps I could come down to the desk when I am through?”
    “Oh, yes, absolutely. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
    And the door exploded inward.
    Myfanwy jumped in her chair and gave out a little squeak. Fortunately, so did Gubbins, so she didn’t feel too ridiculous. They exchanged a look of embarrassment across the table. All the others kept their gazes fixed on the screen.
    Smoke was roiling in through the doorway, and the top of the frame hung crazily, as if it had been punched off the ceiling. Van Syoc hadn’t jumped or squeaked but was standing absolutely still, his gun trained carefully on the door. Nothing could be seen through the clouds of smoke billowing in. Tension built, even among the members of the Court. Then, three men burst out of the smoke, toting large guns. They were dressed in black armor, clunky helmets, and goggles with ominous green lights. They looked, Myfanwy thought, like samurai beetles.
    “Freeze, motherfucker!” yelled one of the soldiers. “Drop that g—” He was cut off as Van Syoc shot him through the goggles. There was a deafening roar, hastily muted on the video, as torrents of lead poured out of two extremely large guns and slammed into Van Syoc’s torso. His body shuddered and dropped to the ground.
    Wow,
thought Myfanwy.
That was amazingly brief. I wonder if—
her thought was cut off as Van Syoc sat up and, with two casual shots, killed the heavily armored Checquy soldiers.
    Myfanwy was proud of herself for not squeaking again, and Gestalt said something in the background about armor-piercing bullets. Her jaw dropped, however, as Van Syoc flipped himself to his feet and bullets began to force themselves out of his flesh. Now a young woman came out of the smoke, and Myfanwy noticed in bemusement that she wasn’t wearing body armor or carrying a gun but was dressed in a tracksuit and had a bandolier of pouches slung across her chest. On her hands, she wore bulky padded gauntlets made of a dull black material.
    Van Syoc also appeared slightly taken aback, but Myfanwy had to give him credit—he didn’t hesitate before firing at the