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of the way.”
    Broussard stepped closer to Gunnar. They could have bumped chests if Broussard had been dumb enough to start something.
    â€œYou know what, Landreau? One of these days, you’re going to get knocked off your high horse. You’re going to lose all that social cachet, those special privileges, and you’ll be treated like the rest of us.”
    â€œYou’re an idiot, Broussard, if you think I have my job because of my name. I’m good at what I do. Very good. Why don’t you do everyone a favor and back off? It’s been a helluva day, and we’ve lost good people.”
    â€œBecause of Paranormals,” Broussard spat.
    Gunnar rolled his shoulders like a man preparing for battle. “Jesus, you aren’t going to stop, are you? Can you not see this was caused by humans? Can you not see this has nothing to do with magic, but with idiocy? And can you not see past your own stupid prejudices—your own issues, which are legion—and just get to fucking work? This isn’t the time or the place for your myopic politics.”
    â€œGentlemen.”
    A man in camouflage fatigues—tall, built, and blond, with eyes the color of good bourbon—stepped forward. I knew plenty of Containment agents in the Quarter; I’d never seen this man before.
    Irritation flared in Gunnar’s eyes again. The man looked totally relaxed, even as he’d positioned himself to stop them from beating the shit out of each other.
    â€œThis is a very bad time and place to act like teenagers,” he said.
    â€œI couldn’t agree more,” Gunnar said. “I was suggesting to Agent Broussard that there were several ways he could contribute to the cleanup efforts, and he should select one of them or get back to the barracks.”
    â€œI think that’s a very good idea,” the man said. “Still a lot of work to be done before the light’s gone. Agent Broussard, if you can’t find something to do, I’ve got reports you could collate.”
    Broussard’s face reddened with anger as he looked between the men. “This is on your heads. This, and whatever worse follows. It’s on you.”
    He stalked off in the direction of a clutch of uniformed Containment agents.
    â€œJohn,” Gunnar said, “this is Claire Connolly. Claire, John Reece. He’s with the army. He’s investigating Containment in light of the Memorial Battle.”
    A former defense contractor had wanted to open the Veil at Talisheek, where the Veil had first been torn and a memorial had been erected. We’d managed to keep it closed, but it took magic and effort—and I’d inadvertently split open the earth trying to channel the sheer amount of power in play.
    I guessed the Joint Chiefs had lost some faith in Containment and its contractors. And I assumed that was what had put the flint in Gunnar’s eyes.
    â€œNot investigating,” Reece said. “Reviewing.” He looked at me. “You own Royal Mercantile.”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œAnd what’s his story?” Reece nodded toward Broussard.
    It took Gunnar a moment to answer. Hard to pick which devil to trust, I imagined. “He’s ambitious and shortsighted. There are three kinds of people in the world. Those who believe humans are always right. Those who believe Paranormals are always right. And those who know the truth.”
    â€œAnd Mr. Broussard takes his ‘always’ a bit too literally?” Reece asked.
    Gunnar nodded.
    Reece’s gaze lifted to the gate. “Not unlike our enemies on the outside.”
    â€œWe were just noting that. Blind loyalty is dangerous, regardless the side.”
    Reece nodded. “The cleanup has been relatively well organized, all things considered.”
    â€œWe run a tight ship,” Gunnar said brusquely. “Feel free to take that back to Washington.”
    Reece looked back at him, gaze still cool. “I