The last time this had happened, she’d let it sneak out that Yardley’s nasal passages had collapsed and had to be repaired due to her “tragic” cocaine use. But the truth was that Yardley’s nose had collapsed because it had been completely demolished by the ax head of a blood-soaked demon. A truth that could never be told, so they went with the cocaine story.

Of course none of those stories could come directly from Yardley’s camp. Instead, to avoid any serious digging by the press, Betty would have this next story leaked to one of the gossip sites. She just needed to come up with a story first.

“Maybe it’s time for her to get bigger tits,” Betty murmured.

Betty shook her head and pushed her ten-thousand-dollar office chair away from her desk. She needed to see the wound. Find out if it could be treated by Tessa or if plastic surgery was really necessary. Then she could take it from there.

Betty stood and went to her private bathroom. She adjusted her black skirt and bright silver blouse. She fixed her hair and redid her makeup. Satisfied with what she saw staring back at her—she knew her fellow Crows wouldn’t care what she looked like, but the paparazzi lurking everywhere certainly would—Betty went back to her desk. She grabbed her blazer from the back of her chair and pulled it on just as Brianna sauntered through the door.

“Well, well, well,” Betty laughed. “Look who’s walked back into my office. And what brings you here, my dear? A little begging? A little pleading? I don’t know, I’ve already seen some great résumés for your position.”

When she didn’t get a stuttering little “please don’t fire me,” Betty finally looked up at her assistant.

Instead of listening to her, Brianna was wandering around the office, looking at the statues and paintings that past and present clients had gotten Betty as a way of saying “thank you!” The cheapest thing among them could be sold for over six figures. Not that Betty would ever sell any of this stuff. She loved it all too much.

“Hello? Earth calling, dingbat. Come in, dingbat,” she joked.

When Betty still received no answer, she began to get a little worried. “Brianna?” She walked over to her. “Are you all right?”

Brianna turned to her, and that’s when Betty saw the torc around the girl’s neck. It was filled with power and if she looked at it too long it would blind her.

“Brianna, where did you get that necklace?”

“This one?” Brianna asked, the tips of her fingers stroking the gold. “I had it taken from my idiot sister when she wasn’t looking. Now it’s mine.”

“Brianna, you can’t keep that necklace.” Not because Betty was worried that Brianna would use the power in it, but because she knew what it would attract.Something Brianna would never, in a million years, be able to handle.

“That’s cute,” Brianna sighed, reaching out to touch the fifty-thousand-dollar diamond and gold necklace Betty had bought herself as a treat a few years back.

Betty slapped the girl’s hand away. “What is wrong with you?”

“I want that necklace.”

“You can’t have my necklace.” Betty sighed. All right. Maybe Erin was right. She’d been too hard on this twit. Now Betty would have to pay for her mental health recovery. She hated when she had to do that.

“Sweetie,” Betty said very carefully and slowly, “I think I need to take you to a nice, friendly doctor who can help you.”

Brianna’s hand suddenly reached out and caught Betty by the throat, yanking her close. And now that flesh touched flesh, Betty saw her. All of her. And she wasn’t Brianna.

“Do you dare put your hands on me, human?” she hissed in Old Norse. A language Betty had forced herself to learn so she could always understand what she saw.

“Such a rude people. I have much to teach you.” She yanked the necklace off of Betty’s throat, pulled back her arm, and shoved Betty across the room and into—and out of—the big picture window.

Gullveig watched the human female crash through the thick glass and fall to the ground below. She heard screams from the street and smiled.

“What was that?” voices from the hallway demanded. “What’s happened? Did you guys hear that?”

“Brianna? What’s happened?”

Gullveig faced the human girl in the doorway. Carol. Her name was Carol. And she was one of the agents. Gullveig had Brianna’s memories, so she would be able to navigate this world quite nicely.

“She snapped,” Gullveig said in perfect American English. “Threw herself out the window.”

Eyes wide, Carol ran over to the opening, placing her hands carefully so she didn’t cut herself on the broken glass.

“So sad . . .” Gullveig went on. “We’ll need to arrange for the funeral, though. It should be a classy affair.”

“Wait,” Carol said.

“We can’t wait. We have to think about people’s schedules. Everyone in Hollywood will want to come.”

“No. I mean . . . she’s moving.”

Gullveig spun around. “What?”

“She’s moving. Betty’s not dead.”

Gullveig went to the destroyed window, pushing the girl aside and looking down. The human had fallen five flights, landing on a small patch of grass outside the building. But that wouldn’t protect her from the fall, and going through the window alone should have killed her. Unless . . .