"An ally," Marchande says, watching the wicker man stride away with laughter up his sleeve. "And some direction. Charlotte, that's a good idea, I'm stealing it. Stephanie, go get Kalina."

She stares at the receding figure of the wicker man so hard it's a wonder he doesn't burst into flames. Just because he had connections, had gotten used to being back, had allies as peers instead of lucky, skilled people with the brains of cats...

"Right, yeah. Identities." Something to do before they fell apart.