———

You haven't wanted to think about Jean Ramsey. That's the truth. You know you'll fight her, and you know you'll win, and, if that's true, do you need to spend every waking hour stewing over her dastardly plans? Richard is keeping you busy enough. You woke up with talons. Well— your fingernails come to a sharp point. But you'd like to call them talons.

Monty is looking at your talons. Then he looks up at you. "Are you taller?"

He's the first one to notice: you straighten up. Be modest! "A little."

"I was never made taller. I imagine I didn't get that far, given Jean. Any new teeth?"

You consider opening your mouth all the way, but figure that might give the wrong impression. You lift your lip instead. "'ot eally oo, ut..."

"You could devour small rodents with those," he says.

Be modest? No! You can't! "Big rodents, thank you very much. But I haven't tried. Did you call me in just to ask how tall I was?"

"No. No, I—" He slides something out of a folder and pushes it across the desk. "Jean contacted me. Not personally, I don't think, but I didn't see who left it. Needless to say, the summons will be going unanswered."

A special early invitation to— you peer at the swirling letters— the Game. Courtesy of the Hero-Queen. A note in handwriting: "Here's to old times! Hope to see you on the field! —The Executioner"

"The Game," you say, "is your stupid murder tour..."

"My stupid murder tournament. Yes. She misses it." Monty pushes the invitation around with his finger. "I don't. It's gruesome enough when the competitors know what they're getting themselves into."

"She's hosting one."

"If we're lucky, she's hosting. If we're unlucky, she's conscripting. Or not even that, Charlotte. The Game isn't really a 'tournament,' see. It's freeform. You play until you retire, until you die, or until you... win. I won. She won. A few retire. Most die. The violence is limited to legal participants, but I fear how broad her definition of 'participants' may be. It could be anybody who looks at her funny. Or who looks at an official 'player' funny. There could be a lot of bodies, very quick."

This is why you didn't want to hear about her. "Which is okay! Because when I'm God, I'll—"

You stop. You hadn't told him.

"You'll erase the carnage? You'll wipe the whole bloody slate clean? I hope so, Charlotte, but it's rarely that easy. Ask me how I know." Monty slips the invitation back into the folder. "No need to try to backtrack that. Madrigal told me."

"Madrigal has a big mouth," you mutter.

"She felt I should know. I told her I did. Or I thought so. Have people been making requests of you?"

"Yes."

"Only logical. I won't. I don't believe there's anybody who's owed a miracle less."

(2/7)