“WHAT DEAL?” ESLAR asked as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him while balancing a plate of sopapillas. Jo instantly recognized them and the accompanying honey jar that rested at the center of the dish.

Her stomach fought with her brain on what to say and it all kind of mushed together. “She wanted to see my magic, was telling me about the Society in exchange. . . Where did you get those?” As soon as the question left her mouth, Jo’s brain mustered the answer. There was only one when something appeared out of nowhere in the mansion. “Did Samson make these?”

“Just so.” Eslar smiled, an expression that Jo hadn’t ever quite seen cross his features. It was filled with fondness and. . . sorrow? Longing? “I had them made to Wayne’s specifications.” He paused. “Well, almost. I had to look up my own specifications and assure Samson that they were not actually constructed from soap.”

Jo laughed, remembering Wayne’s reaction when he had taken her to her home in Texas. He was either an admirable joker, or lovingly dumb; either way, the quality had stolen a soft, squishy corner of her heart.

Eslar deposited the Hispanic pastry on the desk before her. Jo wasted no time, immediately ripping through the thin top layer of crisp, light brown dough. The minute she had access to the hollow center, she took to filling it with honey, chest clenching at the memories flooding her mind and heart. As she took a generous bite, some honey dribbled down her chin that she mopped up with a finger, popping it back in her mouth to savor.

“I’m fairly sure my actions have not earned my being gifted fresh sopapilla.” Jo spoke over her food, still enough of a lady to cover her mouth with her free hand. The words were a bitter contrast to the bright sweetness of the dish.

“It is a bribe.”

Something about the direct and deadpan delivery gave her a chuckle. “All right, I appreciate the candor. Hit me.”

“I am interested in what you had to say in the briefing room.”

Jo’s eating stalled.

“You seemed to believe you could fix your error.”

“I can,” Jo affirmed, wiping her palms on her jeans. “If I have the right information.”

“What information is that?”

“Everything you can tell me.” Jo continued, “I need details. I need to know the hospital, the patient, everything. What can you give me?”

“I shall impart to you all I know. . .” Eslar leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and began listing off details that she had been hungry for not an hour ago.

Jo listened intently, mentally beginning to catalog everything. When it became too much even for the sponge that was her brain, she opened up a notepad on her computer and typed as he spoke, fingers flying over the keyboard. Magic sizzled in harmony with the hum of computer fans and buzz of monitors. The more information she had, the more connections she saw, the more possibilities she was aware of.

The sensation was instantaneous when the last piece slotted into place, like finally seeing a map for the first time.

“I know what to do,” Jo announced. “I just need time to do it.”

“How much?” Eslar asked.

“Here? A few more hours. There? Maybe thirty minutes, tops.”

“That’s all?”

Jo nodded. “Look, I know I messed up with Paris.” The shadow of a grimace that tugged on Eslar’s mouth affirmed he thought it was far more severe than “messed up.” “But it offered a bit of an opportunity for a test-run of my magic. I know what I can do here will take in the real world. It can give me a head start. . . Once I get there, I’ll only need a short period of time. That’s why I think an hour will be more than enough.”

“Then I will take you there.”

“Are you sure it won’t upset King Snow?” Jo’s hands paused long enough for her to ask the question, looking over her shoulder at the man.

“I’ll smooth it over,” he assured her. “This is on me.”

“You’d better be right. Or I’ll show you why hell hath no fury.”

“Hell. . . hath no fury?” he repeated slowly.

“Don’t you know that expression?” It was old, old enough that a few other members should have known it in some form.

“No?”

“Well, I guess the only woman you interact with on a regular basis—” Jo wasn’t counting the weird presence that was Pan out of misplaced spite, “is pretty stoic and even. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

“Woman can indeed be terrifying.” Eslar folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. “Terrifying enough to stand up to Snow.”

That sounded almost like praise. And her cheeks almost caught fire at it.

“It’s not about standing up to him.” Jo cracked her knuckles. “This is redemption and fixing my error. This is for my team.”

“Your team?” His voice noticeably softened.

“Who else?” Jo dared a smile, one Eslar met with a small nod. “All right, give me three hours Eslar, and then we can make this happen in the real world. I shouldn’t need more than that to prep.”

“I’ll entrust you with it.” He stood.

“Wait, before you go. . .” Jo held up the plate. “Would you like a pastry?”

“I would, thank you.”

They chewed in silence, a sort of breaking-bread moment of peace between them. It was a silent treaty, leaving Jo to hope he felt it too.