Smoke Bitten (Mercy Thompson #12)


I hoped he could hear my eyes rolling. "That's what you told me when I was fourteen. I was hoping for something more useful now that I'm an adult and she's trying to take over my pack."

"Don't roll your eyes at me," he snapped. "And you were fifteen."

I looked at the phone. "You remember how old I was?" I asked incredulously.

"It was the day Charles glitter-bombed my office," Bran said darkly. "Of course I remember."

"Charles?" There was no way. "Charles glitter bombed your office." Cold, scary, efficient, deadly - those were words that suited Charles. That the term "glitter bomb" and Charles' name were in the same sentence was dumbfounding except maybe in something like "Charles discovered the glitter-bomber's secret identity and hanged her by her toenails to teach the other people who stole her idea never to do that again."

"Why did he glitter-bomb your office?" I asked.

"It was something I said," Bran told me. "And not your business."