She got lucky, maybe. Lucky, maybe, in the way a deer standing under the heavy glare of a pair of headlights gets lucky when the hunter with a double barrel shotgun catches her before the grill does. Dead, sure. But a quick death. 

Daisy was vaguely aware the Ice Harlot and her boring human had joined the once tepid air space between herself and the wight. Mostly because she was cold. There was not very much that could make her cold. Leave it to the demon to fill that spot. It might have annoyed her, even unnerved her, in any other circumstance. But Daisy was currently a little pissed. 

Grim was saying something, probably to her, about hatred, an open invitation to her, or rather to him, as if he needed on to become a guest at a party where the ever growing list of invitees found themselves on Daisy's bad side. As if she couldn't find fault with almost everyone in that room. As if she didn't know his demoness wasn't any better a gift to the world than the wight. 

How fucking courteous. 

Again, it was something that would have bothered her -- less the intrusion, and more the simple ignorance -- but strangely enough, she couldn't take her eyes from the wight's face. She wasn't sure why. 

It felt like a thick mixture of loathing and disbelief -- was he trying to [i]justify[/i] his actions? Just clear the air by saying, "Well, I didn't know, so fuck it!" -- tinged with a heavy dosage of fear. 

She'd not missed him stepping forward, closing that space between. She didn't feel a threat. There was nothing in his eyes to indicate as much. But he [i]had[/i] moved toward her, intentionally, deliberately, and it sure as hell wasn't to share secrets. 

Like the teeth of a bear trap closing in around their prey, Daisy's arms sprang up to curl around her waist, directly over where the worst of the decay had rotted her waist away to something that might have almost been [i]Teen Vogue[/i] appropriate. She hated herself for it instantly. There was no way to hide that. Her cards were on the table, her chips were on the floor. She hated herself for it, and she hated the wight even more.

Nestor stood between them, his arctic mistress hovering somewhere behind his head. 

Daisy shivered. 

"If you fucking touch me," she hissed, "I'll make sure hell is waiting when I send you back."

There was more to say, more to be said. It would all be typical Daisy stuff, petty, mean-girl arguments and insults, a witless way of showing how completely unfazed by the whole conversation she was. 'This means as much to me as a pre-prom skirmish between class periods.'

She would have come up with something, too. Something for Nestor, something for his bitch. Something for the wight, something she'd say looking just left of his head, in that fascinatingly empty space above his ear. 

Everything else happened at once, and suddenly she was choosing from a buffet of convenient outs. 

Somewhere near the fireplace, Atticus and Tiny Vamp were fast approaching their own version of a vampire sex den. There were newcomers, three of them, and one of them left almost immediately, leaving the other two, only one of whom Daisy recognized. She'd have said something -- anything -- to Jay-Jay, except not even the human spark plug could bluff her way out of this one. 

Behind her, Henry seemed to have come back to himself. He caught her eye for a moment, then just as quickly went off to Veti, which sort of seemed like the best option, or would have, if she'd thought Veti even kind of shared her loathing of all things dead and mostly dead. Daisy wondered if that was irony, then abruptly decided it was too morose. 

She turned back to Grim and Wight, her face carefully impassive. 

"You crazy kids let me know when you've removed your heads from your asses. I'll be working on mustering up a fuck or two to give."

And then she turned and walked straight for the doors Henry had just bolted, making a "Let's chat later" circle around Jay-Jay and gathering up the tiny black boxer Artie had adopted on her way to the courtyard below.