"What's eating me?" Solomon's voice rose with incredulity and something sharp. Desperation, rather than anger. "We stand here discussing how your best friend was evil enough to murder millions of people and you ask what's eating me?"

It was the stupidest question Solomon had ever heard, and proof positive that Ghastly's only concern was the political ramifications of losing an Elder so soon after election. Why wouldn't he be? It was a legitimate concern. One more thing from which Solomon wanted to escape, because it only compacted everything he didn't have.

The ex-Necromancer trembled with adrenaline, his mouth a tight line. If he didn't get out of here soon he knew he'd do something he'd regret. "Get out of my way."