"Look, Ramsey. I don't want to be mean to you." Mostly because some magical influence of Ramsey's was altering her mind to make her think that. "But I am engaged in war right now, do you understand? War. I do not have time for silly games." If Sloan fought hard, she could override the impulses invading her head that screamed LEAVE POOR RAMSEY ALONE. Gradually, she allowed more malice to creep into her voice. "I'm not fucking around, Ramsey. I cannot afford fucking around. I need you to focus or sober up or fix whatever the hell is inherently wrong with your degenerate self and help me, or I am fucking gone, do you understand?"

Ramsey shrank beneath Sloan's glare. Her coat seemed to shrivel as her muscles tensed and she tried to flinch away. "Hey, stop... That's not a nice thing to say..." Her voice became tinny and weak. The faux British accent evaporated, replaced by something nasally and quiet.

"No, it's not." Sloan steeled herself to overpower her unnatural inclination to apologize. "I don't give a shit. I'm not about to have seven months of work upended by a stupid bimbo like you. Do you understand?"

The transformation continued. For the first time, Sloan recognized Ramsey as the same girl she had known when she ruled Minneapolis. Tiny, awkward. Her previously unblemished face broke in spontaneous acne. Her knees buckled and she swayed under Sloan's grip.

"Stop... please..."

"I need to drill this into your puny skull. I am the one in charge here. What I say goes. If you want to continue your little drug ring after I reclaim this city, you will do what I say. Got it, you... you little..." The foul word she wanted to say would not come out. The sympathy and pity she held for the decomposing creature overwhelmed and choked her. A last ditch effort of Ramsey's magic to protect herself from Sloan's ire.

(Chapter 21)