punched by Charity

"This, uh, isn't what it looks like," I stammered, turning back to Charity.
Her eyes blazed with cold, righteous rage. An old Kipling axiom about the female of the species being more deadly than the male flashed through my mind, right about the time Charity introduced my chin to her right hook.
Light flashed behind my eyes and I found myself flat on my back while the ceiling spun around a little.
"Mother," Molly said in a shocked voice.
I looked up in time to see Forthill put a firm hand on Charity's arm, preventing her from following up the first blow. She narrowed her eyes at Forthill, but the old man's fingers dug into her biceps until she gave him a slight nod and took a small step back into the hallway.
"Dress," she told Molly, implacable authority in her tone. "We're leaving."
The kid looked like she might just start falling apart on the spot. She grabbed her bag, ducked into the bathroom, and was dressed in under a minute.
"There was nothing going on," I mumbled. It came out sounding more like, "Mmrphg ggggh oonng."
"I may not be able to keep you away from my husband," Charity said, her tone cold, her diction precise. "But if you come near one of my children again, I will kill you. Thank you for calling me."
She left, the weary Molly following her.
"There was nothing going on," I said again, to Forthill. This time it sounded mostly like English.
He sighed, looking after the pair. "I believe you." He gave me a smile that was one part amusement to four parts apology, and followed them.
Murphy must not have reached the elevators before Charity and Forthill had arrived. She appeared in the doorway, peering inside the room, and then back the way Charity had gone. "Ah," she said. "You all right?"
"I guess," I sighed.
Her mouth twitched, but she didn't quite smile or laugh at me. "Seems to me that you should have seen that one coming."
"Don't laugh at me," I said. "It hurts."
"You've had worse," she said heartlessly. "And it serves you right for letting a little girl into your hotel room. Now get up. I'll be downstairs."
She left, too.
Mouse came over and started patiently nuzzling my chin and putting slobbering dog kisses on the bruise I could feel forming there.
"Women confuse me," I told him.
Mouse sat down, jaws dropping open into a doggie grin. I groaned, pushed myself to my feet, and set about preparing the redirection spell, while outside my room's window the sun raced for its nightly rendezvous with the western horizon.


Proven Guilty Chapter 23, Page 180-181