"Did I say anything about owning?" Solomon said, all the milder in response to the boy's aggression. He didn't move, didn't flinch; simply watched the boy with dark eyes and an impassive expression. "A public event, by definition, cannot be owned."

This was more along the lines of the reception Solomon was used to. Not that it was comfortable, or particularly helpful, especially when it involved hotheaded young fools. He had to wonder how on Earth an idiot like this became romantically involved with an intelligent young lady such as Hayley.

Solomon lifted an eyebrow. "Cleansing? Hardly. Death isn't an infection. It isn't something that can simply be washed away." Yet. "I'm investigating the manner in which death reacts to a soul being placed in a clone, and Miss Stark is the only person with whom I'm familiar who has had that experience."

He wasn't about to admit he needed the practice to regain control. Not to this idiot. It might encourage him unduly, and Solomon had no desire to call attention to himself. "Perhaps," he said just a touch coldly, "you ought to take a step back and reconsider your assumptions. You're making yourself look a fool."