Chapter 5

The Sluagh spread their wings and their arms rise, showing pistols and shotguns all around. They've turned on us. And they're a small army.

They'll want themoney,of course.

But I can't go back to my father and tell him I've just given away fifty grand. We'll have to fight.

Korah knows it. My men know it. Fahad is the only one who seems not to know it.

"The money," he says.

"Why Fahad? Why not do the deal like you promised?"

Farad's toothy grin worsens. A bit of flesh on his cheek tears when he smiles.

"The Oleanders have made us a better offer. Now, the money."

I nod to Korah. Korah stares at me like he's trying to read my mind.

"Throw it."

With a sigh, Korah tosses the briefcase. His hand moves rattlesnake-quick to the pistol in his coat. Our two men at the far side of the alley drop to their knees so they have a more stable base to shoot from, but Korah and I are between them and the Sluagh.

They won't risk hitting me. My father would be furious.

Korah fires first, hitting one of them right in the forehead. The Sluagh goes down, his essence snuffed out as his brains leave his skull. The Sluagh may have escaped hell, but even they can't live without a brain.

I slough off my coat as I dash among the Sluagh. My right hand lashes out and crushes one of their skulls. My clothes shred as I move, and tentacles catch two more unawares, gripping them by their throats.

I reach into their minds, sensing the dreamscape inside them. I send them into endless sleep using my powers. Their eyes roll back in their heads, and they drop to the ground unconscious.

My left hand crashes into one of their foreheads, shattering the bones like fine china. Korah fires another shot and another Sluagh drops from his perfect aim.The two guards I posted at the far end of the alley fire a few shots of their own, keeping well away from me. I suspect they hit nothing at all, but at least they're participating.

Fahad tries to shoot me, but I move too quickly. His shot tears through the wings of one of his own. I finish that one by snapping his neck with one of my long tentacles, and throw him into another Sluagh, smashing them both into the wall.

He aims again, and I watch him. With my senses, it's like seeing someone moving through molasses. I step to the side and he misses again. Fahad, panicked, tries to fire more shots, but I slap the pistol away.

Something sears the back of my tentacle. The muzzle flash from Fahad's pistol burned me. I backhand one of his men even harder than I'd meant to and he goes crashing to the asphalt, blood splattering everywhere.

The rest of Fahad's men disappear into the sewers. Fahad looks around him, and finds himself alone. He drops the pistol.

"Do you truly not dream, Fahad?"

I get closer and he shrinks away from me. His back hits the brick wall and he closes his eyes, turning his face away like I'm a roaring flame and he fears the heat.

I rub the ash from the back of my hand. A cold, quiet rage fills me with that. There's aburn. It'll heal, but of course, my father will see it. I'll have to listen to him bitch and moan.

Does Fahad have any idea how irritating that is?

He does not. He cowers, entirely unaware of how he has ruined my night.

The gift of the Old Blood within me reaches out to Fahad. It seeks his inner world. And it finds it.

"But Fahad…you do dream. Not often. But you do. And it's a particular pleasure for you, isn't it? To dream of the pleasures of the flesh? Those things which are denied you in death?"

"Please."

He aims again, and I watch him. With my senses, it's like seeing someone moving through molasses. I step to the side and he misses again. Fahad, panicked, tries to fire more shots, but I slap the pistol away.

Something sears the back of my tentacle. The muzzle flash from Fahad's pistol burned me. I backhand one of his men even harder than I'd meant to and he goes crashing to the asphalt, blood splattering everywhere.

The rest of Fahad's men disappear into the sewers. Fahad looks around him, and finds himself alone. He drops the pistol.

"Do you truly not dream, Fahad?"

I get closer and he shrinks away from me. His back hits the brick wall and he closes his eyes, turning his face away like I'm a roaring flame and he fears the heat.

I rub the ash from the back of my hand. A cold, quiet rage fills me with that. There's aburn. It'll heal, but of course, my father will see it. I'll have to listen to himbitchandmoan.

Does Fahad have any idea how irritating that is?

He does not. He cowers, entirely unaware of how he has ruined my night.

The gift of the Old Blood within me reaches out to Fahad. It seeks his inner world. And it finds it.

"But Fahad…youdodream. Not often. But you do. And it's a particular pleasure for you, isn't it? To dream of the pleasures of the flesh? Those things which are denied you in death?"

"Please."

"Please? No, Fahad. No begging will save you. I offer you this..."

I reach down and pick up the pistol he dropped.

"You can't shoot me. But it'll work on you."

He looks at it for a long while, and then he shakes his head.

"I can't go back to hell. Iwon't."

I shrug.

"It's one hell or another."

Fahad spits putrid saliva at my feet.

"Do your worst, you fucking monster."

"My worst? No, Fahad. Even you don't deserve that. I'll give you nightmares ofboredom."

Fahad shies away from my touch, but my tentacles take hold of his head. The dreams pour from me into him. His eyes glaze over and roll back into his skull. Then he falls to the ground and twitches for a while.

I take a moment and shiver. Bile rises in my throat.

"Oh, gods. I got them all over me. You two! Water!"

My tentacles also taste what they touch. The Sluagh don't taste good. There's weird old corpse slime all over me.

Korah shudders and looks away.

"It's been awhile," he says. "Old Fahad looked shocked when he saw what was under your coat."

"Most people assume I have legs," I tell him. "The other tentacles I always keep up my sleeves. People see the green hands, and my green face, and they assume I'm more or less human. It's insulting."

"Where'd you send him?" he asks, unable to stop his curiosity.

"To an empty room, where he waits and waits. He'll sleep for days, but it'll feel like years. Once he wakes, he'll always fear sleep. And of course, the dreams will never leave him."

"That's awful. Ihatewaiting."

"Everyone does."

Soren and the other soldiers rush forward with bottles of water to rinse my soiled tentacles off.

We go home with no new guns tonight.

My father won't be happy.

"My strongest son,and somehow the least valuable," my father says. "You have returned without the guns we need to keep us alive."

His voice is cold and imperious. He sits on his gleaming silver throne and glares at me. His head is that of a lion, and his arms end with long, sharp claws on his furry fingertips. Wings fold neatly behind him. His throne is made to hold him comfortably, as most chairs are not. "We needed those guns. Jarrad never returned empty handed. Not once."

Here we go. Jarrad, the savior. Jarrad, the popular and charming and handsome. Jarrad, the perfect son. I've heard it before. I'm tired of hearing it.

Damn, Fahad.I'd give anything to know what the Oleanders promised him. It couldn't just be money.

But my father didn't have a throne of silver brought over from our demesnes in Faerie so he could sit and behappyabout things. That's not what thrones are for. Thrones are for shitting on people.

And there's no one he loves to shit on more than me.