He blinked to escape her gaze. He was glad she couldn't see him well in the darkness. Why had he brought her here? To impress her? His base instincts worked against his reason, perhaps.

No, a small cynical part of him remonstrated. You know exactly what you are doing.

He said, more to defend himself from his own accusing thoughts than in answer to Anusha, "I merely make use of what I've stolen from the Lord of Bats."

"I am sure it is all beyond me, whatever the source."

Japheth coughed and suggested, "We should enter soon, if we are to do it at all. I can only successfully travel here once out of every four or five times I try. Access depends on a lunar schedule I haven't quite worked out yet. And I am more vulnerable without my cloak. So time is of the essence." She nodded.

They walked forward, past a growth of dark purple mushroom caps, each the size of a dinner plate. Japheth pointed and said, "I should gather a couple more of those caps. When distilled, their taste can cause any creature to fall asleep. It is what I made your potion from, now that I think of it!"

Anusha didn't respond, and Japheth remembered she was still suspicious of his gift. A twinge of guilt touched him. In truth, when they'd returned to the boat after the attack of the sea hags, it had taken several hours before he was able to rouse Anusha from her somnolence.

He led the girl through the gates of Castle Darroch and down a long entry gauntlet. He ordered the creeping, wrinkled, guardian homunculi back to their holes in the side walls before Anusha could see their horrific features. The castle was defended by the Lord of Bats's many "children," who answered now to Japheth as if he were their creator.

They reached the foyer, which was lit by countless candelabra burning with green flames. A wide but shallow pool of dark water half flooded the space, and long, pale forms darted beneath its surface.

Japheth guided Anusha past the pool up four flights of stairs. They passed busts of enigmatic, slender humanoids on each landing. Lords of the Feywild, Japheth had always assumed. Anusha lingered, but he urged her onward, explaining again that they should not dally.

Finally, they entered the Grand Study. There, paintings of surreal landscapes, sculptures of fantastic beings, and objects too strange for mortal classification were displayed behind glass. The collection spanned centuries and worlds.

"This is all yours?" asked Anusha, finally relinquishing his hand. "It must be worth a king's ransom!"

"These belong to the Lord of Bats. The collection could well be priceless, but I've never removed even a single item."

Anusha moved to gaze upon a painting of a spray of orange and yellow: a desert-scape in the grip of a storm. The hint of some vast tower was visible behind the haze of blowing sand.

"Why not?" she asked.

He shrugged, said, "It is just a feeling I have. I fear too many changes could upset some balance I'm not consciously aware of. Like the game where children remove twigs, one at a time, from a pile, until one twig too many causes the pile to topple. I fear to disturb things too much lest I accidentally release the Lord of Bats from his confines."

The warlock's eyes unconsciously sought a balcony overlooking the Grand Study. The balcony was accessible via a narrow stair on the wall. The high space was bare but for an iron door.

Anusha's eyes followed his. "He's up there?" Japheth nodded.

She studied the door with wide eyes, and then said, "I hear talking."

Japheth cocked his head. Sure enough, the slight buzz of voices, at least two, sounded from the balcony.

Vertigo clawed his abdomen. With eyes tight, he sprang up the narrow stairs, two at a time. He felt off-balance without his cloak streaming behind.

The steel door to the balcony was open a crack, and yellow light flickered beyond. He shoved open the door and gasped.

A great oaken table dominated the chamber beyond the door. A feast of rare sumptuousness was laid out on silver platters, heaped in golden urns, and sloshed in crystal decanters. Chairs lined the sides of the table, each one unique in design and workmanship, as if every piece was imported from a completely different kingdom or culture. A few were so oddly shaped that a regular person would find it difficult to sit.

A thin man, bald and pale, with narrow squinting eyes, pointed ears, and drab black clothes sat at the head of the table on a chair as grand as any throne.

It was the Lord of Bats in his least form. He sat as he always sat, where Japheth had bound him in a feast never-ending.

The warlock sucked in his breath as if struck because of the two people sitting to each side of the Lord of Bats. They shouldn't be there; they couldn't be!

But they were.

One was a woman. Her slender limbs and graceful poise transcended mere humanity. Her white skin literally glowed like moonlight, and her eyes were utterly black. Her hair was dark blue-black, and her ears were pointed. She might have been a moon or sun elf, but he'd never known a moon or sun elf to glow before.

The other was a man in unremarkable clothing. A man whose features were rough and uncouth in comparison to the woman's. A man who was terribly familiar.

"Behroun Marhana?" gasped Japheth.

The man to the Lord of Bats's left turned midsentence. He stopped speaking, and his eyes widened on seeing the warlock.

"Japheth?" asked the man. "Why, it is! Our host never informed me you could visit here in his home-turned-prison."

Japheth's mouth remained open, but he had no words. As unlikely as it was, the man was indeed Behroun. But how? Disorientation made him dizzy. He couldn't connect the threads.

The pale man spoke, "This one stole my skin; he uses it as a cloak. With it, he can travel between the world and my domain." His white hand plucked a cherry tomato the color of blood from a silver platter. He tossed it into his mouth and chewed with gusto.

"What is the meaning of this?" Japheth demanded of the Lord of Bats, attempting to assert some control over events that careened beyond his comprehension.

"I have guests. It has taken me some years, but my invitations finally went out and were answered in person."

The woman merely gazed upon Japheth with emotionless, ageless eyes, as if nothing he could do or say could ever surprise her or break her from centuries-long ennui.

Behroun chuckled, said, "Neifion promised me extraordinary things, but only if I shatter a certain emerald he revealed to me. I think you know the one."

The Lord of Bats glared at Behroun, saying, "You have yet to destroy it."

"Neifion?" wondered Japheth.

"The Lord of Bats has a name, same as you and me," Behroun explained. "But that's hardly important."

"Ah…" temporized the warlock, well beyond his depth. Then, "The Lord of Bats, uh, Neifion, he was the one who told you about my pact stone? I knew it."

"A pact stone," interrupted the pale lord. "Which you stole from me. I sent my last loyal children into the world to find an ally, and found Lord Marhana. He agreed to retrieve my property. But he failed to complete the task I set him."

"Your grace, as I said from the beginning, be patient. When Japheth has finished his current task, I shall give you the emerald as I promised."

"That is what you have been telling me for some time now."

As the Lord of Bats spoke, Behroun absent-mindedly picked up a succulent pear from the table, one of several heaped in a crystal bowl.

The woman to Neifion's right reached her slender arm across the table and slapped the fruit from Behroun's hand before he could take a bite. The fruit spun across the room and landed in shadow.

The woman said, "I told you. Do not eat from this table. If you do, you shall never leave it."

Behroun blanched. "I know that, Malyanna, but damn the old king if this food doesn't look enticing!"