The self-recrimination flowed out of me as fast as water. Who needed a conscience to keep me in line when I had my brother around to do it for me? "Yeah, sorry," I muttered with a sullen scowl for Niko and a slightly softer one for Robin.

The killer smile returned, showing more teeth than an Osmond family reunion. "Forgiven and forgotten," Robin said expansively. "How about I treat you gentlemen to lunch and we can discuss your transportation situation."

It struck me then that Goodfellow could turn out to be an ally. He wanted us to stay, and I wanted to stay; now all we had to do was convince Niko. That shouldn't be too hard—no more difficult than convincing the sun to rise in the west and set in the east. "Lunch sounds great," I responded with alacrity. "Let me grab my shoes." I could feel Niko's frown aimed at my back as I bent down to root under the couch for my sneakers.

"I'm not sure we have the time for this. In fact, I know we do not have time for this."

I jammed the shoes on my feet and bolted for the door. "It's only lunch, Nik. Forty minutes isn't gonna make or break us." That wasn't necessarily true. In the scheme of things, forty minutes could turn out to be a lifetime, but at the moment that wasn't something I wanted to contemplate.

Niko wasn't too happy about it, big surprise, but despite that, we did end up at the nearest Italian restaurant. I snorted as Niko studied the menu with obvious ill grace. "Don't pout, Cyrano. You're scaring the waiter."

"I do not pout," he hissed between clenched teeth as he closed the menu shut with a snap. "Children pout. Brainless runway models pout. You pout. I do not." Turning his attention to the waiter, he went on more calmly. "I'll have broiled fish, no herbs, no sauce, and salad. No dressing."

That was Nik, living life on the edge as always. What a wild man. I ordered lobster ravioli with a side order of chicken parmigiana. Hey, it was Goodfellow's dime. I'd probably load up on a dessert or three while I was at it. Robin ordered in rapid-fire Italian, handing his menu back with a smooth "Grazie, grazie."

"Exactly how many languages have you picked up over the years, Goodfellow?" Niko questioned curiously.

"All of them." He shook out his swan-shaped napkin with a smug flourish. "I'm a bit rusty on a few regional dialects of the African bush, but otherwise I get by. And of course when it comes to the language of love, I have no equal."

Buttering a chunk of bread as soft and fluffy as a cloud, I groaned. "Jeez. Oh, well, it was a whole twenty minutes of peace anyway. That has to be a record. You know, Loman, they have a twelve-step program with your name all over it. 'Hi, my name is Robin and I'm a sexaholic.'"

"I've said it before and I'll say it again." He raised his wineglass to me. "You absolutely have to get laid." It was a nice restaurant, nicer than most I'd been to. That didn't stop me from lobbing the buttered roll directly at Goodfellow. He caught it easily, took a bite, and washed it down with the wine. "Delicious. Thank you. Now, gentlemen, I've been thinking about your problem and I may have come up with something."

"Nothing too sporty," Niko cautioned. "We don't wish to be too noticeable."

"What? No, no, it's not about a car." He waved a dismissive hand and took another bite of my bread. "Actually I was thinking… if you could find out what had happened to Caliban while he was with the Auphe, perhaps you wouldn't have to run. If you knew what they planned, you would have more options. Knowledge is power, after all."

Sudden dread killed my appetite instantly. "I don't remember. I can't remember. I've tried." And I was pretty sure I didn't want to remember.

Placing his half-empty glass on the table, Robin made haste to say earnestly, "I'm sure you did. try, but if the Auphe did muck about with your memory, it would be nearly impossible for you to recover what was lost."

"If it's impossible, then why are we having this conversation?" Niko asked with thinly veiled impatience. He'd come to accept the fact that I wasn't ever going to remember what had happened in that missing time. At first he'd prodded me to try to recall, but in the end he'd let it go. Between my frustration over my inability to remember and our joint suspicion that whatever had happened might be well worth blocking out, we'd both left my past in the past.

"I said it would be impossible for Caliban to remember on his own. But with my help… a completely different story." Goodfellow stabbed a fork into his salad, then waved it about with enthusiasm. Chunky blue-cheese dressing flew, landing in tiny mounds on the pristine crimson tablecloth. "I picked up hypnosis long before Svengali gave anyone the evil eye. Hell, I taught Freud. I'm more than proficient in the art, trust me."

Niko looked at him askance. "Recovering repressed memories isn't quite like convincing random women to cavort around naked while clucking like chickens. If the Auphe did indeed tie Cal's memories into a knot, I'm not at all confident you could unravel them. I'm not even sure that you should be trying."

"O ye of little faith." The lean, mobile face sobered, all zeal channeled into determination. "I asked you to trust me and you can. I've had more practice at this than the most celebrated psychiatrist or hypnotherapist. I promise you. You pick up more in a long life than just bad habits."

Exhaling, Niko shook his head dubiously. "I don't know, Goodfellow. It strikes me as somewhat risky. I'm not entirely sure that the information gained would be worth Cal remembering his time with the Auphe."

"If worse comes to worst and it's that unbearable, I'll leave the memories locked in his subconscious. He wouldn't remember a thing once he came out of it."

Nice conversation these two were having over me. It could be I had something to say about it if only I could get a word in edgewise. "Guys," I said quietly.

Niko held up a hand to stall me while he countered Robin. "It sounds easy enough in theory, but theorems and proofs are two distinctly different entities. I don't especially want my brother used as a guinea pig."

"It simply isn't as dangerous as you're making it out to be." Clearly frustrated, Robin pushed his plate aside. "Getting the memories out might be difficult. Leaving them hidden isn't. That's their natural state now, be it an Auphe construct or a Caliban one. If I don't want him to remember, he won't."

I tried again, this time slapping the palm of my hand hard on the table. "Guys!"

Both turned their startled attention to me, Niko with his pale eyebrows quirked in concern and Robin with the hopeful expression of a cat with one paw in the fishbowl.

"Believe it or not, I think this is my decision. Not yours, Niko, and definitely not yours, Goodfellow." I pinned them both with an annoyed gaze. "Got me?"

"And what have you decided?" Robin leaned back in his chair, going for casual. He failed miserably.

"I'm still thinking." The thought of remembering was not appealing, but neither was running for the rest of my life. Ignoring Niko's silent look of disquiet, I motioned toward our approaching food. "Let's eat. Hey, Loman, tell us. Just how freaky was Freud anyway? Were you the one who got him on that penis envy path? Or did you go to high school with Electra and Oedipus?"

Giving in for the moment, Robin eyed his plate of pasta with pleasure and then gave me a snort. "Forget Sophocles. Let's talk Homer. Now, there was a bastard who could hold his liquor, damn near drank me under the table. And Sappho? That chick could party like there was no tomorrow."

Niko studied his fish glumly. "I think I have lost my appetite."

Join the crowd, big brother.