Goodfellow, who had fallen during his lunge to avoid Danny, was staggering back up and still looking to defend King and Country. "Come to me…" Then as Camelot fell, so did Robin. I caught him by the back of his shirt before he hit the floor. His head hung as slackly as that of the paralyzed Danyeal with his chin resting on his chest. He was out cold, but unconscious or not, he still kept talking. "I was a god," came the barely decipherable murmur.

"I'm sure you were," I snorted as I pulled him up and over the bar. Depositing him in relative safety beside Danyeal, I went to help Ishiah shut the place down. What was left of it.

Two hours later I was home, Goodfellow was on the couch, and I barely made it to bed. I paused only to touch the barrette on my dresser. A reminder…a promise to a dead little girl. Neither Nik nor I had ever gotten to be a normal kid with a normal life. Ours had been taken away before we even had one. This girl's had been taken away too, and in a far more brutal fashion. I wasn't going to forget that and I wasn't going to forget her.

I stripped, fell into bed, and five seconds later was listening to Niko explain his plan. At least it seemed like five seconds—six, if you were generous. Definitely not the hours it had been. Blinking against harsh daylight, I felt the cool rub of the sheet against my face and rocked a little at the firm nudge to my shoulder. "Then we're clear?" Niko said.

"What? Yeah. Clear," I mumbled. "Crystal. Bye."

"You've committed every word to memory?"

"Right next to The Road Not Taken.' Swear." I rolled over and pulled the sheet over my head. I hadn't heard Nik come in or the door shutting. It didn't worry me. I hadn't heard him precisely because he was Nik. The door would've been shut with complete silence, and I tuned out the sound of the key turning in the lock as only he, Promise, and Robin had a key. If I'd heard a different sound, the stealthy one of claws skittering against wood or the scrape of a metal pick against the lock, I'd have woken up instantly. I wouldn't have answered that door alone either. I slept with a knife under my pillow, a gun under the mattress, and a sword under the bed. If I could have litter-box-trained an alligator, I would've had one of those under there as well.

But since my subconscious did know it was Niko— here we were. I'd slept through the plan and was attempting to sleep through the post-game. I knew better, but hope and laziness spring eternal.

"Good. Then I'll leave the recruiting the boggle up to you."

That woke me the hell up. A bucket of ice water and a shot of adrenaline couldn't have done it any faster. I rolled back and propelled up to a sitting position. "No," I refused as quickly as I could snap the word out. "We agreed. No more boggles."

"Did we?" He had showered at Promise's. Damp blond hair, closely shaved face—the goatee of several months prior had disappeared not too long ago. There was the smell of a different shampoo, but the scent of the soap was the same as what we had in our bathroom. Some sort of all-natural herbal, goat-milk concoction without the faintest tinge of artificial chemicals. I didn't know where he got it. I just used it and went on with my life. Promise obviously did know which store sold it or Nik had started taking stuff over with him. Either way…

I gave him a crooked grin. "You're nesting, Cyrano. That's cute as hell." The desire to yank his chain faded as quickly as it had come. "And, yeah, we did agree. No more goddamn boggles." I'd once hired werewolves to kill George when I was "under the influence" so to speak. And I'd done the same to Niko and Robin, under the same influence, using a boggle instead. Nine feet of scales, mud, and killing fury, a boggle didn't have to be pushed very hard to do what was already natural instinct. That I'd personally known that particular boggle had only made it easier.

"It wasn't you," my brother said, knowing the twisted lane my memories had traveled down, "and this boggle won't be that one."

"Why are we talking about boggles anyway? Shit." I swung my legs to the floor and rested my head in my hands. "What was that plan again?"

As plans went, it was simple. Niko had never felt the need to overcomplicate. The more tangled the approach, the equally tangled your body parts were likely to be when it all went wrong. There were more revenants in the tunnels than we could handle; therefore we'd do a little recruiting. There were those who wouldn't mind snacking on a horde of revenants…that would be pay enough for them. Then there were a few species who happened to like money and expensive things.

Boggles, for one, were suckers for jewelry. Gold, silver, precious or semiprecious, as long as it was bright and shiny, they coveted it. It was rather amusing to see a huge hulking figure caressing chunky gold chains that would barely fit around one of his enormous fingers. Good for a chuckle, right up until you remembered where the jewelry came from: people.

"Since when do we depend on anyone but ourselves?" I looked up. "And what are we going to pay? We going to hock your tofu collection?"

"Since doing it alone could take us months or get us killed. As for financial incentive, Promise says she has far more jewelry than she could wear in two lifetimes. Vampire lifetimes," he added with a quirked eyebrow.

A boggle would definitely demand a good chunk of Promise's collection. Seemed fair. She had gotten us involved in this bit of community service. Once it was determined Sawney was out of the museum, Sangrida hadn't seemed to consider it her problem any longer. She'd washed her Valkyrie hands and turned her attention to cleaning up her sirrush-splattered basement. And Promise couldn't justify anything to the rest of the human board of directors other than the "reward" money for information, and the reward money wasn't really enough to make it worth our while following Sawney's slaughter from beginning to end. Yet here we were.

Back in the old days when we were on the run, we'd been right along with Sangrida—not our responsibility, not our problem.

When had that changed?

"We can also enlist a few wolves. We're not popular with the Kin, but not all werewolves are Kin."

True—though the better fighters tended to be. "Okay, wolves are fine. Wolves, I get." I hadn't had the opportunity to avoid wolves in the past year like I had boggles. Wolves were everywhere. Let a problem with them get to you and you wouldn't be able to leave the apartment. "But there's probably only one boggle in the park." They were tremendously territorial. Central Park would only be big enough for two, and Niko and Robin had already killed the one we knew of. "Just one isn't worth the trouble." It was a lie. One boggle alone could take out his weight in revenants.

"It's worth the trouble," Nik corrected with patience, but as his patience tended to be of the ironclad variety, it didn't do me much good.

I tightened my lips. The boggle had nothing to do with the revenants. We could hire double the wolves, hsigos, or whoever else we came across. No, this was about me. I was getting over Darkling and it was time to do the same with boggles. "Jesus, fine," I surrendered with ill temper. "I'll deliver the invitation. Happy?"

"Actually smug would be more precise. Now"— he tossed me a shirt from my bureau—"there is a pool of puck vomit on the living room floor. Enjoy."

I did not.

I neither enjoyed it nor cleaned it up. I slapped a scrub brush in the slack hand of a bleary-eyed, swearing, and painfully sober Goodfellow before showering, and taking off into the late-morning sun. It was an unusually warm day for November and I would've been able to get by with only a T-shirt as long as I didn't mind my holster showing. I minded, and I thought New York's finest probably would as well. I ended up wearing the lightweight weathered denim jacket that I wore in the summer for the same purpose. As for Niko, as accessories went, I wasn't sure if he counted as summer or fall. I wasn't the type of guy into lugging around extra crap unless it was a weapon, although Nik definitely did fall into that category. "I'm trying to think of you as a backpack or a little dog in a ninja outfit," I said finally, "but it's not working. I thought I was supposed to do this myself. Tough love and all that shit."