"Zeus, kid, you look like a nonunion-sanctioned human sacrifice." Once we made it through Sawney's tunnel and up to the man-made one, Robin got a good look at the blood drying on my face and grimaced.

"Been to a lot of those?" The bleeding had stopped, and, although my head still hurt, the pain was bearable…more so than it had been in the museum. Much more so. That meant something. I thought I'd wait awhile to find out what.

"Human, no." He still had his sword out to deal with stray revenants and used it to salute me with a happy leer. "But I had a virgin or two tossed my way."

"That's right, because you were a god," I snorted, remembering his drunken rambling from the bar.

"Yes, because I was a god. Did you expect anything less?" The normally sly grin had abruptly turned into something tired and old.

I felt the same way. It had been one long night. My head ached, the multiple scythe slashes burned, and I wanted a shower. I wanted to sluice away the blood and the taint of the black water. I wanted to be clean again. Then I wanted to sleep, a nice utterly satisfied sleep.

But people in hell want a really good antiperspirant too, don't they?

The stairs up to the basement rocked under my feet, from one side to the other. It took me a second to figure out it was exhaustion and not an earthquake. We didn't get many of those in New York, but you never knew. I rested a hand against the wall and used it to brace myself every third step or so. Halfway up, I felt a small hand at the base of my back supporting me. I looked back to see Promise looking up at me with a finger held to her lips. As long as she had lived, she knew all about the male ego. I tried to pretend that I didn't need the help, but I did get up the stairs quicker than I would have without it.

Ahead of us, Niko and Robin were already on the stairs to the first floor. Promise and I closed and padlocked the trapdoor. It would give Nushi the extra time he needed to get some sort of supernatural cleanup crew. It also gave me a chance to catch my second wind and make it up those stairs without Promise's assistance. The lights were low in Buell Hall and it was silent, peaceful. I could've dozed as I walked, but I kept the lids up and tried to stay alert. There could still be revenants. There could be security doing a sweep. Nushi would speak up for us, but that would put him in a position he'd probably sooner avoid. So, as we hit the small lobby, a gloom-shrouded two-story affair, I was as sharp as I could manage under the circumstances.

It wasn't enough.

I don't know what it was. It could've been I couldn't smell through the blood in my nose or that

the smell was one that I expected here—just background. Cinnamon and spice and everything that was so nice about college girls. But it wasn't only cinnamon. It was cinnamon and honey, a scent I'd caught several times before. When she walked out of the shadows I made the connection…way too goddamn late.

Seraglio.

She wasn't alone. She was flanked on one side by three men and on the other by two more men and a woman. They all had the same glossy black hair and dusky skin. They were of average size compared to her small stature, but other than that, they all had the same look to them. It was more than an ethnicity; they looked related. Family. They all had guns as well. Those weren't matching, but what the hell?

"Seraglio." It was Robin. He said her name with resignation, and as I looked over at him, I could see that he was expecting this. Not her, no, but this. Once a human had made one of the assassination attempts, he'd known who was behind it. All of our pressing hadn't moved him to tell us, but he'd known. I didn't think he'd known that it would come so soon, though, and with us in the crosshairs with him.

She inclined her head. "The Herdsman." She bowed it again. "Tammuz." Then again. "Pan." Lifting her head, she smiled. "Our God. Our never forgotten, fleeing God. How we have missed you."

The Georgia accent was long gone, as was the bold snap of her eyes. Now there was only cold. Cold voice, cold eyes, cold satisfaction.

"Tammuz? The Babylonian god?" Niko's sword was up as was my gun, but we were thoroughly outnumbered in the weapons department.

Robin shrugged lightly. "Like you've never given anyone a fake name?" He settled back on his heels, dropping the point of his sword toward the floor. "What am I thinking? Of course you haven't." Cool and breezy. It was the Robin we'd first met, one who was so accustomed to hiding who he was and being exactly as his race was painted: shallow, thoughtless, full of uncaring conceit. It was easier to see your sins catch up to you if you didn't care, right? But he did. If he hadn't, he would've told us the truth. Whatever was going on … whatever this was, he felt guilty over it. He felt regret, and he cared a great deal.

"You really were a god?" I asked in disbelief. In the bar he'd told me so while drunk as a skunk, but who'd believe that he was telling the truth more or less?

"In vino veritas. If you drank more, you'd know that." Then the façade fell and he rubbed his eyes wearily. "I'd ask what you want, Seraglio, but I think we already know that, don't we?"

"The Banu Zadeh tribe does not forget slights, no matter how old. No matter how many thousands of years pass. And the slight of a god is a shame to a people that cannot be forgiven or forgotten." Her finger tightened on the trigger until the knuckle paled to light gold against her darker skin. "Babylon is no more. Our tribe has dwindled to what you see before you, but we have you to thank for that. When you left us"—her voice became a hiss—"deserted us, the sickness came and the fury of the mightiest storm the desert had seen came. Within months, half the tribe was dead. You took your presence and you took your protection and now we are all but gone from the world. Because of you. All because of you. But"— her smile returned—"those ancestors that were spared have allowed their descendants to claim vengeance. We are all that is left of the Banu Zadeh, but we will be enough."

Robin could have said it was coincidence, the disease and storm, that he'd never been a god, only an imposter, but I wondered if his "abandoning" them was all there was to it. Particularly when the remnants of the tribe had chased him for thousands of years bent on vengeance. I could see how easily whatever it was had happened. When we'd first met him, Goodfellow was the loneliest son of a bitch I'd seen. Pucks didn't seem to stick around each other much. The ego seemed to be part of their genetic makeup from what I could tell from the two I'd met. No wonder they went their separate ways. The clash of narcissism would be explosive. And the majority of other nonhuman races hated and scorned pucks. Thieves, con men, egomaniacs, it was the accepted image. And, hell, it was true, but Robin had proven he was more than that. He stood with us and had since the beginning. He'd faced death with us more than once. It hadn't been sheer loneliness that had driven him to that, but that had been part of it … at least in the beginning.

I didn't think it would've been any different in the days of Babylon. I could see him coming across a desert tribe and being different enough that they were suspicious of him. But if he were a god, and I was sure he had a few Houdini-style tricks to dazzle ancient humans, then they'd welcome him. Embrace him. No contempt. No hatred. Just acceptance, friendship, worship. Who could turn down a little worship? Not your average person, and definitely no puck. Eventually Robin would bore and move on. It was his bad luck on the timing was all. Of course, if he'd still been there when disease and natural disaster reared their heads, it might not have gone any better for him than it was going now.