"Just for the record," I said. "Second-hand cigar smoke is in no way attractive."

"This is my town," said Luther. "My territory. No one knows it better than me. The people, the organisations, the schemes and the hustles. They didn't need to send you. I could have handled this myself. I've handled a lot worse in my time, and never once made a ripple in the waters. I have a reputation for getting things done and keeping things quiet, and I don't want it upset. I operate without being seen, behind the scenes. I keep the lid on things, I defuse situations before they get out of control, and no one ever knows I was there. It's the only way you can operate, in a media-saturated town like this. The last thing I need is a show-off, grandstanding overachiever like you, coming in here playing the hero, overturning the applecart and then setting it on fire. I know all about you, Eddie. No gesture too dramatic, no action too violent. Well, you aren't going to operate like that here. We can't make waves; we'd be noticed. Even after everything you've done recently, we're still supposed to be a secret organisation of secret agents."

"After everything I've done?" I said, innocently.

He wanted to splutter and raise his voice. I could tell.

"I know your reputation," he said doggedly. "It doesn't impress me. You're impetuous, you're unnecessarily aggressive, and you're sloppy! How many times have you been seen in armour in public? That's not how we get things done!"

"I saved the entire world from the Hungry Gods," I said.

"And got a lot of good Droods killed in the process. You're not getting me killed, rushing in where devils fear to tread. This is my territory, and we're going to do things my way. Either you agree right now to follow my orders, or I'll kick you out of town and deal with this problem myself. And to hell with the Matriarch's instructions!"

I considered him thoughtfully. "If my girlfriend was here, she'd make all your pubic hair fall out, just by looking at you in a Certain Way. I'm not as subtle as she? is. So either you agree to work with me, as a full partner… or I'll just punch you repeatedly in the head till your eyes change colour."

"You see! You see! This is what I'm talking about! You can't operate like that in a city like this!"

"Pretty sure I can," I said.

He glared at me for a moment, and then his face went studiously blank, his eyes cold and calculating. "Is it true?" he said. "Did you kill the Grey Fox?"

"Yes," I said. "I killed my Uncle James. And he meant a lot more to me than you do."

"I knew James," Luther said flatly. "Worked with him on a few missions, back in the day. He was a good man, and a real agent, and a credit to the family. I knew your mother, too. Your father, less so. They got themselves killed by rushing in without first…"

"Don't go there," I said, and something in my voice, or perhaps in my eyes, stopped him dead.

"Things were better the way they used to be," Luther said finally. "Back when the Droods were a real power in the world, and the world did what it was told. For its own good. Now, countries and governments and organisations all go their own way, and the Droods… are just one more force among many. Used to be, when we spoke people paid attention. Now all we do is run around playing catch-up, occasionally snatching victory from the jaws of defeat."

"We were never meant to rule the world," I said, just a bit tiredly. "Just protect people from outside forces and from themselves, when need be. I know things were easier for us in the past, but the price we paid was too high. Or have you forgotten that our old armour was made from the imprisoned souls of sacrificed Drood babies?"

"I haven't forgotten anything," said Luther. "But you have to admit, we did a better job when our hands weren't tied behind our backs."

"A better job?" I said. "Two World Wars and a decades-long Cold War, in the last century alone? No, we spent too long holding Humanity's hand; it's well past time they grew up and took responsibility for themselves."

"And how many of the sheep will die, because the shepherd won't intervene?"

"We protect them from wolves. Everything else is up to them."

"I didn't become a field agent to see people get hurt on my watch!"

"That's how children learn. We'll still be here, to pick them up when they fall."

"Nice words," said Luther. "Pity about all the blood and suffering and death."

"You've spent too long in Hell A," I said. "You've got far too used to being in charge of people. For their own good, of course. You're a bit old to be a field agent, aren't you, Luther? Most of us get called back in once we hit forty. And you're forty-nine. I checked your file. So what are you still doing here? Could it be you see them all as sheep now, unable to cope without your benevolent authority?"

"I have a good record here," said Luther. "Done a good job, down the years. I've made good local connections, carefully maintained and nurtured, with important individuals and organisations. In LA, and in Hollywood especially, it's all who you know. Who you can get to take your call, and then do what you tell them to do. The right names, the right relationships, can open doors here that would stay shut to anyone else. Even another Drood."

"I was right," I said. "You have gone native."

"Training a replacement, and rebuilding all the connections and relationships would take years! The Matriarch knows that. She's just… looking for the right man, for me to train. Besides, I'm not ready to give up yet. Not nearly ready to go back to the Hall, and sit behind a desk, pushing paper around. I've got years left in me yet! I've given my life to this job, to this town!"

"Doesn't mean you own the job, or the town," I said. "They sur vived before you, and they'll do just fine after you've gone. We go out into the world to serve the family, and Humanity, and when we stop forgetting that, it's time to go home."

"I've thought of nothing else, since they said they were sending you," said Luther. "They never sent anyone before."

"I'm not your replacement, Luther."

"No, you're my wake-up call." He smiled briefly, mirthlessly. "I'd miss the excitement of this place-all the larger than life people and places-but I have no roots here. No people who'd actually miss me if I disappeared tomorrow. We're not allowed to have friends or loves or real relationships, out in the field. Because the family doesn't allow it. That way your only loyalty is to the job, and the family. All these years I've fought being called back home, but I don't have anything here I couldn't pack into a suitcase."

"I know," I said. "That's why you need to come home, to the Hall. Because things are different there, now."

"I'm forty-nine," said Luther. "Old-school Drood. Different… scares me."

"That's good," I said. "That's how you know you're still alive."

"Spare me the platitudes," said Luther. "This is LA. I can get them wholesale here."

"Sorry," I said.

We stood together, hidden from the people passing by behind the protection of our unfolded map. Men and women went on their way and noticed nothing unusual, because Droods are trained not to stand out. Even when in the midst of an emotional crisis. It's not easy being a field agent. Or a Drood. But then, nothing worth doing is ever easy. Across the street, the Magnificat Hotel stared calmly back at us, smugly expensive and exclusive, ready for its Grand Opening tomorrow morning. It was a really big building. Just looking up at the top floor made me dizzy and unsteady on my feet, as though at any moment I might lose my footing and be snatched up into the sky, falling up and up into the endless brilliant blue. So I stopped looking up, and made myself concentrate on all the colourful bunting and banners that had been draped across the hotel front like so many ribbons on a present. Large signs proclaimed parties and ceremonies and even awards, along with the promise of various big stars and names and celebrities. None of whom would have been seen dead at a hotel opening if their careers were really going as well as their publicists said.