Four hours' sleep. All things considered, it was more than I'd hoped for. As I pushed off the tenacious remains of sleep, I saw something else as constant as the sun. A dark blond head rested against the arm of the couch, breaths even and deep.

I groaned. "Jesus, Nik. You turn down a bed and a beautiful woman to sleep on the floor. I wonder about your priorities, Cyrano. I do."

"Who's to say I didn't split my time equally?" He'd awakened immediately, probably before I managed to get the first syllable out of my mouth. Instantly alert, he sat up from the boneless slouching position he'd slept in and sheathed the knife that had been cradled in his hand. My own was still tucked under the cushion.

"Trust me. Time spent with Promise and time spent babysitting me don't work out quite the same." I rolled over onto my back and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "You worry about me too much, Nik." My hand made an automatic grab for a braid that was no longer there. I missed Niko's hair, if only for the annoyance it gave him when I tugged on it. Letting my empty hand dangle toward the floor, I went on, "You should worry more about yourself. So should Promise and Goodfellow."

"Don't," he said firmly.

I turned my head back toward him. "Nik, you heard what—"

"I said don't," he overrode me. "It doesn't matter what it said, Cal. Not to me, and not to Promise or Robin. A few may have survived the warehouse explosion, but they won't survive for long. They…" He stopped, lips pressed tight. Closing his eyes, he massaged his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I'm an idiot. They're back, aren't they? They're truly back. Bastards."

I extended an arm and hooked it around his neck for a rough squeeze. "Goodfellow says there's a Greek nudie island he could take us to."

His eyes opened, and lie snorted through his long nose. "And how is that better than the Auphe? Or less dangerous, for that matter?"

I stretched my lips into the closest thing to a grin I could manage. "Good point." I released him and sat up. "Do you think… ?" I hesitated, but then pushed on. "Do you think the Auphe took George?"

"No," he said with the certainty that let me know he'd already carefully weighed the possibility before dismissing it. "The Auphe are straightforward in their maliciousness. If they had wanted George, they would've taken her. Simply, and without the distraction of Caleb and the crown."

I felt something inside me unclench a little. George in Caleb's hands was gut-wrenching; George in the hands of the Auphe… it was a connection in my brain that I couldn't even make. "Okay." I blew out a heavy breath and repeated, "Okay." I retrieved my blade from under the cushion and watched the sunlight ripple on its surface. "Now tell me, why the hell is that mangy Flay in your bed and not headfirst down the incinerator where he belongs?"

"He wouldn't fit?" he offered with a raised eyebrow. At my unappreciative growl, Nik stood, stretched, and relented. "He doesn't know anything useful that he's aware of. But now that he is persona non grata with the Kin and Caleb, he may be able to advise us on what Caleb's next step would be. It would only be a guess, but a guess is more than we have now."

It was smart thinking and good strategy, but in the end, it came to nothing. In seven hours Flay didn't wake once. Oh, sure, he'd shared his bodily fluids, all of them, with us… all over Nik's bed. But consciousness? Words? No. Promise said she'd seen it before, a self-induced coma that concentrated all a wolfs resources on healing. Nothing could wake the son of a bitch and don't think I didn't try. I did. And with an enthusiasm I didn't like to think about. Finally, Niko dragged me out to the kitchen and pushed me into a chair. "Drink," he commanded, depositing a glass in front of me.

Looking at the container of brown liquid dubiously, I said, "Yeah, thanks anyway. What ails me I don't think your wheatgrass can cure."

"And torturing an unconscious wolf will?" he retorted.

I felt the burn behind my skin spread to tingle in my mouth. Shame. What had seemed completely justified only minutes ago now seemed far less so under my brother's gaze. So I did the very least I could do. Taking the glass, I drank. Expecting the usual healthy concoction, I nearly choked on the scorch of whiskey. Considering our mother, it was the last thing I'd expected Niko to slip me, but oddly enough it was just what I needed. One swallow was enough. Hot as my rage, the alcohol burned a path down to my stomach and woke me up. That was the best way to put it. It woke me up, jarring the cycle of fear and hate and letting me step free of it for a moment.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear, Cal." He put his hands on the table and bent down to fix me with an unwavering look. "I don't give a damn what you do to Flay. I do, however, give a damn what you do to yourself. All right?" He didn't give me time to respond. "Now…" After removing the still half-full glass to the sink, he sat down opposite me. "Goodfellow called. He's had an idea."

Justifiably suspicious of any patented Goodfellow scheme, I asked, "What kind of idea?"

"Abbagor."

That had been the original Goodfellow extravaganza that had birthed my suspicious nature to begin with. To hear it repeated was the nastiest sort of déjà vu. "You've got to be shitting me." I jerked back in the chair so abruptly I nearly tipped it over. "Jesus. Tell me you're shitting me."

"Would that I could," he said impassively.

"He tried to kill us last time, Nik. You do remember that, right?" I said caustically. I sure as hell did and as memories went, it wasn't among Christmas Day and the smell of puppy breath for warm and fuzzy. Abbagor was… Shit, Abbagor was Abbagor. A mass of living flesh, buried victims, and an appetite for violence and blood that was legendary. He was also a troll, but not like any fairy-tale troll I'd seen in any book. He was not like anything I'd seen ever… anywhere. And what he had nearly done to Niko… Christ. "He tried to kill us, and he tried pretty damn hard."

"As Goodfellow reminded me, with considerable condescension, he'll most likely try to kill us this time as well. But apparently Abbagor knows everything about anything," he said with distaste. "He is our best chance at tracking down the other crown."

"The other crown?" I frowned. "You think it still exists?"

"It's possible. The first survived. Why not the second? I think it at least bears looking into. And the best place to look into it happens to be with Abbagor. He, as he's proven before, knows something about everything."

I closed my eyes. Unfortunately it was true. The troll was an information miser. If there was something worth knowing, he knew it. Hell, even if it wasn't worth knowing, he knew it. "Great. Just… great. I don't suppose you'd do me a favor and hang around topside when we go visit the son of a bitch?"

"Considering the three of us barely walked away last time, I would have to say no," he said dryly.

What went unsaid was that the previous year we'd been at top form. No wounded arm for me, no Goodfellow limping around like a lame horse. "Wonder where I can get a bazooka on short notice," I said, grimacing.

"Sufficient unto the day the ass kicking therein." Nik's hand landed on my shoulder, then urged me up. "We'll worry about it later. Facing Abbagor without sleep isn't wise."

Facing Abbagor at all wasn't wise. As a matter of fact, it wasn't anything less than suicidal. And it didn't matter a damn. We were backed in a corner; we were drowning. If Abbagor was the only straw within reach, then…

We'd just have to grasp it.