"At the end of the thousand nights, the sultan had fallen in love with Scheherazade and couldn't bring himself to kill her. Thus was she spared."

I clapped my hands softly together. "Bravo," I said. "Nicely told. You will go far should you ever become the wife of a sultan."

"Am I to take it that you have no desire to be- come my Scheherazade?"

"I think now would not be the time for those sto- ries. I would not cloud the danger of the present with tales from the past." "And if I were to insist?" I shut my eyes. "Then I would oblige," I said. "Then this must be a very serious matter indeed," he said.

I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with an unreadable expression. I knew then that I would never willingly make an enemy of him. To do so would be far too dangerous, even for me. "I would not come here otherwise," I said. "Very well," he said. "What is it you wish?" "For you to call an emergency meeting of the High Council."

She's in a dark house. At first, she thinks it is Lugh Surehand's mansion, but then she realises this is no place she's been before.

Outside, she hears the roar of helicopters. Bril- liant lights come streaming around the edges of the drawn shades. Then the door bursts open and shadow figures are coming inside. They hold weap- ons and they are grabbing. Grabbing the other peo- ple who are here. There are screams and she starts to run. Run away from the faceless things breaking into her dream.

"It went well then?" asked Caimbeul.

We were in the back of the limo again. I still had Surehand's jacket around my shoulders. I'd forgotten to take it off as he led me back to the party.

"He agreed to call a meeting of the High Coun- cil," I replied. "It went much better than I expected. But I suspect he'll want something in return."

"And what might that be?"

"I have no idea," I said. "But I think he might be more dangerous than both Aithne and Alachia."

"Lugh Surehand?" Caimbeul was incredulous.

"He's good enough at compromise and juggling the players, but a threat? Please."

Ignoring his arrogance, I stared out the tinted win- dows. The rain-slick streets flashed by. On a corner I saw a pair of trolls dressed in the height of fashion. I wondered briefly what they were doing here in this neighborhood, then let them fade from my mind.

"You're a fool if you underestimate him, Caim- beul. He has neither Aithne's temper nor Alachia's ego. How has he managed to stay in power all this time? That isn't the feat of someone who should be taken lightly.

"Didn't I read something about an assassination attempt, not too long ago? Despite that, he's still in power. More the wonder if one of us was behind it."

"You sound impressed," he said. "I can't remember the last time anyone impressed you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You sound like a school girl."

"Don't be asinine," I said. I was getting impatient. "You haven't been listening. Yes, I find him interest- ing, but not in the way you seem to think. He's a force to be reckoned with and not just some puppet put in place by Aithne, Ehran, and Laverty."

Caimbeul made a smug little noise. I turned toward him.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said.

"Why are you making such an issue out of this?"

"You're the one who won't let it drop."

I gave an exasperated sigh and turned away from him. Sometimes there was no knowing what was in Caimbeul's head.

The main room of the penthouse was dark when we entered. Some pale light filtered in through the terrace windows. The light from the hallway made a wide triangular shape on the floor and cast our shad- ows long in it.

I banged my injured knee on something and let out a curse. Enough of this, I thought, and caused a light to appear. The room leapt into view, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the light.

There, sitting on the couch, was Aithne's son, Glasgian Oakforest.

"Ah, perhaps the very last person I might have expected," said Caimbeul. His voice was pleasant, but I knew from his far too casual stance that he was very angry.

Glasgian stretched and made himself more com- fortable. A trick he'd learned from his father.

"My business doesn't concern you. Harlequin," he said. He had a spoiled rich-kid way of speaking. I didn't know who I was more disappointed in-him or Aithne.

"I beg to differ," said Harlequin. "It most cer- tainly is my business when I find an intruder in my hotel room. Besides, aren't you worried about what Daddy would say?"

Glasgian blanched and clenched his fists. That was his father's temper showing. "I've reached my majority, Harlequin. I don't answer to my fa… Aithne anymore."

"Stop it, Caimbeul," I said. "Just let him state his business, then he'll be on his way."

"I don't want to talk with him around," said Glasgian.

"Why should I talk to you alone?" I asked.

"Because of who my father is."

"All the more reason not to trust you."

Glasgian began to look a little desperate. What a baby he was, trying so hard to play in a game he didn't even begin to understand.

"Very well," I said. "Caimbeul, I'll deal with him."

"But…"

"What can he do?" I asked in Theran. "He's a child."

"What better way to get your guard down?"

"Aithne would not sacrifice his son. Not to me."

Caimbeul shrugged, then gave Glasgian one last hard look before casually moving off toward his bedroom.

I slipped off my high-heeled shoes, giving a little sigh as I did so. Murderous things, high heels. Im- practical too. Who could run or defend herself in them? I stayed away from them as much as possible.

Ignoring Glasgian for the moment, I went to the portable^ bar. My feet sank into the thick carpeting and I wriggled my toes against it as I poured myself a healthy snifter of cognac. I didn't bother to ask Glasgian if he wanted any. He'd already helped him- self.

I was tired and didn't relish any more verbal wrangling. Lugh Surehand had worn out what little sociability I had in me. What I wanted right now was to be alone. The Council meeting would be held day after tomorrow, and I would need all my energy for that.

I turned and looked Glasgian over. Here, one on one, he seemed less cocksure and full of himself. For a moment, I felt a surge of protectiveness, but I pushed it aside. Those sorts of things were always messy, in my experience.

"What do you want?" I asked. It came out sharper than I'd intended. He looked a bit wounded.

"I… I was wondering… That is… uh…What are you to my father?" he blurted out.

I walked over to one of the large armchairs that flanked the couch and sat down. The polished cotton fabric was cool against my back.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because he hates you more than he loves my mother."

"They are separated now, are they not?"

He nodded and looked more like a child than the man he had just become.

"I am his past," I said. "And he would rather not remember it. I don't think anyone reaches a reason- able age without some regrets. Not if you're doing it right."

"But, were you in love? He won't say anything about it. Just that you are something awful. When I saw you, I couldn't believe you were the one he'd been talking about."

"What did you expect? Horns sprouting from my forehead and long fangs?"

"I guess I thought I'd see something that would explain, but all I see is you. And you don't look so terrifying."

I laughed. "I'm surprised you're allowed out on your own, Glasgian. You are refreshingly naive, but I fear you're a bit stupid as well."

He flushed deep red at that.

"Where did you get the rather peculiar idea that you could tell how dangerous someone is by their appearance? Good heavens, not from your father, I'm sure."