“Not Old Jamas?” I joked.

“Nope. Old Jamas is my Da.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jamas.” I nodded politely. “I'm Oberon. This is my sister Blaise. We were hoping your boy might go to Haddoxville for Old Doc Hand.”

Jamas nodded. “Old Doc Hand is the one you want, sure enough, for somethin' like seizures. Always go with experience, I say. My boy's out back getting wood for the kitchen. He'll be back in a few minutes. I'll send him straight for the doc. He won't mind.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.”

Turning, I carried Dad up the narrow flight of steps to the second floor. I pushed open the first door on the left with my foot, finding a small chamber with mismatched pieces of furniture: a high-canopied bed, a narrow armoire, and a battered washstand with a chipped blue basin. It would do quite nicely for Dad.

“Here, let me get the bed.”

Blaise hurried around me and drew back the patchwork quilt. I slid Dad between the sheets. He was drooling again. I sighed and wiped his mouth on his shirt.

“Can I untie him now?” she asked. “I don't think he's dangerous.”

“All right. But be careful—if he wakes up, he might get violent.”

“He wouldn't hurt me.”

“You can't trust a madman.”

Silently she untied our father's wrists, rubbing at the deep red marks they left. Dad stirred a bit and murmured softly. Then, to my surprise, she reached down and removed a knife with a unicorn-hilt from his right boot. I hadn't known he carried one there. It matched the one I'd taken from him earlier.

“I keep my eyes open,” she said with a grin, as if in answer to my thoughts. She passed the knife to me, and I tucked it into my belt, next to its mate. “Not that it will do much good—he can always get another one with the Logrus.”

I hadn't thought of that, and I frowned. What use to disarm someone who could get a new weapon any time he wanted?

“Maybe we should leave him tied up…” I said.

“If he gets loose, he gets loose. I'll help you catch him next time, if it comes to that.”

I raised my eyebrows. Again, I sensed the warrior within her that she kept so carefully hidden behind silks and lace. I did not doubt her word: if she said she'd help catch him, she would do it.

“Come on,” Blaise said. “I want that drink now.”

“Me too.”

We started for the door, where I drew up short.

“Wait!” I felt a sense of contact from a Trump.

“What's wrong?” Blaise asked.

“Someone's trying to reach me—”

I concentrated, and through a strange, flickery tunnel I saw a shadowy figure. He—I thought it was a man—seemed to be saying something. I couldn't quite make out the words, though.

“Who is it?” Blaise asked.

“I can't tell,” I said.

“Oberon…” The man's voice echoed faintly.

“Aber?” I said. His image flickered, then grew clearer. It definitely was my brother—but much thinner than the last time I'd seen him. His cheekbones stuck out and dark circles rimmed his deep-set eyes.

“… alive!” he said. His voice faded it and out. “I've… to reach you… days!”

“Time runs differently here. Where are you?”

“About… killed!” he howled. He sounded desperate. “Get… before…! Hurry!”

“Here!” Without hesitation, I reached toward him.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes growing wide, then seized my wrist with both hands. It felt as though he weighed a ton, but I gritted my teeth and hauled him forward. He tumbled into my arms.

“O—!” Aber stretched out his hands and staggered. He couldn't seem to get his balance. “There's something wrong here—”

He would have fallen if I hadn't supported him. Could the same thing that happened to Blaise be affecting him, too?

“You just need to get your Pattern-legs,” I said wryly, with more confidence than I felt. When he didn't so much as smile at that private joke, I knew he had to be in pretty bad shape. More concerned now, I helped him sit on the bed next to Dad.

He had lost a lot of weight, and his face had a desperate, hunted quality I'd only seen in game animals before the kill. Although he wore his usual blue pants and shirt, yellowish dust covered him from head to toe. The knees of his pants had been torn to shreds, like he'd just crawled through a rock garden… which, for all I knew, might have been trying to eat him. Rocks had strange properties in Chaos.

“What's wrong with Dad?” he asked, staring at our father. “Did someone attack him? Is he all right?”

“He's sick,” I said.

“Great,” Aber muttered, putting his head down in his hands. He took a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “I figured he'd be able to fix everything.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You want him to destroy the Pattern.”

He glanced up. “No! But… maybe if he gave himself up, Uthor would spare the rest of us.”

“Self-sacrifice? That doesn't sound like Dad.”

“No, I guess not,” he said, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Though, of course, we could always sacrifice him ourselves. Maybe the king would make a deal…”

“No,” I said flatly. “We're family, and we're going to stick together.”

“You and your idealism! Dad would sell you out in a heartbeat if he thought it would save his own skin.”

“You aren't doing him justice,” I said. Dad had gone to great lengths to protect me during my childhood. “Take a minute to catch your breath. Then you can tell me all about what happened in the Courts. Maybe I can help some other way.”

“I don't think anyone can help now.” He studied the floorboards. “They're after us all. I think Uthor's caught everyone but you and me and Dad.”

“And Blaise, of course,” I said. “She's free.”

“Blaise? That's just great!” he said sarcastically. I remembered there was no love lost between them. “Of course she would be the one to get away.”

“Thanks for caring, Aber,” Blaise said coolly from behind me.

He glanced up in surprise.

“I thought you were dead,” he said to her.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Why didn't you answer my calls?”

“I must have been busy.”

Aber opened his mouth for an angry retort, but I waved him to silence.

“Go downstairs,” I told Blaise. “We'll join you at the bar in a few minutes. I need to talk to Aber alone.”

“Oh, very well. I need that drink anyway. Especially now that he's here.” She stomped off into the hall without another word.

“Bitch,” Aber muttered under his breath. To me, he said, “I tried to reach her five or six times over the last few weeks, when I really needed help. She didn't answer. I assumed she had been captured. It figures she wouldn't bother to answer me.”

“She had her own problems,” I said. “I got her out of the Courts of Chaos just in time—hell-creatures were breaking down the doors to her room.”

“You should have left her there.” He folded his arms stubbornly. “Some people aren't worth rescuing.”

“She's still family,” I said. I tried to look stern. We couldn't let arguments divide us, not with so many enemies after our blood. “If what you say is true, there are few enough of us left now. And I'm sure Blaise will prove useful once we're settled in again.”

He gave me an odd look. “She wouldn't help in the Courts when I needed her. I'm not going to forget that!”

“I didn't say you should. Be aware of her limitations and know you can't count on her. She may be difficult, and you may not enjoy her company, but we have to stick together whether you like to or not.”

“That's a good way to get us all killed,” he grumbled. “I keep telling you not to trust anyone!”

“Except you.”

“Of course!” He laughed, a bit of his old spirit returning. “And Freda, of course. But Blaise? Certainly not! I wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be the traitor who almost got us all killed in Juniper.”