“I’m sorry,” he said, registering my coldness. “I wish you hadn’t been confronted with all this. Not yet, at least.” He searched for the right words. “Our ways are not human ways,” he said, after a while. “Some of us are more… considerate in our use of our powers than others. Some of us are, quite simply, what humans would deem monstrous. But you can’t judge us by human standards, and eventually you’ll come to understand that. You’re one of us, Jane, whether you like everything about our community or not.”

I stared at him, unable—unwilling—to process what he was saying.

“In the meantime,” he continued, uncomfortably, “we do have a system of checks and balances to make sure nobody gets too out of control. And I’m part of that system. So please don’t look at me like that.”

He sounded so apprehensive that I blinked, shaken out of my appalled reverie. I looked deep into his golden eyes, as if I could find the answers I wanted written on his corneas. But all I got for my trouble was a flash of memory—the moment I realized his eyes must be hazel when we first met. I grasped that memory, attaching to it like a leech.

“Oh, Ryu,” I said, reaching for him. He folded me in his arms. “I want to go home.” And I really did, I realized. Rockabill, and the word home, had taken on a whole new significance for me.

“I know, baby,” he whispered into my ear. “I’ll take you home when this is all over. I promise.”

Let’s hope it’s not in a body bag, I thought, thinking of that poor man’s neck.

He held me for another minute, as I recovered my equilibrium. We were interrupted by the loud clang of a gong sounding from the edge of the raised dais.

“Dinner time,” Ryu said. “You okay?”

I nodded, shaking myself mentally. Ryu took my hand and led us to our table. We were sitting in the first row, near the dais, with Wally. Ryu was careful to keep himself and a few other beings between me and the djinn. Wally and Ryu exchanged covert little nods, and I knew they had something up their sleeves. Even if the genie wasn’t actually wearing any.

After we took our seats, the Alfar high table filed in and took their places. Morrigan and Orin were seated at the center of the table in the fanciest chairs, naturally, and Jarl was seated next to Orin. He looked particularly threatening in a high-collared royal-blue robe that made him look like he’d raided a Martian overlord’s closet. I also saw, with a start, that Nyx was seated at the very end of the high table. Her hunk of human man-meat sat disconsolately on the edge of the dais, at her feet. He looked lost and my heart went out to him.

Then the entertainment began. There was another singer, but this time he was unmistakably a kelpie. Like Trill, the man had grayish-green skin and seaweed hair. He was also unabashedly naked, although whereas Trill was relatively smooth and hairless, this guy looked like he had a coral reef extending down his chest to his groin, mostly covering his genitals. I leaned back into my seat to enjoy the sound of his singing. His voice spoke to me of the sea, and I closed my eyes. Through his words, I felt the ocean on my skin, tasted her salty tang, and thrilled to the echo of her waves in my ears.

For the first time since walking into the great hall I relaxed just a fraction. And when I felt Ryu’s slippered foot glide up my calf I smiled, my eyes still shut tight. Until I remembered that Ryu wasn’t wearing slippers, and my lids snapped open. Wally gave me his Buddha-riffic grin from across the table, and I sat up straight, carefully withdrawing my leg. Ryu hadn’t noticed his friend’s infraction, so I kept mum, shooting the genie a dirty look. He shrugged at me, looking for all the world as peaceable and harmless as a castrated monk.

But I was finally beginning to understand that nothing was as it appeared, here in the Alfar court.

After the singer, we were entertained by a group of incubi and succubae who danced like Cossacks trained by whirling dervishes. They spun like tops, kicking high their legs and tossing each other gracefully up in the air. Ryu put both hands on my knees, to remind my suddenly totally aroused body that it had to stay in its seat and not get itself a little tossing of its own.

I breathed a sigh of relief when they were finished. Dancing sexpots were all a little too much for my human half. Finally, dinner was served, and I dug in. Rather than individual plates, we were given large platters of food to share among the table. Everything was, of course, delicious. About the only thing I could unreservedly say was good about the Alfar was that they sure knew how to keep a body fed. I’d never eaten so well in my life, and my dad and I are both pretty dab hands in the kitchen.

During dinner there was a band. One person played an electric guitar, another a bodhran, and a third the panpipes, but they were the only instruments I recognized. After the meal, the musicians all cleared away, and another group of succubae—this time all dressed in belly dancing clothes—stood up to take their place.

Oh no, I groaned inwardly. Not again.

But just as the little group jiggled merrily into position, Jarl stood. He’d been oddly unfocused for the majority of the meal, his eyes turned inward as if he were in a trance. I’d kept an eye on him throughout the evening, trying not to feel like a fly caught in a web.

Everyone’s attention was riveted on Jarl. The succubae wordlessly cleared the stage.

“They’ve returned!” Jarl’s voice rang out, just as the double doors at the end of the hall flew open. Everyone stood. After exchanging concerned looks, Ryu and I joined them on our feet.

For a moment no one appeared. And then for another moment, I was too short to see what was happening. I cursed my midget-hood, although when I finally did get a glimpse of what was coming up the aisle, I wished I hadn’t.

Jimmu was in the lead, and flanking him was an honor guard of eight nagas—four on each side, consisting of all nine nestmates in total. They glided down the central aisle with the same serpentine grace and they looked like siblings, not least as they were all dressed in the same punk style. Except that each of them carried on their backs a sheathed sword, and they weren’t for decoration. Not even the Ramones went in for swords, I thought, not liking where tonight was going. Nine Jimmu clones, all armed, did not bode well for my safety.

They strode soundlessly down the aisle, and all in attendance shrank back as they passed. I was clearly not alone in being scared witless by the nagas. As they neared our table, Jimmu’s cold eyes flicked to mine and it was like his hand had reached around my throat. I gasped, fighting to breathe, until his dry eyes swept back to gaze ahead. Ryu placed a protective hand on the small of my back to remind me he was there.

That was when I saw the sack. As they passed, I noticed that Jimmu carried a large burlap bag, soaked with red stains, over his shoulder. I shuddered at the sight, my brain taking a moment to catch up to what I’d instinctively recognized.

Jimmu and the other nagas had reached the first dais by this time. They mounted it in one smooth motion, fanning out into formation and dropping down onto one knee apiece, heads bowed. Jarl watched them with obvious pride, returning their obeisance with a slight inclination of his head.

“Report!” his voice rang out. Jimmu stood.

“Justice has been served,” he said, his snake tongue flickering between his lips. I’d never heard him speak before now, and his voice was just like his eyes—cold and dead.

I put a hand protectively over my stomach as I watched Jimmu swing the sack down from off his shoulder. I had a pretty good idea of what he was carrying, and my only goal at this point was not to barf on the table.

“The murderer was apprehended,” Jimmu continued, pulling a rolled up piece of paper from his leather jacket’s breast pocket. “And a confession extracted,” he said, as he passed the paper to Jarl. Jarl didn’t even bother to open it, passing it wordlessly to Orin and Morrigan. They read it in silence, nodding once when they’d finished.

“And you took action?” Orin asked, his voice dispassionate.

“Of course, my King,” Jimmu said, as he opened the sack.

I braced myself as I watched the naga upend his bloody burden. It felt like it took eons; time had slowed in the way it tends to when you’re about to experience something that will change you forever. I’ll never forget the sound that the naked, gore-encrusted limbs made as they smacked against the wood floor of the dais. First an arm, and then a piece of torso, and then the rest of the various bits that make up a whole human being fell out of the sack with a dizzying array of crunches and splats. I tasted bile as I looked around me. But instead of sympathetic looks of horror, no one looked particularly bothered except for Ryu. Who knew, as well as I did, that whoever was in that sack was not the killer but some innocent victim of the nagas’ deadly games.

When Jimmu bent down to pick up the head, holding it aloft by the hair so that all could see, my world shrank as everything went wonky. The dead man’s eyes were rolled into the back of his head, and I saw that he had a beard. It was well groomed. The beard, believe it or not, was what pushed me over the edge. It’s not that I recognized the body; he was a stranger. But seeing that carefully trimmed beard—a symbol of the man’s everyday existence—brought home to me his humanity and his vulnerability. I swayed on my feet, dizzily reaching for the table as I nearly went down. From a very great distance, I heard someone shout “Nooo!” in an anguished voice. “It’s all a lie,” the voice continued, panicked. It was a very loud voice, I thought, as my stomach continued to heave. And very close. Very, very close, in fact.