There was more planning and discussing and talking, and at the end of it, I was so tired, I couldn’t see straight. The draugr was really bad news. I said that we needed extra firepower, the kind that would work during magic.

“Galahad warheads,” I told them. Strictly speaking it wasn’t a warhead, but rather an arrowhead that fit into a custom crossbow and carried a magic charge that would take down an elephant or a giant, for whom it was invented in Wales. In my time with the Order I had managed to order two cases of them from the UK. I even had the new bow to go with them.

Shortly after that, Barabas dragged Raphael off to talk about some sort of important thing that couldn’t wait. Kate led me to a room that had a bed, and I collapsed into it, fur and all. The Pack bed was so soft. Like floating on a cloud.

Fatigue weighed me down. I closed my eyes, feeling the ache humming through my legs. Shouldn’t have sat down…yawn…straight after running…yawn. Should’ve walked it off…first…

I stood in the water. It splashed past my ankles, dark blue-green and warm. Soft mud squished beneath my feet. I made fists with my toes and watched a bright green cloud of powdery silt rise from the river’s bottom, swirling around my legs. Patches of reeds grew, stretching into the river, bending lightly in the wind, as though they were whispering gossip to each other. In the distance, across the vast expanse of water, the sun was setting or rising, a small ball of yellow hovering at the edge of low dark hills, the silver-nacre sky around it painted with pink and yellow.

I looked over my shoulder. A yellow shore greeted me, touched with patches of bright green grass, and beyond it palms stretched upward.

We were definitely not in Kansas anymore.

A slender bird walked past me on long legs. It had a curved neck and a long beak and I realized it was a heron.

A presence brushed against me, saturated with magic. I turned. A jackal the size of a rhino waded into the river downstream from me and lapped the water, watching me with golden eyes.

Right. I was standing in the Nile, watching Anapa, and this was not an ordinary dream. There were rules to this dream. No promises, no striking of bargains, in fact, no talking. Nobody yet had managed to get into a shitty bargain with a god by keeping their mouth shut.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The Jackal-Anapa raised his head and looked into the distance, at the sun. “Do you like the way it smells?”

It smelled verdant. It smelled like the moisture of the river mixing with the fragrance of dry grasses from the shore, and flowers, and fish, and rich mud. It smelled like the sort of place where life would flourish and hunting would be plentiful.

“It’s your father’s blood. It calls to you,” the Jackal said.