The Trickster laughed. “I told you, I’m Ajit. You prefer the spiders?”

In a blink he let his body transform—not neatly and abruptly into a single arachnid, but into a dark pile that resolved itself with a gradual, crawling, scuttling disintegration into myriad many-sized creatures, all with that bright, wicked glitter in the eyes and the nervous energy in the limbs. Those limbs trampled the untidy bed linens in a feverish, malicious dance while a thousand eyes watched from every angle as Julian huddled down to the floor under the windowsill and screamed and screamed.

Eventually the Trickster grew bored, pulled himself together, and yawned. “That’s enough. Let’s go.”

Julian glared at him, panting a little with receding fear. “I know another of your kind,” he threatened vaguely.

“I know you do. I notice he’s not here. Why is that? Does it have anything to do with the lack of an amulet around your neck?”

Julian looked blank for a moment. “That’s just a game, a mind trick,” he said.

“It is, but it works. It captures human attention and leaves a good, thick trail of conscious intent for an undying one to trace. But it’s a strong tie, a rope that pulls both ways. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Better find someone disposable for that.”

“He brought Walther into this,” Julian tried to explain.

The Trickster smiled. “Ah, I must have truly frightened you. Already we come to naming names.”

Shaking slightly, Julian got to his feet and pressed his hands hard against the wall behind him. “I know you can’t harm me. You can scare me or harass or persuade until I do what you want, but you can’t hurt me.”

“Why, I never said a thing about hurting you. I only wish to observe. Today is an important day for you. Walther Grey is in jail, and there’s one more person to kill. Today you commit a murder, and I get to watch. So please proceed. Don’t mind me.”

And with that, he faded from mortal view.

Julian kept his hands against the wall until his breathing calmed. Slowly he straightened, slowly he walked to the bed and stirred the sheets with a cautious hand. “I can’t let this get to me,” he muttered.

Still smiling, the Trickster looked on, silent and unseen, and stepped backward through the closed door of the room. That was enough play to satisfy him for now. Eventually, when his prey emerged, the real work would begin.

When Julian finally got himself outdoors, he went straight to a side-street café and ordered lunch, most of it liquid and strongly alcoholic. The Trickster let him relax and begin to feel comfortable. That too was part of the game.