He covered his arm again, shivered, and turned his face away. “I am not a murderer. He . . . it . . . he insisted. Grey had taken care of all the rest.”

“Why them?” Khabir demanded.

Julian looked at him in surprise. “For the ritual.”

Khabir remained baffled. “What ritual?”

“The ritual for the amulet. It binds him to that undying one. Am I right, Mr. Outis? Grey was the hand, but you were the intent, so you became bound, not him,” Miranda said. “And now Grey is in jail and you have no amulet, so why me?”

Julian began to laugh again, a weary, cynical sound. “Is that what you think? It was a ritual for nothing; a nothing for a nothing. He told Grey, ‘The amulet requires you to sacrifice a certain number of people in a certain order by a certain day. Only then you will receive its protection.’ That’s all Grey knew, or wanted to know, to calm his nightmares. Convenient lies. I didn’t need any children’s tales. He told me the truth—you are worse than any amulet. I had to remove you to be certain.”

“Certain of what?” Khabir shouted. Miranda wanted to shout too. The more Julian spoke, the less sense he made, and it was terrifying to hear.

“Of my immortality,” Julian said with a simplicity that was almost innocent.

Khabir inhaled and drew closer to Miranda, curling his fingers around the second cane in preparation.

“I am not a murderer!” Julian insisted. “He showed me. You were destined to die in so many times, and those times when you did not die, you lived in pain and misery. It would have been a kindness to kill you. It was a kindness.”

“And now?” asked Miranda.

She stood up, shaking, with one cane, leaning only slightly on Khabir’s shoulder. She got herself firmly settled, unsupported, then dropped her cane into the blossoming hedge with a flick of her hand.

“And now?” she dared him.

He bowed his head, the slight tremors in his body becoming stronger, more visible.

“Make up your mind, Julian,” came a new voice.

It was Ajit, the Trickster as human. He stood behind Khabir and Miranda, feet planted a little apart in a relaxed and ready stance, stationed in front of the gate to the atrium. Khabir swung around with the cane, but at the sight of such an ordinary, harmless figure, he hesitated, glaring from one to the other in an attempt to determine where the threat lay.

“I’ve been showing Julian our version of immortality. I don’t think he likes it—do you, Julian? Time doesn’t run straight for the undying, and a human mind wasn’t made for that kind of existence. And what do you think of our Miranda, Julian? Are you killing her this time or not? It’s time to go, man. Make a choice.”