There was a flash, a blink, and Julian suddenly loomed close, but before he could touch Miranda, the Trickster leaped the short distance of time and space to block him. She stumbled back against the chair and was immediately seized and dragged away by Khabir to the far corner of the patio. They crouched and watched the pair as they grappled for the small, thin blade in Julian’s hand.

Julian shook the Trickster off and backed away, laughing as he lowered the scalpel. “I knew you wouldn’t let me do it. This isn’t like the other times; this is real, isn’t it? This isn’t one of your damned webs?”

“No. Not real, but not one of mine,” replied the Trickster.

Miranda must have missed something in the Trickster’s expression, because Julian’s eyes widened in fear as if he had realized that he had been about to step into an abyss.

“It’s true, then.” He absently put away his blade, looking utterly lost. “What a foolish thing I’ve been doing. You can’t fight her, can you?” He paused, contemplated the shifting patterns on the back of his hand, and breathed as slowly as a dying man savoring the last of his oxygen.

“Now go do what you have to do,” said the Trickster sadly.

Julian stood still for a moment; then his lips twisted, and he nodded. He walked down the driveway, and although there was neither fog nor dust, his image vanished into the deepening dusk far sooner than human vision should allow.

—

“Why?” cried Miranda, facing the Trickster. It was an all-purpose cry. Why was he here? Why had he put her through all that? Why had Julian simply walked away? She yanked her cane out of Khabir’s weak grip and pushed herself to her feet. “Is this it? Is this the end?”

The Trickster opened his mouth, caught himself, gave a half laugh of amusement and resignation, and was silent.

“Oh look,” he said suddenly. “I believe that’s your cab.”

“No, wait, don’t go—”

It was too late. The air was empty, the night silent. The cab drew up and stopped; the driver got out and looked quizzically at the two who stood silently on the patio.

Khabir came alert, eager to be able to do something ordinary. He waved, signaling for the cab driver to wait a moment, then turned to Miranda. “I’m coming with you. I’m going to see you safely to Delma, and then I’m going home.”

“Khabir,” she began gently.

“My City home,” he continued, almost babbling. “I’m going to sleep in Club lodgings. Lots of people around. Lots of ordinary people. I feel the need to be surrounded by ordinary people making mundane noises about mundane matters. Please.”