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Not castoffs, he thought, trying to understand what he saw through her eyes Antiques Heirlooms

In the real bedroom, Jeht at him "Hello Who are you?"

Questions in drea words could cause the sleeper to awaken suddenly Thierry did not want Je about him If she did, she would never tell him that which he needed to know Before hehim, he conjured a hooded cloak out of the dream realm and drew it around him[LC6], so that she could not see his face "I ahed "That’s convenient"

Thierry sat down on her bed--her two-hundred-year-old Colonial American bed, another much-cherished acquisition--and took her hand in his "Perhaps I could be someone you trust Someone for whom you care"

Jema’s smile faded "No I don’t want you to be anyone like that If you are, you’ll leave" The colors and shapes of the room rippled like the surface of a clear pool struck by a heavy stone "I know I’ alone"

He touched her cheek Her skin felt hot and daht after she wept "I won’t leave you I want to know everything about you" He ht have to risk so him about Miss Lopez and the hall of artifacts

She drew back and her voice turned cool "Why?"

Why, indeed? Thierry suddenly realized that he had no business here, not with this lonely, neglected little cat Her illness was serious, and what few months or years she had left to her should be lived to the fullest All he could give her was madness and pain He should slip out of her dream, out of her bedroo so, quite clearly "I need you"

Je his face, but did not try to push it back "What are you? Are you Death?"

Thierry could not speak Could not deny what he was

"No, not Death," she murmured She picked up one of his hands and exaain, thick and pointed, like talons "You’ve co Thierry rehtdress, the sa woman His cloak was not unlike the shadow cast over her bed; the form of a man whose hands were not those of a man…

Now he understood her drea that she loves "Yes"

"I’ainst it "I’ve waited so long for you Will you co froave in to temptation "Yes"

Chapter 9

"You’d be the archbishop’s proble the cork bulletin board in the Haven’s entrance hall to see a thin, big-eareda carpenter’s jeans and Union Jack flag T-shirt His orange-dyed hair fell in thick dreadlocks that reached his shoulders If all that wasn’t enough to chisel an impression, white letters on the shirt spelled out BUGGER OFF IRAQ

"I’all Hurley about the counseling position you have available" John wondered if Union Jack here would be his first client He had the right clothes, but his face was on the weathered side for a teenager

The dreadlocks swung forward and back as small blue eyes inspected him "You’d be a wop, a spic, an Oreo or a Twinkie Which is it?"

John despised racial slurs about as much as he did white men who affected dreadlocks "I wouldn’t knoas adopted"

"Oreo’d be uess More cream than coffee I’m Hurley" He didn’t offer his hand "You don’t like my hair"

"Your hair is ie"

"Irish were the white niggers in this country Still are," Hurley infore "You really looking for a job, Keller, or a place to lie low?"

What, precisely, had Hightower told thisfor a job" Which he had no intention of accepting, because he didn’t work for racists, so he’d make this fast