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stroking her hair in small, soothing motions. “Shh. That’s right. Just calm down. Tell us your name.”
    “Let me go,” she said, curling up protectively.
    “Just tell us your name,” he said softly.
    “Leave her alone,” I said again, but he ignored me. She cringed back from the touch of his fingers on her face, but he touched her cheek again.
    “Just your name,” said Gidri.
    “Rose,” she said finally. Her voice was thick with fear.
    “Have you lost someone close to you, Rose?”
    “This is sick,” I said. “Just let her go.”
    “You asked me what I wanted you to say,” said Gidri, keeping his eyes on Rosie. “I want you to tell this Rose who you are.” He looked up at me suddenly. “Who you are to her.”
    “I’m nothing.” I tried to squirm out of Ihsan’s grasp, but he held me too tightly.
    “You are the opposite of nothing,” said Gidri.
    “I’m a god, then,” I said desperately. “Is that what you want me to say? To take my place in your pantheon of monsters? I’m a god of death and fear,” I said, each word splintering my heart into a thousand brittle shards, watching Rosie’s face shift and wince in terror. “I am Meshara, the god of dreams and nightmares and memory.”
    “Who did you lose, Rose?” asked Gidri.
    “Please, no,” I said. I could never tell her that. Let her be scared of me and terrified of them and traumatized and damaged, but don’t destroy her memory of Billy. Leave her that much at least.
    “Tell her who you are,” said Gidri.
    I am the one who loves you more than anything in the world , I thought, and I will protect you with my life . I closed my eyes and leaned back against Ihsan, resting my head against his face. He shifted uncomfortably, not knowing how to react.
    And then I began to drink.
    I drew his memories through his skin like sweat, draining his mind in a rush that froze him in place, motionless and helpless. He forgot where he came from, what he was doing, and he let go of me. Thoughtless. He forgot where he was, and who. Selfless. He forgot how to stand, how to swallow, how to breathe, and collapsed on the floor in a heap.
    “Holy Mother,” said Gidri, and I leapt at him, grabbing him by the arm, and I wasn’t just me but the tall man as well, an ancient warrior named Ihsan, a paragon of power too perfect for the world to endure, and I was great and I was glorious, and I was proud and scared and lost and tormented. Ihsan knew Gidri’s plan, knew that he had a knife in his boot, and so when he reached for it I was ready, and I laid my hands upon his head and drained it like a bottle, and Gidri ceased to be anything but a twitching vegetable, and abruptly I remembered a hatred so powerful I dropped to my knees—hate for me, for himself, for the entire world. Gidri’s memories squirmed through my mind like maggots, wriggling and biting and turning everything to filth, and then they sunk below the surface and were gone, lost in the fathomless depths of my mind.
    The sharp-faced man rose up, erupting in a forest of angles and blades, slashing at me with a slick brown thorn that opened my chest like a razor. I fell back, reaching in vain to stop him, and I thought I heard voices in the hall. The sharp man turned, listening, and bounded suddenly through the door like a hound of hell. An abrupt thunder of gunfire stopped him in his tracks and shook him like a leaf, and as he fell, a man in black rushed into view to finish him off with a machete. Rosie was screaming, and I managed to pull myself to my feet, oozing ash and blood, and pull her into the corner behind me. Another figure in black, a woman with dark brown skin, rushed past the frenzied blade fight in the hallway and charged into the office, firing at me with a large caliber handgun. The bullets ripped past me, destroying the wall in a shower of wood and plaster. Rosie screamed again, and the woman with the gun stopped, holding the gun on us with unswerving aim, and spoke into the