-27-

"That Which is Deserved"

At daybreak the next morning, I helped Dream get to his feet so we could return to the beach shack and retrieve Delirium.

"You look quite happy," he commented to me, as we walked along the beach.

I grinned. "Shouldn't I be?" At first I wasn't sure what to think or feel, and my brain was whirring like a jet engine all night trying to process what it all meant going forward - and what I determined was maybe this had been staring me in the face all along. All that weird hostility between us? Sexual tension. The barbs that we kept sending each other's way? Sexual banter. It all made perfect sense now, and I realized I was totally cool with it.

But Dream was scowling, like he was pissed. What did he have to be pissed about, I wondered? Surely he could see how much nicer this was, compared to just killing me - now he had someone who understood him and wanted to be by his side, so that he didn't have to be alone. And besides, I was an immortal - I didn't even have to make ritual sacrifices and bargain with gods to maintain it, either, unlike what Thessaly was having to do to remain immortal.

I'd already known that I was going to have trouble being in any long-term relationship with a mortal - at some point I was going to have to dump them and take off without a trace to preserve my secret, or trust them enough to tell them… and even that was problematic. Whenever the people around us caught on that I wasn't aging properly, they'd have to agree to cut all ties and start over with me in some new place - like we were in Witness Protection or something (only even worse, because we'd have to KEEP doing it, at least every ten years or so). And even then, what would happen when I still look like a young woman, and they look old enough to be my grandfather? Would we just deal with people being weird about it? Or would we have to go live off-grid in some secluded place, so that people would leave us alone?

No, it was much better this way - I would like living in the castle at the heart of The Dreaming, with the members of The Dreaming Crew for company (I feel wrong calling you guys 'servants' - I suppose that's something that I would have changed, had I actually made the castle my permanent residence). The only person I'd feel a bit bad about leaving behind was Wanda, but I figured it wouldn't be impossible to keep visiting her every once in a while (and considering all the weird stuff that happened in her dreamworld and to our apartment, I don't think she'd be all that fazed by it).

This was going to work. Maybe Dream just needed more time to process it as well.

We found Delirium, playing on the beach with Kris' son. She ran up to us. "ThEre yOU twO aRE…"

"We are leaving. Now."

"DrEAm, hOW cOme yOU're hObbliNG arOUnd...? WheRe diD yOuR reGuLar cLOtheS gO, RoSe? WhAt wEre yOU gUYs, uM, dOIng...?"

"None of your concern."

Delirium gave us a mischievous grin. "Ooooh, i thINk i knOW… aNd i thiNk yOU pLaYEd toO hArd wIth hiM ROse...

"Delirium, I have had quite enough of your nonsense. Quiet!"

Delirium looked hurt. She ran to me and buried her face in my chest.

"MEAn! ALwAYs sO mEAn, evEn whEn i dOn't dO anYthiNg aT aLL! i didN't, diD i...?"

"No, it's okay," I said, patting her rainbow-colored hair. I shot a look at Dream, as if to ask him what the hell his problem was.

"We have been delayed long enough," he said, in what I guess was supposed to be an explanation for his impatient attitude. "We must now speak with Alex Burgess."

"Oh, that nice old gay guy in the big mansion?" I asked, thinking nothing of it. "Constantine and I already went to him to start out with - we thought it was a dead end, or that at least that Mr. Burgess wouldn't be willing to help us. It was actually really weird how he just threw us out without explaining anything… what is it that we're wanting from him?"

"I am very much wanting to know where my Helmet is," he growled.

I stared at him, aghast. "You mean Orpheus didn't tell you?"

Dream turned away, sharply. "I trust you remember the Burgess estate well enough to take us there, without assistance."

"Uh… yeah, sure," I said, growing more confused by the minute. Why was he being like this? And what the heck happened with Orpheus, before Dream helped pass him along to his sister Death? (at the time I was completely in the dark about all of that, and continued to be so up until now - so thank you for finally explaining how that went down between them, Daniel).

Taking some Dreamsand from the sleeping Kris inside the beach shack, the three of us - me, Delirium and Dream - made a quick jump into The Dreaming, and pretty much instantaneously arrived at the Burgess Mansion.

We were in Alex Burgess' bedroom. The old man was asleep in his bed.

"Maybe we should come back later," I said, quietly.

"No need - without our intervention, Alex Burgess will remain asleep."

"What?"

Dream didn't respond, instead just going to Burgess' side and snapping his fingers in front of his face - a very rude way to wake him up, I thought. Burgess gasped, his eyes opening wide. He looked up at Dream in speechless, frozen terror.

"Hello, younger Burgess," said Dream. "We meet again."

"Dream, you're scaring him," I said, approaching. "Hey, Mr. Burgess. You remember me? I was here earlier, with Constantine. And that other guy."

Alex Burgess stared at me with suspicion.

"Sorry for dropping in on you like this," I said, "but we really need your help. See, Dream is looking for his Helmet, and…" I stopped then, because I noticed he wasn't listening to me: he was squeezing his eyes shut and white-knuckling the bedsheets something fierce. "Hey uh, Mr. Burgess? Are you alright?"

"He dOeSn't thiNk yoU aRe reaLLy yOu," said Delirium. "ThE iNsiDe oF hiS hEaD iS aLL miXed uP aNd gOOey."

Well that explained nothing. "Dream? What's going on?"

Dream stared coolly down at Alex Burgess, with half-lidded eyes. "He thinks he is still dreaming," he said.

Oh. "Mr. Burgess, you're not dreaming. I know this is really odd, but we really are here to talk to you."

"Just go away," he moaned, trembling. "Please… I can't take anymore…"

"I have freed you from eternal waking," said Dream. "You may show your gratitude by telling me of my Helmet; otherwise, I shall be glad to return you to your torment."

I frowned at Dream - none of this was sounding good at all. "Did you do something to him?"

"Only that which he deserved."

"Dream," I said, warningly, "tell me what you did."

"I condemned him to eternal waking - to forever dream of awakening from sleep, but never actually doing so."

"Shit! What did you do that for?!"

"It was punishment for keeping me imprisoned... for 70 years, in a glass box, in the basement of this very manor." So that's what that was… all that sand, surrounding a broken giant snowglobe-thing in the basement. No wonder Burgess had shooed us out like that - he'd been keeping Dream imprisoned, and Dream had somehow escaped. But why had he imprisoned him? "I suppose you find the method of my retribution overly harsh?"

I didn't know how to answer; but Burgess did. "My father imprisoned him," he said, weakly. "I was just a boy… but I never tried to free him. I was too afraid of what he might do."

I searched Dream's cold, impassive face - Burgess had been right to be afraid. But I wasn't. "Dream, I can't imagine what that was like for you."

"You are right. You cannot."

"But you really need to-"

"Do not say that he needs to be forgiven; I owe him nothing, least of all that."

"...stop punishing him. That's what I was going to say." We were all silent for a few moments. "No, you don't need to forgive him - you don't need to move on, or let it go; all that stuff that people say about forgiveness being 'a gift to yourself' is just hogwash.

It sounds like both he and his father hurt you very badly, and what they did to you is wrong - you certainly don't need to let them off the hook for that, and tell them that it's alright; it's not alright, and you're obviously not okay because of it. They should have to own their guilt, and you have a right to your own anger.

You can do with your anger whatever you want: hide it, suppress it, come to terms with it, expose it, channel it into something worthwhile… whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? You can even fight for an apology, or to convince the wrongdoer to make amends. But the one thing you should not do - because it's not your place to do so - is to hurt them back just for the sake of getting even; as you can see, nothing really good comes out of that. Only more misery."

"You would lecture me on what my place should be?"

"I will tell you what I think is right." I turned to Alex Burgess. "You've suffered enough," I said. "I'll make sure that Dream doesn't punish you any more. But please, help us set things right: that Helmet belongs with its rightful owner. Where can we find it?"

Alex's lower lip trembled, and he blinked back tears. "S-Sykes," he said, and he swallowed. "Ruthven Sykes. He took it with him when he left the Order. I believe he now owns a pub downtown, named The White Horse Inn."

I nodded. "Thank you, Alex.

Dream raised an eyebrow. "The White Horse... I know of this place."

"Good - shouldn't be hard to find, then. Let's go get your Helmet back."

"BYe MiSTer GOOey-HeAd!" yelled Delirium. "i'LL SeE yoU laTeR!"

We left as quickly as we came.

-Daniel's Tale-

Alex Burgess cried, harder than he had ever cried before. He couldn't believe it: he really was free of the endless nightmare.

And it looked to him as though the girl would be alright - she seemed perfectly able to stand up to the Sandman, and for some reason the Sandman seemed unable (or unwilling) to do anything to contend with her.

What kind of hold did she have over him, he wondered?

But ultimately, it did not matter if he ever found out.

He was free. The Sandman would trouble him no more.

Not directly, at least - and not until he slept.

He'd had plenty of sleep in the last few days - enough to last him for a little while, surely.

Alex Burgess resolved to delay returning to the realm of the Sandman, for as long as he was able.

Meanwhile, Ruthven Sykes was feeling fairly confident that his pub was about to be sold, and for a decent amount of money at that.

They'd had a good run with this place. But it was time - he and Ethel needed to retire, and enjoy whatever time they had left.

He had no desire to cater to customers anymore - he only had one that he really enjoyed seeing and talking to, a long-time regular named Robert Gadling (long-time in that Robert told him he'd been to this bar in his younger days, before he and Ethel bought the place - when Sykes met him a few years prior, Robert had said that he had not been inside The White Horse Inn for a very long time, but had a mind to return to it after the passing of his wife. Sykes was glad that Ethel was still so healthy and spry, even at her advanced age - he couldn't imagine life without her).

Robert was sitting there right now, enjoying a day-drink and keeping to himself - the pub was technically closed to the public in order to show it to prospective buyers, but Robert was granted an exception on account of his loyal patronage. He'd already talked up the pub to the business suits that were assessing it - and how much he was going to miss Sykes, who, he always said, was 'the most fit person imaginable to own the place'.

Sykes always suspected that he meant far more with those words than he let on, but he never said anything more than that - he could possibly have been making reference to the poetic justice of the owner of the White Horse Inn being black.

Robert was a good man.

Ethel was cleaning the counter-tops, and beamed when one of the suits complimented her on how well-kept the place was. She liked to keep busy, and moreover Sykes figured that she wanted the suits to know just how much tender loving care she had shown to this place over the years. Sykes had always been proud of it too, of course - but she had loved it like the child she never had.

That little spark of anger flared within him again, thinking about it - Sykes would never forgive Roderick Burgess for what he'd ordered done to her, repeatedly; all in order that he could take his pleasure from her without consequence, and in so doing, rob her of the chance for anything of her own. Roderick had always wanted to maintain her as nothing more than his mistress, and would never allow her to become a mother - like Roderick's wife, who disappeared under mysterious circumstances shortly after she bore Roderick's son Alex.

Alex… he hadn't thought about that boy for a very long time. He wondered if he turned out better than his father. He certainly hoped so.

Anyway, Ethel had thankfully come to her senses enough to be able to see who really loved her - and was brave enough to let him take her away from all of that. She'd had to give up the money, the glamour, and the expensive gifts, of course - Sykes could never provide her with any of that - and she'd put up with him wearing that Helmet every night while he slept, for years.

He'd told her it was to protect him from Roderick Burgess taking his magical revenge upon him, and that was partly true - he hoped that having it in his possession and wearing it would confer some form of protection on that front - but he could never bring himself to tell her that what he truly feared was Burgess' dream-monster, the one that they captured that night; should that entity ever escape, Sykes would not want to be caught in the dream-world unprotected.

When he heard news of Roderick's passing, he lost his excuse to Ethel concerning his use of the Helmet - he kept it as a wall-mounted display in the bar, and did one last act of occult magic that he had learned as part of the Order: he summoned a pair of demons, whose names were Brute and Glob. The two demons promised to protect him, in exchange for ownership of the Helm - Sykes would maintain possession of the Helmet until his death (which could not be hastened by them, as part of their promise to protect him - Sykes was careful to stipulate in their contract). Sykes hoped this would be enough to ward off retribution.

Now he was too old to worry about it so much - if the dream-entity came for him, he would merely accept whatever punishment it offered; and if that punishment was not in itself death, then he would simply endure it and wait for Death to arrive in her own time (oh yes, he'd read the books in Roderick's study and knew something of the Endless - what little the mystics of old understood and recorded of them, anyway).

It was a sorry thing to keep a living being caged like that - especially something so remarkably human. Not so long ago, someone like Sykes would have been treated in that very manner: seen as something less than a person, to be held in any kind of bondage that his captors deemed fit, and treated with more cruelty and callousness than some would ever think to inflict upon an animal.

Sykes wanted to set such thoughts of ugliness aside, at least for now - plenty of time for that later, if he needed. He wouldn't let the terrible elements of the past darken his mood, not right at this moment when he ought to be looking forward to his retirement.

One of the suits stared at the wall-mounted Helmet. "What is that?" he asked. "A gas-mask?"

Another suit stopped to look at it as well, sipping from a glass of beer provided to him by Ethel herself. "Freakin' strange, whatever it is."

"It came into my possession while I was second-in-command of the Order of Ancient Mysteries," explained Sykes. "Now it's a memento of sorts."

"I believe I've heard of it…" said another, "some kind of rumor, about it being worn by a creature Burgess summoned?"

Cold dread stabbed at Sykes' chest - in all these years, he'd never heard anyone speak of such a rumor (indeed, he couldn't recall the last time he'd heard mention of the Order at all - the public had all but forgotten, quite content to leave them a mere footnote in the annals of magical history). He tried not to panic - the man surely had no idea how true this 'rumor' actually was.

"Well, the Order certainly would've LIKED to have possessed the power to summon extra-dimensional beings," said Sykes with an easy smile, "But truth be told, it was more of a men's club. We all had secret names… and secret handshakes." That elicited chuckles from the crowd of suits. Good. "But no secret monsters," Sykes continued. "If Burgess had ever had one under his control, believe me when I say he would have made no secret of it."

It wasn't exactly a lie, Sykes told himself - the Dream-King may have been imprisoned, but never had he been under anyone's control… least of all Roderick Burgess.

Roderick always had a habit of vastly overestimating his power to control others, Sykes thought. He and Ethel were testament to that.

He saw the suits out, and thanked them for coming.

"Do you think they'll buy?" asked Ethel.

"I dunno. I get the feeling they're thinking about it." He was actually feeling more assured about it than he sounded - but he never wanted to get Ethel's hopes up, in case of disappointment. Ethel shook her head and sighed, cleaning the glasses of complimentary beer that the suits had left behind - she was always telling him to stop being so pessimistic about things, because she'd believed so strongly since the days of her youth in the power of positive thinking. He knew his non-committal and sometimes cynical statements nettled her, but he couldn't help it; he had a reflexive need to always prepare her for the worst.

He looked at the Helmet on the wall. "I wish I hadn't left this up."

"Gives the place some character, if you ask me."

"Maybe. But perhaps not the right kind."

It was then that new strangers arrived at his door.

-Rose Walker's Tale-

We arrived in the alley, outside the pub. I noticed that Dream was no longer dressed in just his T-shirt - he was wearing his black long coat, appropriate to the London clime. I, on the other hand, was starting to feel a little self-conscious in my makeshift toga - my PJs were bad enough, but this was way worse.

I concentrated on the fabric with my eyes closed, thought of it as silly putty, and got to work.

I felt it shift on my skin, and re-form, spreading across my torso and limbs - and then it sucked right to my body like a vacuum-seal.

I opened my eyes, and noticed that I now had on a skin-tight full-body leotard the color of midnight. "I did it!" I exclaimed, joyfully. I looked it over. "Hm. Not exactly what I had in mind, but it'll do."

"it'S PreTTy buT i thiNk iT wOuLd LOok eVen beTTeR wiTH liTTLe stARs twiNKling aLL oVeR iT," suggested Delirium.

"It looks fine. We must go." But then Morpheus looked at a pile of rags in the alley that I realized belatedly was a person - Mad Hettie. "Hello, Henrietta," he said.

She looked up. "Well 'ullo to you, Sandman."

"How's the rheumatics?" asked Dream.

"Mustn't grumble," she answered, grumbly. "But wiv winter comin' hai don't rightly know 'ow a hold lady hov two 'undred fifty-sevvin his goin' ter keep body han soul together, hai reely don't. Got any change ter spare fer me?"

"ChaNge. CHanGe. CHANGE. CHaaAAAaanGe…" said Delirium, moving her tongue around inside her mouth, like she was tasting the word. "WheN yoU saY woRds a LoT THey doN't mEAn anYthiNG… oR maYbE thEY dON't meAN aNyTHinG anYwAY, aND wE juST thiNk theY dO."

Delirium dug around in the pockets of her coat, and brought out a random assortment of coins - it looked like there were ancient Roman coins, gold doubloons, arcade tokens, a few bottlecaps, and a folded gum wrapper in the mix. She handed them to Mad Hettie. "HeRe yoU gO."

"Thank'ee kindly," she said, solemnly accepting and inspecting each one, tucking them away in various places. Done with that, she pointed at me with a crooked, gnarled finger and baleful eyes. "This 'ere hoity-toity littel wench dint want ter believe me, when I sed you was comin' back - actin' like I was mad er somefink, she was, fer sayin' nuthin but the bleedin' gawd's 'onest 'strewth. Now here ye be, reel as anyfink - an' oo's the one laughin' now, mm? Littel hussy?" She peered at us three from underneath her hat. "Speakin' a' which, where's ther Laughin' Magick-Man now, eh? Weren't 'e with ye before?

"He's… elsewhere," I said, not sure how else to explain it.

"Tch! Figgers," she huffed. "Always wi'the sneakin' 'bout an' pokin' his nose where 'e don't belong, that one, stirrin' up troubles an' makin' messes wh'ever 'e goes."

"That's him," I agreed.

"Not like my STEVEN," she continued, ranting. "A haccident, that's wot they sed it was... but I've got PAPERS. I weren't born YESSIRDAY luvvy, oh no! I'm two 'undred and fifty-sevvin, an' I know fings! I knew wot was wot, oh yes! 'Hindustrial haccident' my Aunt Fanny!" She hawked and spat. "Now you lissen ter me, girlie: it's not reel."

"What isn't?"

"EVERYFINK. You was so sure th' bleedin' Sandman weren't reel - an' you was WRONG 'bout that - but soon you'll find that NUFFINK is. Nuffink you 'members, nuffink you think you knows, nuffink at all. 'Specially not them soop-heroes an' all ther magick junk. Everyfing's jus' made-up stuff - silly-arse twaddle like in a silly picture-book, it is, made fer wee babies and o'ergrown ones. An' yer no different - even yours truly isn't reely reel. You'll see, oh yes… you'll see, my littel poppinjay! You don't get ter be two 'undred and forty-sevvin without knowin' a fing or two!"

"You said before you were two hundred FIFTY seven," I pointed out.

"Eh? It don't matter wot I akcherly am, you whippersnapping littel ingrate! I still KNOW!"

"We must take our leave now," said Dream. "Pleasant dreams, Henrietta."

"Well, sonny-jim - that's rarver up ter you now, isn't it?"

Dream smiled slightly, and we went on our way. Delirium skipped on ahead, but Dream was still halting and unsteady on his feet - I tried to offer my assistance, but he pulled away and staggered on his own.

He was being nicer to the crazy homeless lady than he was being to me right now, a woman who was now his lover, and I'd had enough. "What's with you?" I demanded to know.

"Nothing. I am simply weary from last nights'... indiscretion."

My heart sank. "What?" I asked, stunned.

"It was a mistake. An error in judgement."

A mistake.

So that's how he thought of it.

Not as something wonderful and positive that he wanted to do again sometime (or on a near-continuous basis from this point going forward, ideally), but as something he actually regretted doing in the first place.

I should have known he'd find some way to ruin this for me.

I felt like I'd been punched hard in the chest - and kinda queasy, like I was ready to throw up at any moment. My own regret was now bubbling up to the surface: I wished I hadn't been so stupid as to let myself get intimate with someone like him (someone who was clearly IMPOSSIBLE to deal with), or to foolishly think there was a chance of making it into something more.

I just wanted so, so badly for it all to work out for me, for a change.

Up until then, I hadn't even dared to think about my future too much - I didn't dream about finding lasting love (or anything, really), because I couldn't imagine how that would be possible for someone like me.

But apparently it was something that I secretly, deep down, desperately wanted - and when I thought that I was finally being offered something workable, I leapt at it.

Right off a cliff.

But I powered through - I wasn't down for the count yet, not by a longshot.

What was it that he had called it... an 'error'? "... If it was, it was YOUR error."

"Regardless, I am in no condition to face The Corinthian, should we cross paths with him."

"Well I've never felt better," I shot back. "So just let me handle everything. Okay?"

"It is your stolen power - you can do with it as you see fit."

I wanted to kill him. I really did. "You BASTARD!" I yelled.

Delirium doubled back and stood in front of us. "NEvER evER hAve sEx wiTH hiM agAIn! YoU've mAde hiM wORse thAn usUAL!"

At that moment, an elderly woman ran out of the club, screaming. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!"

Ditching Mr. Fun-n'-Stun to be left to his own devices, I ran close to the screaming woman. "Ma'am? What's wrong?"

She turned to me shaking, her eyes wild and full of tears. "There are terrible creatures in there! Monsters! DEMONS!"

Dream turned to Delirium. "Is she mad, sister?"

Delirium looked up at him earnestly. "NO, sHE reaLLY sAW sOmeThiNg."

We rushed inside the pub.

Inside, we found the towering, muscular ogre Brute, and the wrinkled ball-sack-with-arms Glob, facing off against two men:

One was a thin and elderly black man with short white hair, dressed in an elegant suit, who had taken a beer bottle from the pub counter and broken it, aiming the sharp ends at Glob to keep him at bay; but the poor old man was holding it with a shaking hand, and an arm that was frail with age.

Glob, however, was staring at a freaky-looking gas-mask, made of old grey bone. It was mounted on a display plaque on the wall. Glob was rubbing his little clawed hands together and grinning with glee.

"Brute. Glob."

The two demon-Nightmares stiffened, glancing over to us. "...Master?" they said nervously, in unison.

"Give the Helm to me, little Nightmares."

Glob took on a mock-pondering pose. "Oh gee, let me think about that… um… NO!"

"You may want to reconsider," I told him, threateningly. But then I noticed:

The other human man, who had been backed up against the wall by Brute; this human was a bearded guy who looked like he was in his early 30's, but was actually far older than that. You'd walk right past him - he wasn't terribly good-looking or unusual in any way, but he wasn't ugly either; he was just sort of plain and average, like he could be anybody's slightly beer-bellied, out-of-shape dad or uncle.

But I'd know him anywhere.

"HOB!" I shouted to him.

He looked at me. "Rose," he said, with a surprised and awed recognition, like he was about to be overjoyed to see me; but then he frowned and sweeped his arm at me, warningly. "Rose, love! Get out of here! I'll handle this!" His voice always had that soft English accent that always gave him away as a Brit.

Brute turned and looked at me. "Hrrumph… you again…"

Dream came out from behind me.

"Dream King!" cried Hob.

"This is not a fight that you are best suited for winning, Hob Gadling."

"Don't I know it?" retorted Hob. "Where's that bloody Jack Constantine when you need him? Oh right, he's dead… got himself killed by those Nightwalkers, for my sake… guess it would be that young Hellblazer pup, these days."

Jesus, was there anybody in my life that Hob DIDN'T know already?

"Not that I'm complaining, but you're early!" said Hob. "We aren't supposed to meet again for another month!"

I had no idea what this was in reference to.

"I have always heard it was impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

Hob smiled, clearly touched. "Dream-King… I think you just called me a FRIEND."

Glob turned around then, irritated by the bromance that was unfolding, and apparently unconcerned about taking his eyes off the old man with the broken beer-bottle. "You're too LATE," said Glob, nastily. "We've got this deal locked down tight - WE'RE the owners of the Dream Helm!"

"You can't kill me," said the old black man, still trembling. "You can't harm me in any way. That was part of the deal."

Glob narrowed his eyes at him. "But that doesn't mean we can't harm the old lady."

The man lurched forward and brought the broken beer-bottle down on Glob's head. Glob screamed with pain and rage. "NOW YOU'VE DONE IT, SSSSYKES!" he shrieked, holding his bleeding head. "We protect you all these years, slappin' down every stupid-ass head-exploding spell - even the fucking petty impotence ones too - every single thing that Burgess tried to throw at you… and THIS is how you repay us?!" Glob punched Sykes low, right where Sykes' miniature Glob look-alikes would be. Sykes doubled over in pain.

"Look, here's the deal," said Glob, waddling toward us, "Sykes ain't the owner of the Helmet, we are - but he's got possession of it, 'til he dies. And we can't kill him - so if you want to try and haggle with us for it-"

"We won't accept," intoned Brute, in a low and dry voice. "The Corinthian is our master now."

"Just shut up a minute Brute," said Glob. "Anyway, as I was saying… if you want even a CHANCE at dealing with us, you're gonna have to do the honors first yourself."

"By killing the human for us," said Brute.

"Yeah, I think they got that already Brute. It was pretty goddamn clear what I was talking about, I'm sure - in fact I don't know how I could've been MORE fucking clear."

"I have a better idea," said Dream, "Rose... unmake them."

I froze. He'd barely told me how to MAKE things - had he forgotten that he'd never told me how to UN-make them?

Glob cackled. "I forgot… you have no power, do you 'Dream Lord'?" Sykes was still doubled over in pain - Glob seized him, wrapping a spindly arm around his throat, and threatening him with a razor-sharp claw aimed at his jugular. "Make one more move and the old man gets it! You can't unmake us fast enough before I stab him."

"Rose. Do it."

"No, they'll kill him. There has to be another way."

Dream and I locked gazes. He could tell that I wasn't wavering. He looked away, at Glob. "Nightmare, it seems we are at a stalemate in this game."

Delirium clapped her hands together joyfully. "GAme! OoH LeT's pLaY a gAme, yEs."

"Quiet, Delirium."

"I like games," said Brute.

"Well shit, EVERYBODY likes games," said Glob, "but we don't need to be playing any other games right now, other than the one we're already WINNING at, for real."

"We aren't winning," contested Brute. "We're in a stalemate. He said so."

"That's cuz he's a LOSER! Don't you get it?!"

"Stop yelling at me Glob," grumbled Brute, resentfully.

"Sorry. You're right buddy - we are at a bit of an impasse here."

"A game could break the tie," Brute pointed out.

"Hmm, you got a point there. Yesss... Dream, would you challenge

me to a duel for your Helmet?"

"That would depend upon what kind of duel it is."

Glob thought for a bit. Then his eyes lit up wickedly, and he grinned. "A game of REALITY."