We regarded each other.

I was the Griidlord. I wore the suit. I had the power to cripple armies and tear down walls. I had powers that defied the laws of reality. I was an immortal compared to the man before me. My name was spoken in the homes of the city with the same, or greater, frequency as Balthazar's. I was the Sword of Boston. I was the Butcher. I was the Blood Prince.

Why then, was it I who felt intimidated, and not the other way around?

Zeb sat leaning back in his chair, his feet resting on the priceless antique conference table. His cloak concealed his form. It hid the unknown weapons and relics that Father had bestowed on him. He was undoubtedly a terrible force in his own right. But a Griidlord he was not.

He looked back at me with the same kind of detached disinterest he had shown for so much of my life. This man had been my shadow for most of my years on this earth. He had been ever-present. He had been the flicker in my periphery, the sense of safety when I was unsure, the shroud of certainty when I had none.

After a moment, I said, "Are you still in my employ?"

Zeb said, "That's what the name on the checks says."

I stepped a little closer. "Zeb, I need to understand. Are you loyal to me? I know you were loyal to Father, but I don't know how that relates—how that transfers to me."

He looked at me almost scornfully. "I'm your man. That's how I work."

It was a perfectly Zeb-like response—perfectly concise, perfectly spare. It wasn't enough.

I said, "Could someone else buy you?"

He said, "Not as long as our contract stands. If the Queen of Miami offered me her kingdom, I'd still be your man. We've got our deal."

He wasn't offended—or at least didn't seem to be—by the challenge to his honor.

I said, "Will you tell me what Balthazar has you doing?"

He said, "Yup. I'm doing his errands. But you're my boss."

I said, "Well then… what are you doing for him?"

Zeb shrugged. "Jobs."

"What kind of jobs?"

He said, "Kind of things I'm good at."

I could see the look of satisfaction on his face. He was happier. It wasn't broadcast loud, but I could see the subtle predatory hunger burning hotter in him.

I said, "It looks like this work suits you better than bodyguarding."

He visited a smile on me. I could see the danger in it. I could imagine how many had seen that smile as the last thing in their lives. It gave me a little bit of a chill. But I held my steel.

I said, "Specifics. I want to know."

He shrugged. "He's had me poking around in Buffalo. He's worried about what's happening there. Everything's breaking down. Brigands are holing up in the territory with no law to kick them out and launching raids into neighboring lands. Shit is going downhill real fast."

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I said, "And you're just there as an observer?"

He smiled again—that same hungry smile. "Mostly."

That said it all. He was killing as well. I imagined pivotal members of the Green Men disappearing—Balthazar's effort to weaken their growing power over the city.

He volunteered, "Your friend is there as well. Right now."

I raised an eyebrow.

He said, "The man from Miami."

I nodded. I felt a slight thrill of something in my chest. It didn't surprise me. Whatever Danefer was doing, he was using the Green Men to do it. Buffalo was rapidly becoming a fortress for the movement. It made sense that he might be there, exploiting them to his own ends.

I said, "And that's it? He has you in Buffalo, spying and playing assassin? Nothing else?"

He said, "Oh… no, there's something else. I'm hunting cultists."

I heard my voice grow impatient. Was I channeling my father in commanding a servant? Or was I channeling my own role as Sword of Boston? He was terrifying—as much as any man could be made death, Zeb was it. But I was Griidlord. He'd said it himself: anything that could so much as threaten me would make paste of him. For all his menace, I was the big dog. I was the master.

"For Oracle's sake, Zeb. Enough with the word famine. Tell me what you're getting up to."

He straightened slightly at my tone. A bristle might have flickered over him, the lone-wolf dominance in him reacting to being so forcefully commanded. But he settled quickly—and if anything, there was satisfaction there.

He said, "That's more like it. There's the boss man I knew you were hiding. Alright, m'lord. Lord Balthazar has a hard-on for cultists. He's halfway obsessed with them. The daft coot won't give me all the details—fond of his secrets. But it's obvious he thinks they're doing something, and he thinks it's very bad news. He has me out there, in the towns, cities, and the wilds, hunting for them. Killing the ones I can. Spooking on the ones I can't."

I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. The silence didn't stretch long. His satisfied smile deepened, and he went on.

"The Aos bastards and the Children of the Fountain. There are bands of them crossing the Veil and the Weirding Wall. They're not working together—I've seen one bunch of them full-on murder the other, more than once. I don't know what they're doing. They're gathering something, materials, but I haven't found out what. Ever tried torturing a zealot?"

I said, "Have you… have you gone over with them?"

He guffawed. "Past the Veil? Fuck no. I might be crazy for a kill, but I'm not that crazy. And I can tell you, for every ten that go over, maybe one makes it back."

He took his feet off the table and sat upright, leaning closer. "But why are you asking me? Why not your partner, the Lord Supreme? Is it because you don't think he'd tell you?"

I hesitated.

Zeb leaned back again. I could see he was growing restless, bored. He wanted to be out there. He had hunting and killing to do.

He said, "Was it intel on Balthazar you wanted? I hardly think it was. What brought you looking for me? A reunion? Don't get me wrong, lad, I have as much affection for you as I have for any, but I don't believe this was social."

I nodded slowly. "You're right. I did come here with another purpose. I have a job I'd like you to take care of."

"Taking me away from Balthazar, are you?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. It sounds like he's using you better than I could. I trust he's putting you to work for the betterment of the city. Besides, it would probably break your heart to be taken away from your new job."

He didn't say anything.

I said, "I want you to look for someone for me."

He raised an eyebrow. "And… put them out of your misery?"

"No! Oracle, no. Zeb. Everything doesn't mean go kill. Remember when your job was to keep me alive? You can do other things."

He shrugged. "My job was to keep you alive by killing, but whatever."

He rose to his feet, his dark coat billowing around him, hiding the fortune in weapons and relics that lay beneath. What was it about him? How could a man so huge simply choose to be unassuming? There was nothing remarkable about him. Even here, in this room, just the two of us, he seemed to blend away. My eyes grew bored of him in a way.

He said, "What'll it be then? What can I do for you?"

I said, "You know the Montagnions?"

He nodded. "I was there with you, the day in the woods with the madman."

I said, "It's not him. But… could you find someone by that name, out there?"

He said, "By that name? Probably not difficult. Who is it then?"

I swallowed. I thought about Harold's words—the words he'd chosen not to use. I felt like an idiot for what I was about to say, but I couldn't resist it.

"Zeb, I want you to find my mother."

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