I looked at the broken doors, wondering what might come through them next. Fire Angels have been known to hunt in pairs.

“But I’ve got to talk to you…” I continued.

“Not now,” he said, turning away.

“You know it’s important.”

“I can’t think right,” he answered.

I supposed that had to be true, and there was no sense trying to drag him back to Amber or anywhere else. He’d just fade away and show up here again. His head would have to clear and his fixation dissipate before we could discuss mutual problems.

“You remember that your mother is a prisoner in Amber?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Call me when you’ve got your head together. We have to talk.”

“I will.”

I turned away and walked out the doors and into a bank of fog. In the distance I heard Luke begin singing again, some mournful ballad. Fog is almost as bad as complete darkness when it comes to shadow-shifting. If you can’t see any referents while you’re moving, there is no way to use the ability, that allows you to slip away. On the other hand, I just wanted to be alone for a time to think.

Now my head was clear. If I couldn’t see anybody in this stuff, nobody could see me either. And there were no sounds other than my own footfalls on a cobbled surface.

So what had I achieved? When I was awakened from a brief nap to attend Luke’s unusual sending to Amber, I’d been dead tired following extraordinary exertions. I was transported into his presence, learned that he was tripping, fed him something I hoped would bring him off it sooner, hacked up a Fire Angel, and left Luke back where he had started.

I’d gotten two things out of it, I mused, as I strolled through the cottony mist: I’d stalemated Luke in any designs he might still have upon Amber. He was now aware that his mother was our prisoner, and I couldn’t see him bringing any direct action against us under the circumstances.