Balthazar's oblivious to the secondary presence watching him, caught up in the moment. A whirl of activity, he gathers as many of the weapons as he can carry, leaving the Horn of Jericho lying in the center of the floor.

The dream takes on a less literal quality, then, a wash of imagery: an explosion in slow motion. A streak of light, the whine of car alarms, the tinkle of broken glass--or is it ice cubes being stirred around a cup?

Then there's a boy, dark-skinned and thin, with angry brown eyes. Balthazar's sitting on the steps of an apartment building beside him. "I'd bring your brother back if I could," the angel is saying, softly, sincerely. "I can't. But I can help you get justice."

The boy says nothing for a long, drawn-out moment, while cicadas sing in the trees behind the building.