Chapter 10

 

His mother gave her a room. Riley gave her clothes. Someone, maybe his father healed the rope burns on her wrists. No longer was she a prisoner.  She was free. Free and sitting at the dinner table like that was normal. Annoying fact was, it felt normal. It felt frustratingly normal. The reality of that infuriated him.

He studied the severe lines of her spine, the kind of severity that came from years of steel training. The first time Magnus had witnessed the barbaric contraption, it was fused to the torso of a little girl like a steel jacket that was replaced once a year on her birthday.  The sight of her had been traumatic enough to burn into his memory.

The girl had been five, six at the most, tethered by a length of chain to eight others. Magnus hadn’t paid attention to them; too much crap happened at the market for him to get worked up about everything. Plus, they weren’t breaking any laws. He wasn’t even allowed to interfere without good cause. Little girls strapped to metal plates were too common, too expected. It was as normal as a training bra.

But something about her had stopped him.

He’d watched as they’d passed him, her soft, pale hair a fine, corn silk wisp tucked into two ponytails at the top of her head. She’d blinked up at him, her eyes the tawny gold of a feline’s. The vertical slits flicked shut then open again like a camera lens.

She’d looked up at him from this tiny, round face and something about her had kicked him in the gut.

It was the age, he realized much later, after he’d finished regurgitating his breakfast in a dark corner and slumped against the wall, a sweaty, shaky mess. She was the age his daughter would have been had she not been slaughtered by the hands of the monster who should have been protecting her. His nameless children would have been five then. They would have been the same height as the demon child disappearing into the catacombs. The same size. Or would they have been taller? Would their hair have remained light? Would their eyes have darkened?

They were all questions he’d asked himself enough times to make a weaker man mad.

But that little girl had stayed with him, her and her posture straightener welded into her tiny body. He hadn’t known what they were then. He’d thought it was part of the chain that connected the girls, but he’d seen the contraptions again later on the girls at auction.

The purpose of them was to make the girls appear taller, straighter, and delicate. Plus, a perfect posture was one of the signs of good submissiveness. Magnus knew nothing about that. Whips and chains were Gideon’s forte. He only knew anyone with a back that straight had to have gone through an auction at some point. But those methods were only used on slave children.

Orphans.

“I wasn’t born an oracle,” came her breathy voice pouring into the cavity of his skull. “I was five when I was first sold.” Her pale eyes shifted sideways until they found him. “My first owner liked little girls. He liked how they tasted, before and after he’d had his way with them, but he would first toy with them, break them. He liked how their tears salted their skin. The steel corset was always made extra tight so we couldn’t breathe.”

“Why?” Riley choked out.

It took Magnus a split second to realize the entire table had gone silent. He’d been under the impression that she was telling the story to him alone, but apparently not.

The demon maintained her focus on him, even as she continued. “You can’t scream or run if you can’t breathe. You can’t fight.”

“How did you escape?” Reggie asked.

At last, she broke her hold on Magnus and focused on his brother. “I didn’t. He owned me until I was seven, but I wasn’t kept for the same purpose as the others. I was used for my abilities. A blessing and a curse.”

The idea of her trapped by a monster for two years cloaked him with an irrational surge of rage that tightened his fingers around the hilt of his fork. Every possessive bone in his body blazed with the need to find the bastard and rip his throat out.

“Where is he?” he heard himself growl.

“Dead,” she replied simply.

“Well, thank God for small favors,” Riley mumbled. “No child should suffer like that.”

There was more to that story. Magnus could feel it, but the demon said nothing more about it and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

“Where are your parents?” Kyaerin asked, food forgotten.

“I never knew them. My earliest memories are those of the auction.”

Kyaerin clicked her tongue. “Poor thing. I can’t even imagine.”

“How do you get to be an oracle?” Imogen asked, speaking up for the first time. “I’ve read that they’re born of divine light.”

The demon offered the banshee a small smile. “They are chosen from children who prove themselves worthy of the gods.”

“How do you prove yourself?” Riley asked.

The demon’s smile widened. “The only way gods will accept, through pain, sorrow, and sacrifice.”

“Will the other oracles come looking for you?” Octavian piped in.

The demon shook her head. “Up until this, no oracle has ever left the garden. The outside world no longer belongs to us. We can’t allow it to interfere with our predictions.”

“Predictions?” Riley broke in. “What kind of predictions?”

“Those of us chosen are children born with the ability to see the future, not always clearly or in order, but we get glimpses of what is to come. We tell the gods and they decide whether it’s worth interfering or not.”

“I guess you didn’t predict getting kidnapped, huh?” Imogen snickered, but quickly gulped the sound back when several pairs of eyes turned to her.

“We don’t see our own futures.” The demon offered her a kind smile.

“What about the other oracles?” Riley lifted her chalice. “A bunch of psychics and no one saw it coming?”

Outwardly, the demon remained perfectly poised, elegantly thoughtful of her answer, but Magnus felt the shift in her. The subtle hesitation that lapsed like a hiccup in her chest.

“They never told me.”

She was lying. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Like a feeling reverberating through their connection.

Interesting.

“There’s no security at this garden?” Magnus pressed.

“We are well concealed,” she replied evenly.

“Not well enough, apparently,” he mused. “But why you?”

The demon’s chin lifted a fraction. “You would have to ask those who took me.”

“Magnus.” Liam gave a subtle shake of his head, warning him to stop. “Whatever the reason, Zara has our deepest apologies for our part in this garish ordeal.”

Liam had always had such a diplomatic way with words. He was just so refined, a trait Magnus could never mirror. Octavian came close, but even he occasionally failed in that aspect. It was too delicate an act, too political. Magnus was happy being the sullen, homicidal one.

“Thank you,” the demon began softly. “That’s very kind, but I was hoping you would return me to the Isle. It’s the only safe place for me.”

“Weren’t you taken from there?” Valkyrie muttered with more than a hint of bitterness.

Pink darkened the demon’s cheeks. “I can see how it would be confusing, but it’s the only home I know. It’s where I belong.”

“I think that should be a topic for tomorrow,” Liam cut in. “Tonight, you are our guest. Please, eat.”

It was roast for dinner. At least for everyone, except Riley, who sat with a golden chalice in hand. Magnus didn’t understand the meaning behind it, but it had been a gift from Gideon, one of the many inner jokes the two seemed to share.

Magnus was fine with that. He was too old for petty jealousy. As long as it kept the man out of trouble, they could share all the bonds they wanted, because Magnus had bigger problems to deal with, like what he would tell Damier now that his family had opted to adopt the demon. The cut on his palm was a reminder that it wouldn’t be that easy. Damier wasn’t going to simply shrug and consider it one of those things that just happened. He had Magnus’s oath—in blood. His family seemed to have forgotten that little fact.

“They haven’t forgotten,” said the demon’s voice inside his head. “Your father is thinking of ways to protect you at this very moment.”

Magnus frowned. “You know, maybe it’s normal in your world to invade a person’s personal thoughts, but in this world, it’s an invasion of privacy and will get you killed.”

Her violet gaze remained on his mother, politely listening as Kyaerin rehashed stories of when she was a girl being told about the oracles, but Magnus knew she had heard him. Her concentration blanketed the entire table, telepathically listening to everyone, even if the voices had muted for him.

Her proximity seemed to serve as an equalizer. The closer she was to him, the less he could hear the thoughts of others, which was a problem, because her nearness unnerved him. Irritated him. He hated her even being in the same room as him, never mind his family.

“I’m not the one who did this,” she stated smoothly. “I’m not the one who told you to take me from my temple.”

Maybe he was being punished, he realized. Maybe the mistreatment of an oracle was the same as breaking a mirror—bad luck for the one breaking the fucking thing. He never believed in luck, but even he couldn’t deny the turn in his situation. Not only was he mated to a demon, but he had a woman in his head.

Fucking hell.

“Are you going to tell them?” she asked.

“What’s there to tell?”

“That you can hear me,” she pointed out. “That you can hear them.”

Not if it were up to him. His mom would lose her shit. His dad would get sullen and quiet. His brothers wouldn’t know what to do, but would do something stupid to save him. Valkyrie would vote they kill Zara, and Riley would stop her. There would be bloodshed and chaos.

No.

It was never a good idea to tell his family anything. Their ignorance was his ultimate bliss.

“Mag?” Gideon met his gaze. “You up for a hunt tonight?”

The request took Magnus completely by surprise, not because his brothers were lazy, not even Octavian who had shut himself away like some hermit.

However, Gideon asking to go hunting willingly was unexpected and a whole lot suspicious.

“She’s getting on his nerves,” came the demon’s voice. “The angry one.”

She didn’t need to say it. On a closer inspection, he could hear Gideon’s tattered thoughts, his pain and frustrations a brilliant, red roar teetering on the remains of the man he once was. Even his inner voice sounded nothing like him. The anger and bitterness seemed to have spread through all the light places inside him, soaking him in a darkness that concerned Magnus.

He opened his mouth to accept the hunting request.

“You can’t go without me,” the demon taunted lazily. “You’ve seen what happens if I’m not there to block the voices. I have witnessed grown men lose their minds. Imagine what would become of you.”

“I don’t need you,” he retorted through the connection. “Get out of my head.”

“But I like your head.” She chuckled huskily. “I like the things that pass through it. You’re so much more interesting than your family. Their minds are so simple. So basic. A nest of bees all working towards a common goal. But not you. You are dark and twisted. Walking through your mind is like walking through a dead forest at night and trying not to get eaten by the monsters you call your thoughts. I’ve never been so close to hell.”

The analogy sent a chill through him. Her assessment of him, her verdict hit the familiar cords no one else had ever struck. He’d never felt so vulnerable.

It only served to piss him off all the more, which made his hate for her all the more palpable.

“Mag?” Gideon was watching him, a glint of insistence narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah.” Magnus cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure.”

“You won’t make it,” said the voice.

Centuries of sheer stubbornness stiffened his spine. Defiance pushed him to his feet. “Watch me.”

“Did you say something, sweetie?”

Magnus never took his eyes off the demon, even while answering his mom. “We’re heading out.”

Kyaerin bunched the napkin off her lap and set it quickly in her plate. “What? No, you can’t go anywhere. You just got home. You need to get some rest. The hunting can wait until morning.”

“Your mother’s right,” Liam chimed in. “Don’t worry about that tonight.”

“I’m fine.” Magnus caught Gideon’s eye and gave a jerk of his chin. “We won’t be long.”

“Then let me grab the contracts—” Kyaerin started to get to her feet again.

Gideon stopped her this time. “We can grab them.”

Neither one of them waited to be stopped again when hurrying from the room.

“What the fuck happened?” Gideon jumped on him the moment they were alone on the porch. The worst part was that Magnus had been expecting it the moment they’d left the dining room.  It had been rotating through his brother’s mind the entire way down. “You were supposed to be finding a way to save my kid, not … not imprint on the very thing that would save her life.”

Magnus studied the tense lines on his brother’s face, the age that had begun to settle in speckles of gray at his temples. It didn’t take a mind reader to see the thin piece of thread he was balancing on.

“I hadn’t exactly planned it that way, and believe me, I’m not thrilled about it either. But nothing’s changed. I’m still seeing Damier in the morning.”

Gideon sighed, some of his anger dissipating. “No, you’re not. You’re not handing an oracle over to that guy, especially not your mate. I won’t let you.”

Magnus frowned. “She’s not my mate, and you really can’t stop me.” He stalked a few paces from his brother, his heavy foot falls disturbing loose stones and snow. He stopped and glanced back. “And you’re not going with me tomorrow. I’ll take her and—”

“What are you doing?”

Magnus faltered. He stared at the other man in absolute bafflement. “I was just telling you—”

“No, seriously, what are you doing?” Gideon closed the distance between them. “Are you really going to give your mate to that … douche?”

“She’s not my mate,” he repeated. “I don’t mate with demons, and it’s either her or your kid. What would you pick?”

Gideon’s lips remained a firm seal, trapping all the things he was struggling not to say. Yet they spilled into the crisp air, all his doubts, his guilt, his frustrations. They swept together in a ball of loud noise that almost made Magnus wince.

“My kid,” the voice kept repeating. “I’d pick my kid, but Zara … I can’t just let her get sold. Magnus would never forgive me. I couldn’t forgive me. She’s family.”

It took all of Magnus’s self-control not to point out she wasn’t. Gideon kept making the mistake of thinking Zara was like Riley, or Daphne, and he couldn’t have been more wrong.

“What would you do if it were Valkyrie?”

In the chaos of his inner voices, Magnus almost missed the spoken question.

“What?”

Gideon shifted. “If Zara was Valkyrie and the baby was yours—”

Magnus grimaced. “I don’t—”

“Not with her...” Gideon broke off with an agitated groan. “What I mean is, what if you didn’t have an aversion to women and your mate wasn’t a demon and you were in my shoes and the only way we could save your baby was to give up Valkyrie. What would you pick?”

Magnus frowned. “I don’t have an aversion to women.”

“Mag...”

It was getting too cold to be standing around talking about useless, metaphorical crap.

“Can we get in the car and not talk about this?”

“No, I need to know.” He folded his arms. “What would you do?”

There was no easy way to answer that. He knew whatever he said wouldn’t be the way his brothers would handle the situation. They would fight to the death for their mate. They would kill and destroy for those women.

Magnus wouldn’t.

He had no love for the demon upstairs. He had no desire to keep her. Soulmate or not, she was nothing to him.

“I wouldn’t,” he stated at last, opting to simply go with the truth. “Valkyrie is one of us. She’s a warrior. She is useful. Even Riley. That demon is no more important than any other demon. She can see the future, so can a hundred other demons. She’s not nearly as necessary as everyone keeps making out. Your baby, there is only one of her. She’s important. She’s necessary. She’s family. I’m not losing her.”

I’m not losing another child, was what he didn’t say.

Gideon simply stared at him, but there was no masking his horror, not from his expression and definitely not from his mind. He was appalled by Magnus. Even slightly disgusted. He couldn’t believe they were related. He couldn’t understand how someone he’d shared a womb with could be so heartless.

“She’s the other part of you,” he said at last, his voice barely audible, but thick with disbelief.

Magnus shook his head. “She’s a demon. They can’t be trusted.”

“Part demon,” Gideon corrected. “But even that shouldn’t matter. She’s your mate. You only get one.”

“If I can smell her tainted blood, I don’t want it anywhere near me. I sure as fuck don’t want to breed with it.”

“Jesus, Mag, what the fuck happened to you?”

He hadn’t realized he’d been grinding his jaw together until his teeth creaked. “Are we going or not?”

Gideon relented by pulling out his keys and leading the way to his Rolls-Royce. The metal jingled beneath the steady rumble of his inner voice. Magnus followed his brother’s consistent battering, repeatedly asking what he’d do if it were Riley. The self-berating almost made him want to roll his eyes, because, as much as Magnus loved Riley, Valkyrie, and even Daphne the way a brother in law was supposed to, he doubted Damier could handle the first two and Reggie would never let anyone hurt the latter. Hell, with her gone, he’d never have to worry about imprinting with anyone else ever again. It was a win-win.

“It’ll be fine,” he told Gideon once they were properly seated in the cold leather.

“If you loved her, would you give her up?”

Magnus sighed “I loved someone once. I have no desire to live through that again.”

Gideon’s head turned to him with a snap that made Magnus regret ever opening his mouth. “When? Who?”

“Drive,” he mumbled, wanting that conversation to end already.

To his surprise, Gideon exhaled a plume of white breath and started the car. They turned down the path and broke onto the main road before either one of them realized they hadn’t grabbed the contracts.

They wound up at a biker bar in the middle of nowhere just off Highway 1. Its dim glow sparked from a distance, a subtle flicker that could have been mistaken for a firefly, until they pulled around back and parked between two Harleys. They were the only two, but the sight of them made Magnus nostalgic for his own bike.

“I think we both need a drink,” Gideon said as he pushed out of his seat. “Or several.”

Magnus didn’t argue. Despite his insistence to his mother about not being tired or needing rest, he’d never felt so exhausted. And it wasn’t merely physical. His brain was tired. His soul felt tired. If it were at all possible, he would have happily dug a hole and buried himself alive for the next century. Immortality was beginning to rub his nerves raw.

Inside was blissfully empty, save for the bartender and a barely conscious man slumped over a table in the corner. The latter didn’t seem to be thinking anything deep or profound, but the bartender was worried about the lack of business that month.

He barely glanced up when Gideon and Magnus took the empty table at the back. Gideon motioned for a pitcher and dropped into his seat.

Neither of them said a word through the first two glasses. On the third, Gideon set his mug down, rubbed a hand over his tired face and slumped back in his chair—a dangerous decision when the bit of furniture was rickety enough to splinter beneath their weight as it was.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Said his inner voice, sounding as weary as the blond looked. “So, what exactly is the plan for tomorrow?” he asked out loud, lowering his hand and peering across the table at Magnus.

Magnus prolonged his response by forcing down another gulp and putting his mug down.

He sighed. “Going to take the demon to Damier, get the kid, come home.”

As simple as it all sounded, he knew it wouldn’t be. Deals with a demon never were. Any number of factors could change at a moment’s notice, complicating things. But he was relying strongly on the blood pact and Damier’s vow to honor it. Otherwise, tomorrow was going to end in a bloodbath.

“It can’t be that easy,” said Gideon’s inner voice. “And that’s it?” he asked out loud.

Magnus picked up his drink. “Pretty much.”

“What about Zara?” Gideon pressed, doing a full circle back to the discussion they’d already had.

“Stop worrying about her,” he mumbled, infuriated by the never-ending topic. “She’ll be fine.”

“But what does Damier want with her?”

“She’s a telepath with precognition abilities. I think it’s fairly straightforward.”

Gideon stared at him through the dull gloom with that same stunned disbelief. “I can’t believe how okay you are with that.”

“Christ.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what?” He lowered his hand. “Fine. I won’t take her. We’ll keep her like some fucking pet who’ll kill us all in our sleep. Let your kid become some slave or worse. I’m done being the only one who gives a shit about getting her back, okay? Do it yourself.”

The chairs skidded back a full foot before crashing to the ground. The deafening crack startled the drunk. His head jerked up too quickly off the table. The momentum sent him toppling from his seat.

The bartender hurried over to help him up.

Magnus paid neither any mind as he glowered down at his brother.

“I’m going home,” he told the man. “Have another drink and decide what you’re going to tell your wife.”

Gideon rose, pale eyes bright. “What do you know about it?”

“I know you’re being a whiny bitch,” Magnus shot back. “You haven’t had to do a damn thing to get that kid back. I’ve busted my ass to get you this far, but now, after everything, you’re too much of a pussy to see it through, even though, you still don’t have to do a fucking thing, except sit at home and wait for her to be delivered to you.”

It was low. He knew it even before he finished speaking, but he was too tired for that shit. He’d gone through too much. Gideon didn’t understand.

“Fuck you.” Gideon straightened. “You have no idea what it’s been like. Not just for me, but Valkyrie. You don’t know what it’s like to be powerless as the woman you love dies slowly in front of you a little more every day. I would give my own life to bring that baby home, but not by throwing my sister to the wolves.”

“She’s not you’re sister.”

“I love her,” Gideon argued without faltering. “I love her like I love Daphne. They are my sisters.”

“Not Riley?”

He shook his head. “Riley’s different. I know her. She’s one of my best friends. She understands me. I don’t know Daphne, not really. And I only just meet Zara, but that doesn’t matter to me. She is family. She is one of us. Demon, angel, panda, she’s my sister.”

Magnus reached into his pocket and threw down a handful of crumpled bills.

“Then I guess you have it all figured out.”

Leaving his brother staring after him, he stalked from the bar wishing they’d stayed for a few more pitchers.

One was the equivalent of drinking lemonade. Alcohol to a veil creature worked differently through their system. Getting properly drunk, even mildly required dedication and more than a few glasses. What would be considered a lethal amount for a mortal, was a single shot to them. A hindrance when getting wasted was the only way he slept most nights. It wasn’t nearly as much fun when so much work needed to go into it.

They climbed into the car without a word. The brooding silence continued back through the city, or as silent as it could get with Gideon cursing him repeatedly in his thoughts. Magnus couldn’t blame him. He’d put his brother in a difficult situation.

The family seemed to be sleeping when they crept through the halls of the manor. Their foot falls echoed along the corridors, sounding much louder than they were.

“Going to turn in,” Gideon mumbled through a jumble of morbid inner thoughts about whether or not Valkyrie would even let him into their bed. “Don’t do anything until we’ve talked it over.”

Magnus fought to maintain a neutral expression. “Yeah, sure.”

He waved his brother off and turned to his own room. He let himself in at Gideon’s first knock on the door down the hall. He shut himself into the darkness and breathed in its thickness.

Unlike his brothers and their need for things, his room held only a bed, a dresser, and a single end table wielding a single lamp. There were no photos on the walls, no rugs to stand as a barrier between the chill embedded in each floorboard and his feet.

In his dresser, there were three pairs of pants, six shirts, and four sweaters. In the closet, on the side not housing his weapons were two pairs of boots placed neatly side by side beneath a neat row of leather coats and one empty hanger.

Order.

Nothing could be done or accomplished without order, without careful attention. No war could be won without the proper organization of one’s tools. Which was why his coat was hung on the spare hanger, his boots were placed alongside the other two and his top was removed and folded. The article was placed at the foot of the bed.

He took a quick shower, too quick to enjoy the hot jets of water beating at his sore muscles, but it served to rinse away the sand and grit clinging to his hair and skin.

He left the tub ten minutes later and moved to the sink, still dripping and naked. His own annoyed expression scowled at him in the mirror. Without his hair to shadow the scars, the reflection seemed extra sinister in the dull light. The puckered folds of skin overlapped like angry worms, but it was the raw skin over his cheeks and forehead that pulled his eyebrows together.

He drew out the silver disc from the drawer and unscrewed the lid. He took another peek at his reflection before dabbing lightly at the burns.

Satisfied he got most of it, he abandoned the cream and made his way into the bedroom. He padded around the heavy structure of his bed and climbed in. He pulled the sheets over his chest and settled in for his first real sleep in weeks.

“You know you’re wrong.”

No sooner had his eyelids slid shut when the voice had them snapping open with a start. They jerked around the room before realizing he was alone and the sound was coming from inside his own head. Having someone else rattling around up there was a jolt he was sure he’d never get used to.

“Get out of my head.”

He could almost hear the exasperated sigh from his companion. “You know I have no control over it.”

“Try harder.” He shut his eyes and prayed she’d go away.

“You can’t give me to that demon tomorrow. You know you can’t.”

“What I know,” he snapped back. “Is that you’re the only thing standing between me and my family becoming whole again. And don’t say demon as if you’re not one. I can smell your blood from here.”

“I’m not a demon.” But the conviction shook in her voice.

“Right, because you’re an oracle,” he taunted with a verbal scoff. “That’s basically a higher-class demon.”

“We are not demons.” Outrage wove through her sharp warning with the fine edges of a razor. “We are divine beings, ranked higher than even angels. We speak directly to the gods.”

“Hey, next time you talk to them, could you ask them what the deal with spiders are? I mean, who came up with all those legs? And why do they need so many?”

“How dare you—”

Magnus shot upright, blood roaring between his ears. “I dare, demon! Do you honestly think I give a shit about you or your gods? You’re a means to an end, do you understand that? Now, shut your damn … mind, and go to sleep.”

There was a brief flicker of hesitation.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Of course you can’t,” he muttered out loud. In his head, he said, “Then meditate or whatever it is you normally do.”

“We read the flames.”

Magnus dropped back against the pillows and flung one forearm over his eyes. “If you set that room on fire, Mom’ll kill you.”

A second passed, followed by a long minute where he actually believed she’d gone to bed. Then her voice was back, filling the calm in his skull.

“I like your brothers. They are kind.”

Magnus rolled onto his stomach and stuffed his face into his pillow. “Then go imprint on them.”

Another minute of silence. No. Not entirely silent. The pulse of voices was still there, faint, no more than an avoidable whisper of flapping wings on a bee. One glided over the other, a subtle rustle of silk. But he recognized none of them, although they belonged to his family. Maybe it was the walls separating them, the distance between individuals and him, except Zara’s thoughts were missing. Unlike before when they were piling up on top of him, practically crawling over his nerve endings and vibrating down every tendon, they lay docile.

“How are you doing that?”

“Now you wish for me to speak?”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “How are you blocking your thoughts from me?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t have my own thoughts?”

Realizing he should have just kept his mouth shut, Magnus returned to his attempts at a few hours of sleep. But the voices slowed to erratic blotches of inconsistent mutterings broken by flashes of imagery he could live without. The worst part was not knowing whose dreaming head he was swimming through. It was all one messed up nightmare thrown into a blender, along with his brain.