"We will if you give us what we want."
"What do you want?" I asked. I had the gun pointed in the direction of the voice, but there was nothing to shoot at. If I was patient maybe there would be; nothing is faster than a bullet.
"You," and it was such a direct echo from my dream that it startled me.
"What do you mean, you want me? How? Why?"
"Does it matter? If you don't come with us, I'll kill your friend."
"Don't do it . . . ," Laila said, and was cut off abruptly, and this time the pain sound was a little louder.
"Ask her if she's hurt again," the growling voice said, and he sounded eager.
I'd heard that tone before in voices; I knew that they liked causing pain, so I did what he asked so he wouldn't hurt her again to make the point.
"Laila, are you hurt?"
Her voice was shaky. "Yes."
"What did you do to her?"
"Nothing permanent, yet," he said.
"She'll heal?" I asked, and as in the dream I pointed my gun toward the voice, but also at the open door. Most of the Harlequin traveled in pairs or more. But with their speed I wouldn't have time to shoot twice. I'd need a target and a decision before I'd really had time to decide anything.
"Yes," he said.
"What do you mean you want me? Sexually?" I was almost hopeful on that one; it wasn't a fate worse than death and it certainly wasn't a fate worse than having Laila murdered while I listened to her die.