“You smell . . . unsusual,” said the thing, walking-floating?-towards him. The portal whence it had just emerged glowed an angry red. “Good, though.”

Dan growled, deep in his throat. The thing was wrong damnit, every sense he had was screaming this at him, except for his libido. That was telling him the thing was a) male; b) naked; and c) really, really hot. And it smelled good. Not like Freakshow, not like Clockwork. Like an oasis in the desert, like something that against all probability was where it was. “What. Are. You?” he managed.

“Sex fiend,” it said. “Wanna screw?”

And the odd thing was, even if he hadn’t been in the mood two seconds ago, he was now. He might have been tempted to listen to Pas screaming in his head if he didn’t want to find out where that smell was coming from. He closed his eyes to take a breath, and was surprised to find himself pressed against the wrong-bad-getaway lithe form when he opened them again.

“Yesssssss,” he hissed, breathing in.

Later, listening to what would have been his heartbeat had he been alive but was not because he was dead, damnit, he realized some other things:

It didn’t have a heartbeat.

It smelled like rotting meat.

And while he was reflected in the observing mirrors of Clockwork’s domain, the whatever-the-hell-it-was refused to be real to any of them.