"What's the deal with the bossman?" Urian asked him. Alexion shrugged. "I don't know. He came in last night with a book, went to his room to read, I suppose, and then he came out here this morning and has been playing . . . those songs ever since." Those songs were ballads, which Acheron never played. God-smack, Sex Pistols, TSOL, Judas Priest, but not . . . "Is that . . ." Urian physically cringed before he spat out the name, "Julio Iglesias?" "Enrique." Urian grimaced in horror. "I didn't even know he knew any mellow shit. Dear gods . . .is he ill?" "I don't know. In nine thousand years, I've never seen him like this before." Urian shuddered. "I'm beginning to get scared. This has to be a sign of the Apocalypse. If he breaks out into Air Supply, I say we sneeak up on him, drag him outside and beat the holy shit out of him."