CHAPTER Eleven

Khasim did not know where he was. A palace of some sort, judging by the vaulted ceiling, the arched cross-wall, and the stone pillars. The walls were hung with ornate tapestries depicting scenes of savage, carnal degradation, demonic visions that would have shocked even a de Sade. He had appeared inside the torch-lit chamber, the incensed braziers reeking heavily of musk, and though his clothes were wet with blood, the bullet wounds were gone, as if they'd never even been there. As he slowly pushed himself up to his feet, an imperious female voice commanded him to turn around. He did so and his mouth fell open.

Before, she had always appeared to him as a shadowy, featureless specter, a darkly glowing manifestation whose voice he had come to know as well as his own, but whose face he'd never seen. He saw it now. And it was so beautiful it took his breath away.

Her oval, fine-boned face was framed by lush, flame-red hair that fell long and thick to a point below her waist. Her skin was a creamy, almost golden color, and her eyes were a fire storm of gold-flecked green. Her nose was straight as a blade, her chin slightly pointed, her mouth wide and sensual, the lips thin and delicately formed. She leaned back languorously on her throne, a thin circlet of hammered gold around her forehead, her tall, slender frame sheathed in a simple, form-fitting gown of raw black silk, cut low and slit deeply up the side to expose a long and shapely leg. She was barefoot, with a thin gold chain around one ankle. Her green eyes flashed at him and when she spoke, her voice was like a whip crack.

"You dare stand in my presence?"

Khasim's legs suddenly buckled, as if he'd been struck viciously across the knees with an iron bar. He actually heard his bones crack. He collapsed to his hands and knees in agony, pressing his forehead to the floor.

"Forgive me, Mistress! Aaah! Please, Mistress, the pain ... "

"Pain? What is your pain to me?"

"For pity's sake . . . aaah! God!"

"God?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "What god has done for you as much as I have? It was I who healed your wounds. It was I who saved your worthless life and brought you here."

"Have pity, Mistress . . . aaah! I beg you, make it stop!"

"Beg then," she said. "Crawl to me, like the vile lizard that you are." His entire body was wreathed in pain, as if his bones were being splintered. He started crawling toward her, every slightest movement a symphony of torture, every breath a sobbing gasp of agony. She sat, watching him implacably as he slowly dragged himself, whimpering, across the floor. He reached the dais, crawled up the throne, took her foot, and kissed it. It was cold. As cold as ice.

"Please, Mistress, I beg you. . . . Make it stop. . . ."

The pain abruptly went away. He collapsed at her feet, breathing hard, sobbing with relief.

"Thank you, Mistress, thank you. . . ."

He glanced up and his eyes opened wide in astonishment. A second earlier, she had been alone. Now there were two of them. A tall and youthful-looking man stood beside her, leaning against the back of the throne. His skin was a pale golden color and his hair a darker shade of red than hers, falling to his shoulders.

"What do you think, sister?" he asked. "What shall we do with it? Has it outlived its usefulness?" Khasim turned pale. He opened his mouth to protest, but his throat felt suddenly constricted and only a soft, strangled gasp came out.

"Perhaps, Ashtar," she said. "Still, his life energy can be useful." They looked down at him as if he were some curious beetle that had scuttled across their field of vision. Khasim began to tremble with dread at the thought that they might do to him as he had done to so many others.

"It is a wretched-looking creature, is it not?" said Ashtar. "Yet, I suppose it's possible it might be of some further use."

"Yes! Yes, I can be of use!" Khasim said desperately. "I've served you well! When have I ever failed you? Haven't I done everything you've asked? Tell me what more I can do! Name it! I'll do anything!" They turned to one another and smiled.

"We do need a priest, Yasmine," Ashtar said.

Khasim wasn't sure he heard correctly. "A . . .a priest?" he said.

"A sorcerer priest," Yasmine said with a sly smile. And her next words chilled Khasim to the bone.

"For the Black Sabbath."

Jacqueline Marie-Lisette de Charboneau Monet, who insisted on her name being pronounced "Zha-kleen" and never "Jack-we-line," looked more like a French leading lady than a witch. She was in her late forties, but she had the figure of a woman in her twenties. She chain-smoked unfiltered French cigarettes and could drink a Cossack under the table. She favored neo-Edwardian-style brocade suits and wore her dark, gray-streaked hair shoulder-length. Her voice was a husky whiskey baritone, her manner was abrupt and frequently abrasive, and she spoke English with only a slight accent. Most of the police agencies of Europe had a long dossier on her, remarkable in that it listed a large number of arrests for an entire plethora of charges ranging from fraud to grand larceny, and yet not one single conviction.

In contrast, the ebullient Sebastian Makepeace was a bombastic giant of a man, standing six foot six and weighing about three hundred pounds. His flowing, shoulder-length white hair was topped off by a black beret and his out-of-style brown tweeds were covered by a full-length, black leather trench coat. His voice had as much volume as a bullhorn and the only record he had was one of complaints from his fellow faculty members at New York University, many of whom took exception to a professor who was rumored to have connections with government intelligence, taught most of his classes drunk, and claimed to be a fairy. It was not that the more staid members of the faculty objected to his sexual orientation. There was no question on that score. Makepeace was relentlessly, incorrigibly, irrepressibly heterosexual. What they objected to was Makepeace claiming that he was literally a fairy ... a magical sprite, in other words, the sort of creature usually depicted as being of miniature size, with gauzy apparel and gossamer wings.

The fact that Makepeace did not come even remotely close to matching this image did not discommode him in the least. If anything, it made him even more vociferous in his insistence that he was a supernatural being, a fey creature of enchantment. And the fact that the words "fey" and "fairy" had taken on considerably different connotations since the days when they were universally understood to refer to things magical made Makepeace even more vociferous. On occasion, it even made him violent. And a violent, six foot six, three-hundred-pound fairy was a thing not to be trifled with.

Thanatos already had some knowledge of Jacqueline Monet from seeing her Interpol dossier and he had been somewhat prepared for Makepeace by Chief Inspector Michael Blood, who had experienced some of his "fairy magic" up close and personal.

"I never was able to decide if Makepeace was simply a very gifted, albeit seriously neurotic sorcerer or if he was actually a fairy, as he claims," Blood had told him. "Mind you, there's a damn good case to be made in favor of neurosis, but I've known a good many adepts in my time—including the unforgettable amalgam of Merlin and young Slade—and none of them made use of thaumaturgy in quite the same way Makepeace does. I'm well aware that the I.T.C. accepts only the most talented adepts, but just the same . . .when it comes to Makepeace, watch yourself." Thanatos recalled that warning as he stood with Wyrdrune, Kira, and Billy, waiting for Makepeace and Monet to deplane. He also recalled that first and foremost, their allegiance was to Modred, as both had been clandestine contacts of Morpheus for years. Modred's days as Morpheus were over, or at least so they all claimed, yet just the same, Thanatos resolved to be very cautious around his new associates.

"There they are," said Kira as they came into the concourse, and Thanatos had no difficulty in recognizing them from their descriptions.

Makepeace looked even larger than he had expected, the effect bolstered by his wild hair and dramatic attire. He looked like a black leather dirigible moving through the crowd, which parted before him with alacrity. Jacqueline Monet walked beside him with a firm, athletic stride, yet she still took two steps for every one of his. They both carried shoulder bags.

Hers was a businesslike piece of brown leather hand luggage with a buckle strap; his was a voluminous carpetbag that seemed to have been made from a handwoven Persian rug, suspended from a wide band of woven cloth that resembled a cross between a Navajo belt and a cyberpunk's guitar strap.

Jacqueline spotted Thanatos and hesitated, checking Sebastian's juggernautlike stride with a firm grasp on his elbow. She spoke to him quickly and he frowned, then they resumed their approach.

"Every time I see the three of you," she said, "you appear to be fraternizing with policemen. Did you know this man was an agent of the I.T.C.?"

"Yes, Miss Monet, they knew," said Thanatos. "Didn't Chief Inspector Blood tell you about me?"

"Who?" Jacqueline said carefully, uncertain of her ground.

"Apparently he didn't tell you," Thanatos replied. "In which case, I'm curious as to how you knew me."

"I saw you testify in court once," she said.

Thanatos frowned. "In Paris? I don't recall testifying in a case involving you."

"I was not charged in that case," she replied evasively. "I was merely observing from the gallery."

"No doubt because you must have been involved," said Thanatos dryly.

"You expect me to implicate myself?"

"No, Miss Monet," he replied with a smile. "Your record indicates that you are far too competent for that. I've testified in a number of cases in Paris over the years. I won't try to guess which one might have involved you. And as for your friends fraternizing with 'policemen,' as you put it, it wasn't entirely their decision. At least one of them is doing so under protest."

"And who would that be?" Makepeace asked cautiously.

"That would be your old friend, Modred," Thanatos replied. "Alias Morpheus, alias John Roderick, Michael Cornwall, and an entire host of other names. You see, you need not be so circumspect. I'm very well informed."

"So it would seem," said Makepeace with a questioning glance at Wyrdrune.

"Thanatos is here to help us," Wyrdrune explained. "It's okay. He knows everything."

"Does he?" said Jacqueline with surprise. "And where is Modred now?"

"He's picking up our things and checking us out of the hotel," said Kira. "It's no longer safe there. Thanatos has arranged a place for us to stay. We'll be meeting Modred there, along with some other people. We've got a car waiting."

"It's probably best to avoid teleporting so we can conserve our energies," Wyrdrune explained.

"Especially the way you teleport," said Kira wryly.

Wrydrune gave her a sour look, then turned to the others. "Come on, I'll fill you in on the way." With Thanatos handling the driving chores, they left the airport and took the freeway to a rented house nestled on a hillside in Laurel Canyon. As the car skimmed smoothly and quickly above the surface of the road, Wyrdrune brought them up-to-date.

"Things have escalated in the last twenty-four hours. The Dark Ones know we're here and too many people knew we were staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel. However, we still have an advantage in that they don't know about you two. At least, not yet."

" They? " said Makepeace. "You mean there's more than one of them?"

"At least two," said Kira. "Maybe more. At this point, we just don't know for sure.

"That's not encouraging news," said Makepeace with a grunt. "What about these other people you mentioned?"

"Rebecca Farrell, a captain in the Los Angeles Police Department, and Ben Slater, a reporter," said Wyrdrune.

"They've been working independently with Thanatos up 'til now."

"Just how many people have you got involved in this?" asked Jacqueline.

"There's also a local producer we've been using as a contact," Wyrdrune said, "a man named Ron Rydell, but he doesn't really know what's going on. He owed Modred a favor."

"An adept who's been casting the special effects illusions for his films turned out to be in the service of the Dark Ones," said Kira. "He goes by the name Brother Khasim. He was also operating a charity mission on the Sunset Strip as a cover for his necromancy. He's been preying on the street people he was pretending to help, runaways, derelicts, hookers, sacrificing them to the Dark Ones. But last night, the mission was burned down. The bodies of a B.O.T. agent named Gorman and several women were found in the ruins. Khasim killed them and then went on a wild rampage, murdering over a dozen people on the street. And he may not have been the only one."

"You mean there have been more mass killings?" asked Jacqueline.

"If you mean mass killings like Al'Hassan's, no," said Wyrdrune. "At least, not that we know about. Captain Farrell is checking police reports statewide, but the Dark Ones seem to have been specifically avoiding that so far. Any spell powerful enough to consume life energy in a mass sacrifice on the scale that Al'Hassan did would release trace emanations strong enough to be detected at a distance. And they're apparently not ready to come out into the open yet. But after last night, it could come at any time."

"I don't like this at all," Jacqueline said. "Too many people are involved. The police, the B.O.T., the I.T.C., and even a journalist?" She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I cannot believe it. Why not just call a press conference and announce it to the world?"

"It wasn't their decision to involve the others, Miss Monet," Thanatos replied. "That was my doing. Captain Farrell and Mr. Slater are the only ones aside from us who really know what's going on and you have my personal assurance that they can be trusted to keep it to themselves."

"I'm afraid the personal assurance of an I.T.C. agent does not mean very much to me," Jacqueline said. "Al'Hassan was on the board of the I.T.C, as I recall."

"Then you should also recall that he was ousted," Thanatos replied testily. "But your point is well taken, Miss Monet. For your information, my involvement in this matter is completely off the record. So far as the I.T.C. knows, I'm investigating the disappearance of one of our agents."

"Fay Morgan?" Makepeace said.

"Yes, that's right."

Makepeace hesitated. "You know she's—"

"I know she's dead, yes," Thanatos said flatly. "She was my wife."

"Your wife? " Makepeace said incredulously. "But that's . . . that's. . ."

"Impossible?" said Thanatos without emotion. "Is that what you were going to say? Impossible that the enchantress, Morgan Le Fay, should marry a mere mortal? I'd think that you of all people, Doctor, considering your reputation with female undergraduates, would acknowledge that such attractions can occur."

"Is this true?" Jacqueline asked the others with astonishment. "Does Modred—"

"Yes, he knows," said Thanatos curtly, interrupting her. " And he's satisfied himself that it's the truth. Though it seems he doesn't like it very much."

"I think I'm beginning to understand," §aid Jacqueline slowly. "This is something very personal for you."

"Oh yes," said Thanatos in a soft voice. "It's very personal, indeed." He paused. "I loved her very much."

"I am glad you told us that," Jacqueline said.

Thanatos glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Why do you say that?"

"Because that is something I can understand," she replied. "I would sooner trust someone who seeks revenge than to merely do his duty. Revenge is a much stronger motive."

She reached into her bag and took out a silver flask.

"To revenge, mon ami, " she said, and took a gulp. She passed the flask to Thanatos.

"I'll drink to that," said Thanatos grimly.

They turned off the freeway onto Laurel Canyon Boulevard and headed south. Once they reached the canyon itself, with its steeply curving roads, they took a side road that climbed up the hillside and bent back upon itself though several switchbacks until they came to a short driveway leading to a small frame house nestled out of sight behind a grove of trees and some rock outcroppings. Several vehicles were parked in the small open carport and in front of the house.

"What is this place?" asked Makepeace.

"A police safehouse," Thanatos replied. "Captain Farrell arranged for us to stay here indefinitely. We'll even have police protection. Two officers will be stationed outside at all times, though of course they're not aware of the exact nature of this case."

"What have they been told?" Jacqueline asked.

"Something fairly close to the truth, actually," said Thanatos. "They've been told that several 'expert witnesses'

and an investigating team will be using the house as a base of operations in a case involving serial murder and necromancy. Needless to say, after last night, they all know about Brother Khasim. The media's been playing it up big all day, especially since he managed to escape. However, officially this is still a case involving one renegade sorcerer and nothing more. No one else knows about the Dark Ones."

Modred had already arrived, as had Rebecca Farrell and Ben Slater. While they were all being introduced to one another, the broom came swishing in, carrying a tray with coffee and doughnuts.

"So there you are!" it said, in an affronted tone. "You'd think maybe somebody would tell me what was going on, but noooo. . . . There I am, stuck in the hotel, nobody calls, nobody tells me where anybody is, I've swept the room for the twenty-second time and the maids are starting to give me tips—"

"I'm sorry, Broom, we've been very busy," Wyrdrune said.

"Busy, shmizzy! Well, excuse me, Mr. Man-about-town! It takes so much effort to pick up a telephone? It takes so much time to say 'Never mind with dinner, we'll be working late'? And then I have to run around and do all the packing for you when I suddenly find out that we're moving? It's too much trouble to call and say what's going on, so a person doesn't worry?"

Wyrdrune sighed. "I'm sorry, Broom, you're absolutely right; it won't happen again." The broom sniffed, which was mildly interesting, since without a nose, it really had nothing to sniff with. "Hmpf!

I've heard that before!"

It finished pouring the coffee, then swept out of the room in a huff.

"Every time I see that thing, it makes me feel guilty that I haven't called my mother," Makepeace said.

"Phone's over there," Rebecca said.

"My mother's been dead for thirty years," said Makepeace with a sad shake of his head. "Guilt lingers."

"I've had a couple of calls from some of my old sources," said Slater, getting down to business. "I picked up the messages at the paper and got back to some of them from here. They'll call the paper in case they come up with anything else and I've arranged for the calls to be forwarded here."

Thanatos nodded with approval. "That's good. What have you heard?"

"You were right," said Slater. "There have been other disappearances among the street people, most notably the homeless and the addict population. And I don't think Brother Khasim's responsible for all of them, not unless he's been moving around an awful lot. There've been a number of unexplained disappearances in Venice, at least nine that my source knew of, people who had established patterns of behavior who suddenly broke the pattern and simply weren't seen by anybody anymore. I've also learned of similar cases in Burbank, Watts, and Maywood, as well as Pico Rivera, El Monte, and Covina."

As he spoke, he indicated the various areas on a map spread out on the coffee table. Rebecca took over when he was finished.

"I called the station shortly after we got here and spoke with the detectives I had checking with various local police agencies," she said. "And once again, Thanatos, you were absolutely right. There were patterns. Six ritual murders in Huntington Beach, same m.o. as Khasim's, only several of them occurred at times when Khasim's whereabouts were accounted for. There were also five murders in Newport Beach, six in Santa Ana, four in Buena Park, and seven in Placentia. All the same m.o.; all with the same peculiar runes carved into the bodies.

"We've also got a pattern of disappearances," she continued. "Three apparent abductions in Fullerton, high school girls who never made it home. No ransom demands were ever received. No leads; no clues. Nothing. They were all seen heading home, but none of them ever made it. We've got nine missing persons reports in Orange; similar circumstances. Only this time, four of the missing young people were male. Similar reports out of Garden Grove, Irvine, and Costa Mesa, as well as La Mirada, La Habra, Brea, Villa Park, and Tustin. You noticing anything here?" She too had been indicating the areas on the map as she spoke.

"It all seems to be radiating out from an approximate center," Makepeace said.

"That's right, Doc," said Rebecca, indicating a spot on the map with her index finger. "About right here."

"Anaheim?" said Thanatos.

Wyrdrune and Kira exchanged surprised glances.

"What?" said Thanatos, looking up at them. "What's in Anaheim?"

"The Magic Kingdom," Wyrdrune said in a hushed tone.

Once, years before the time of the Collapse, a man named Disney had a vision of a special, magical place for children of all ages, a fairyland of entertainment that would appeal to the innocent in everyone. Located about thirty miles southeast of Los Angeles in Anaheim, the original park had been called Disneyland and it covered close to a hundred acres. The Magic Kingdom, as it came to be known to millions of enchanted visitors the world over, had something for the dreamer in everyone.

Originally, the Magic Kingdom was divided into different lands—"Adventureland," "Frontierland,"

"Tomorrowland," "Fantasyland" and so on, each with its own special atmosphere and attractions. In addition to spectacular rides such as the Matterhorn bobsled ride, the Space Mountain, the Pirates of the Caribbean, and the Mississippi riverboat, there were lifelike figures created by an almost magical technology known as

"audio-animatronics," as well as real people costumed as fantastic characters from the live-action and animated films the Disney studios produced. It was a clean, well-maintained, and ever-changing world of wonder where everyone who came could forget their troubles for a while and become a child once again.

But sadly, the Magic Kingdom was forgotten in the time of the Collapse. There was no time for magic dreams when everyone was trapped within a living nightmare. And as corporations and governments alike collapsed the world over, so did the Magic Kingdom. There was no one left to wear the brightly colored costumes of Snow White and Mickey Mouse and no children came to wonder at these characters. With all the power gone, the incredible animatronic figures froze into silent immobility. The wonderful rides ground to a halt and slowly fell into disrepair. The Haunted Mansion became truly haunted, empty save for the ghosts of all the children who had once tramped through it to scream in delighted terror at the playful apparitions it contained.

After the Collapse had ended and magic had returned, there was a time of rebuilding and realignment with the natural forces that were once abused so cruelly. For a long while, with the memory so recent and so painful, no one wanted to remember the Collapse or the time that came before, when greed and irresponsibility had almost destroyed the world. It took many more years before people could accept that in addition to the bad things, there were good things about the old days prior to the Collapse. And one of those good things had been the Magic Kingdom. A small, devoted group of antiquarians and scholars, comprised of both magic-users and lay people, joined together and acquired some of the land where the remains of the Magic Kingdom stood. There was not much left of it. Most of the buildings had long since been leveled and those that had been left standing were in ruins. But the new owners of the property did not give up. They formed an organization called "Knights of the Magic Kingdom" and, for a small fee that constituted annual dues plus whatever people wanted to contribute in addition, opened its membership to anyone who wished to join them in restoring the Magic Kingdom to its former glory. There was a monthly newsletter that detailed their work and issued periodic calls for volunteers to come and spend some time in the laborious restoration project. There was a quarterly magazine that featured articles painstakingly researched and illustrated, depicting the Magic Kingdom as it once had been and telling anew the wonderful stories that had once issued from its creators. There were membership kits including an I.D., a "mousca-pin" and

"mousca-patch," as well as a ranking system (from "Subject" to "Page" to "Squire" to "Knight" and even "Lord" or

"Lady") based upon volunteer work and amounts donated, which also entitled members to free visits to the Kingdom and various other privileges and prizes. And when the craze for pre-Collapse nostalgia hit, membership in the Knights of the Magic Kingdom grew by leaps and bounds.

Soon, the new Kingdom was completed, this time with real magic powering its rides, attractions, and illusions. And adopting the slogan, "Earth is a Magic Kingdom," the Knights continued to support the Kingdom and work toward awareness of the magic energy inherent in all things.

As a boy, Wyrdrune had been a proud member of the Knights of the Magic Kingdom and had held the rank of

"Page." Ben Slater somewhat wistfully confessed that he had also been a member, making it as far as "Squire," and Rebecca said she was a full-fledged "Knight" in her late teens, having often spent summers doing volunteer work at the Kingdom. Makepeace, as it turned out, was still a member with the rank of "Lord" and while Billy, due to his harsh life in the London slums, had never before heard of the Magic Kingdom, Merlin surprised all of them when he revealed that he had been one of the founders who began the restoration project. The thought that the Dark Ones might actually be hiding in the Magic Kingdom was a profound shock to each and every one of them.

"You know, I've always wanted to go there," Thanatos said, "but somehow I never found the time."

"My mom took me there once when I was thirteen," said Wyrdrune. "I've never forgotten it."

"One summer I got to be Cinderella," Rebecca recalled. "I still have a picture of myself wearing the costume."

"I always wanted to be Peter Pan and fly away to NeverNeverland," said Kira.

"Well, you've got Tinkerbell right here," said Modred, grinning at Makepeace.

"If that's Tinkerbell, then I'm Pinocchio," said Wyrdrune.

"How'd you like your nose to grow about a foot?" growled Makepeace.

"Enough!" Jacqueline said. "Before we go jumping to conclusions, first of all, how do we know that the Dark Ones are somewhere in the Magic Kingdom?"

"We don't know for certain," admitted Thanatos, "but it does seem as if it would provide the ideal hiding place for them. With all the thaumaturgic energy it must take to power the Magic Kingdom, the trace emanations from their spells could easily go unnoticed unless one were specially looking for them."

"But surely the staff adepts there would have become aware of necromantic spells being cast within their midst!" Jacqueline said. "The trace emanations would be greater! Surely someone would have seen or felt something!"

"Perhaps not," said Makepeace thoughtfully. "Thanatos does have a point. True, the thaumaturgic energy already present in the Magic Kingdom might not be enough to mask the far more powerful trace emanations of necromancy, but it might easily help hide the existence of a spell maintaining a dimensional portal such as the one we encountered in London."

"That's true," said Merlin. "The energy used to maintain a dimensional portal wouldn't have to be any more powerful than the spells used to maintain many of the illusions in the Magic Kingdom." He used Billy's left hand to slap at his right, which was in the process of reaching for a jelly doughnut.

"Ey!" protested Billy. "Wot's the idea?"

"I can't speak with you stuffing your mouth full."

"But I'm bloody famished!"

"You've already eaten six of those damn things!" said Merlin. "You'll give us an upset stomach!"

"Yeah, an' you should talk with all that rotten swamp moss you go stuffin' in your pipe all the bleedin' time!"

"Look, can you two settle this some other time?" said Kira. "We've got more important things to worry about right now."

Wyrdrune grimaced. "Yeah. Such as how to find a magic doorway hidden somewhere in the middle of a place that's full of spells."

CHAPTER Twelve

Jessica Blaine gasped as she opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"You don't sound very pleased to see me, Jessie," said Khasim, pushing past her into the luxurious apartment.

"The last time we spoke, I got the distinct impression you thought we should get to know each other better."

"That was before the police were looking for you," she said, then put her hand up to her mouth in her patented theatrical gesture, performed so often it had apparently become natural to her. She stood by the open door and clutched her white silk robe around her.

"Oh? Were the police looking for me?"

He glanced around at her apartment. The living room was decorated all in white. White carpeting, white walls, white furniture, white marble on the bar and coffee tables. A large oil painting of Jessica hung over the mantelpiece, showing her nearly naked, strategically wrapped in a white fur, head back, lips pouting invitation. He smiled.

"You must be crazy, coming here," she said behind him. "What do you want?" He turned around to face her. "You," he said.

She drew herself up indignantly. "Get out."

Khasim made a languid gesture and the door to the apartment slammed shut with a bang.

"In good time," he said softly.

"Jessica?" said a man's voice from the bedroom. "Who was that?"

By the accent and the drink-slurred speech, Khasim easily recognized the voice of Burton Clive.

"Really, Jessie," he said, turning back to her and frowning disapprovingly. "You disappoint me. I might have thought you would have better taste than that."

"Get out, Khasim," she said, picking up the phone. "Get out right now, before I call security." Khasim chuckled. "Go ahead and call them."

"You don't think I will?"

"I couldn't care less, Jessie. If you really believe that the security guards can help you, then by all means, call them. They weren't very helpful in keeping me out."

She hesitated, still holding the phone. . "Jessica, who was that at the door?" said Burton Clive, coming out of the bedroom, belting one of her spare robes around himself. It was pink silk with a fur ruff around the collar and wide, fur-trimmed bell sleeves. He saw Khasim and stopped abruptly. "Good Lord!"

"Good evening, Burton," Khasim said. "I must say, that looks rather becoming on you. The color matches your eyes."

"Bertie, throw him out!" said Jessica. "I'm calling building security." She began to dial.

"Now ... eh, let's not be too hasty, darling," said Clive uncertainly, finding it difficult to maintain his Shakespearian poise in a fuzzy pink lounging robe. "After all, we're responsible, civilized adults. ..."

"Civilized, my ass," said Jessica. "This man's a murderer! Hello? Security?" Khasim sauntered over to the bar, picked up a bottle of expensive Scotch, and poured himself a drink. "She's right, you know," he said. "Haven't you seen the news?"

"Security, this is Jessica Blaine. A man's just broken into my apartment. He's wanted by the police for murder. He's a lunatic! Get up here right away!"

Khasim poured another glass for Clive and offered it to him. "Join me?"

Clive swallowed hard and nervously ran a hand through his thick, graying hair. "Uh . . . don't mind if I do," he said, taking the glass and tossing it back quickly. "Now see here, Khasim ... I... I won't pretend to know just what's going on here, but. . . well, there's no reason why we can't be civil about this, is there?"

"Another?" said Khasim, picking up the bottle.

Clive took a deep breath and held out his glass while Khasim filled it to the brim.

"Look, what Jessica said just now ... I mean, that is ... I. . .I'm sure there must have been some kind of unfortunate mistake. No doubt it's all some sort of terrible misunderstanding."

"No," said Khasim, shaking his head. "There's been no mistake. The police are looking for me because l am a murderer. A necromancer, to be exact. I've sacrificed dozens of people to the Dark Powers. One more?"

"Dear God." Clive's hand shook as he held the glass while Khasim poured.

"Oh, God has very little to do with it, I'm afraid," Khasim said.

"Bertie, for God's sake, do something!" Jessica shouted.

"What would you have me do?" Clive said helplessly. "The man's a sorcerer." He slam-dunked the Scotch and took a deep breath. "Look," he told Khasim, "I don't know anything. Honestly. I haven't seen the news, so I really don't know what you're talking about. In any case, I swear, I won't tell anyone a thing. ..."

"How can you, if you don't know anything?" Khasim said, refilling Clive's glass yet again.

"Yes . . . yes, of course. ..."

Someone started hammering on the outside of the door.

" Miss Blaine? Security! Open up, Miss Blaine!"

"Come, Jessie, it's time to go," Khasim said.

"You must be out of your mind," she said. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

" Miss Blaine! Miss Blaine, open the door! "

She turned to get the door. Khasim gestured at her.

And she vanished.

"Oh, my God. ..." whimpered Clive.

"Drink up, Burton," Khasim said, clinking the bottle against Clive's glass.

" Okay, break the door down! "

The bottle of Scotch crashed to the floor. Khasim was gone.

The door splintered and flew open as the security guards burst in with their guns drawn.

"All right, freeze! Don't make a move!"

Burton Clive stood there, swaying drunkenly, naked beneath a diaphanous pink silk lounging robe with pink fur trim around the sleeves and collar.

His eyes rolled up and he fainted dead away.

Detective Sergeant Harlan Bates stood at the head of the muster room, facing the uniformed and plainclothes police officers assembled before him.

"All right, now I'm going to go over this one more time to make sure that everybody's clear on this. All uniformed units will take up their positions near all entrances and exits to the Magic Kingdom. Plainclothes units will circulate inside the park within their respective assigned areas. Keep a low profile. Remember, we don't want to cause a panic. Captain Farrell wishes me to stress that we still don't know for sure the suspect's in there, but if he is. there's a good chance he may not be alone. He may have accomplices. In that event, when the signal comes, we're going to have to move in very quickly."

He slowly looked around at all their faces.

"None of you need to be reminded of what happened on the Strip the other night. Brother Khasim is an accomplished sorcerer who won't stop at killing police officers or innocent bystanders. He is insane and extremely dangerous. He is to be shot on sight. Those orders come straight from the I.T.C. agent in charge of this investigation, in case any of you might have concerns about your legal standing in this. And once again, any of you who might have such concerns need only think about what happened to Officers Paterno, Andruschak, and Levy on the Strip the other night. We never even found the remains of Andruschak and Levy. All we found were the charred pieces of their patrol car."

He looked around at everyone significantly.

"I want you to think about everything you've heard about this case," he said, maintaining eye contact with them.

"I want you to think about the body of Sarah Tracy. You all saw the photographs and the coroner's report. I want you to think about what happened to Victor Cameron, who was literally torn apart while in police custody. I want you to think about those bodies that were discovered in the Lost Souls Mission after the fire that destroyed it. I want you to think about those hookers Khasim murdered and your brother officers who were slain and all the other victims whose bodies we haven't even found yet."

The room was utterly silent save for the sound of Bates slowly pacing back and forth.

"We know there is at least one sorcerer—Brother Khasim—who's gone renegade and has become a necromancer. Evidence strongly suggests there may be others and that they might have non-adept confederates. The layout of the Magic Kingdom and the diverse number of spells active throughout the park will make them difficult to find, but that's not your job. Captain Farrell and the I.T.C. investigating team will be taking care of that. I don't want any heroics. Your job is to move in when Captain Farrell gives the word and clear the people out of there as quickly and efficiently as possible.

"When the order comes," he continued, "I want everyone to follow instructions implicitly. I don't want any sirens. I don't want anyone running around with their weapons out. I don't want any panic. I don't want any accidents and I don't want any mistakes. I want the citizens moved out of the way and I want it done fast. Our number one priority is to keep the people safe. At all times, keep in mind that thaumaturgy draws its power from life energy, only a necromancer can utilize that power much faster and much more efficiently by drawing it from outside sources. ... In other words, by killing people. Lives are ammunition for the necromancer's spells. And it's the height of the tourist season. The Magic Kingdom will be full of lives."

* * *

"They're here," said Modred, bringing his hand up to his chest and touching the runestone through his shirt. "I can feel it."

Kira took off her black glove and gazed down at the sapphire runestone in her palm. It was glowing brightly.

"Right," she said. "Only how do we find them in this crowd?"

All around them, people surged in currents and eddies, standing in lines, buying snacks and souvenirs, jostling one another, pushing strollers and tugging small children behind them.

"We're simply going to have to let the runestones lead us to them," Modred said.

"How are you going to do that?" asked Thanatos.

"We'll head in one direction and see if the reaction of the stones is stronger. If it turns out to be, weaker, we go back the way we came until their pulsations become stronger once again."

"But that could take all day," protested Slater.

"It could," Modred admitted as they started walking. "However, we have no alternatives. The number of spells that are active in the park already complicate the situation. It would not surprise me if there were decoy spells in place, as well."

"Decoy spells?" Rebecca said with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"The Dark Ones may have cast spells specifically designed to throw us off at different locations in the park," Jacqueline explained.

"Necromantic spells intended to confuse the runestones," Wyrdrune added. "And probably to act as booby traps, as well. The spells could be cast in such a way as to be triggered by the power of the runestones." Rebecca gave a small snort of exasperation. "Terrific. You're telling me they've sprinkled magical booby traps throughout the park?"

"It's very possible," said Modred, pausing and looking around uncertainly.

"Then why don't you just have the park closed down right now?" Slater said. "Get everyone evacuated."

"Because that will undoubtedly alert them that we're coming," Modred said. "And if they have enough advance warning, they can devise a spell that would endanger the lives of all these people. Timing is everything. We have to get in close enough before they can divert us by striking at the people."

"Fortunately, the same thing that's helping to mask their presence from us works against them, as well," said Wyrdrune. "With any luck, they won't be able to detect our presence until it's too late."

"Assuming we don't stumble into any of these magical booby traps," said Slater.

"We may not have to stumble into them, Mr. Slater," Modred said, looking around. "Some of them might well be ambulatory."

"What?" said Slater.

"They could be moving around the park," Modred said.

"You're sensing something?" Rebecca said, looking around uneasily.

"Perhaps not," said Modred. "I'm not sure. The feeling's not as strong as what I experienced when Khasim was close. There could be something near, but I don't have the sense that it's anyone living."

"Jesus, what the hell does that mean?" Slater said. "On second thought, I'm not sure I really want to know."

"Well, I do," Rebecca said. "I want to know what we're going up against. What are you saying, we might have some sort of zombie on our trail?"

"No, that wasn't what I meant," said Modred, "although it's an interesting possibility."

"Interesting isn't exactly the adjective I think I'd use," said Slater apprehensively.

"What I was thinking of was more like a sort of... well, a sort of mine, for lack of a better way of describing it," said Modred. "I've encountered spells used in that way once before, as part of a security grid for a—" He caught himself and glanced at Rebecca and Thanatos. "On second thought, it might be best if I did not elaborate on that point. Suffice it to say that it's possible to place a spell on something in such a way that its activation would be delayed and achieved only by a specific stimulus. For example, if a spell of this sort were to be placed upon an object you wanted to protect, then it could be cast so that merely touching the object would trigger it. Or perhaps the spell could be activated by picking the object up or trying to move it, or even by coming into the same room with it."

"And what would happen?" Slater said.

Modred shrugged. "It would depend entirely on the nature of the spell."

"What about the one you encountered?" asked Rebecca. "The one that was part of this security setup you mentioned. What would have happened if you'd triggered it?"

"Unfortunately, I did trigger it," said Modred. "I managed to escape, but two of my associates were not so fortunate. They died quite unpleasantly."

"Great," said Slater sourly.

"You don't have to come with us, you know," said Wyrdrune. "In fact, it would be better if you didn't. We may not be able to protect you. No one will think you're afraid if you elect to stay behind with the police."

"Are you kidding?" Slater said. "I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm afraid, but if Rebecca's coming with you, there's no way I'm staying behind."

"You don't have to protect me, Ben," she said. "I'm a police officer. This is my job."

"I'm not going to argue about it," he said. "I'm coming with you and that's final."

"Perhaps it might be better if we were to split up," said Makepeace.

"I agree," said Modred. "We could cover more ground that way and we're much too vulnerable bunched together like this."

"But I'm the only one who has a radio," Rebecca said. "How will we keep in touch?"

"We can communicate telepathically," Modred said. "The runestones can forge a mind link between Wyrdrune, Kira, and myself. It will mean expending a greater amount of energy, but it can't be helped. Wyrdrune, why don't you take Sebastian and Rebecca? Kira, you go with Ben and Thanatos. Billy and Jacqueline can come with me. That way we can teleport to whoever finds them first. But whatever you do, wait for the others. Don't go in alone. All right, let's go."

She awoke to find herself stretched out on something cold and hard. She was in a small, dark room, dimly illuminated by torchlight. She was chained down to a stone slab and she was completely naked. Two pretty teenaged girls stood over her, also naked, their eyes expressionless. One was fingering a string of beads and the other held a small ceramic bowl into which she kept dipping her fingers and then smearing the oily contents on Jessica's skin. Whatever it was, it smelled awful and it made her flesh tingle.

"What . . . what are you doing?" she stammered at the girl. "Stop that! Let me go! Leave me alone!" The girl paid no attention to her. Slowly, methodically, she continued to spread the oily balm all over Jessica while her companion stood close beside her, fingering the beads and slowly swaying back and forth while making a tuneless sound somewhere between a hum and a groan.

"Don't touch me! Stop it, I said!"

"I'm afraid they can't do that, Jessie," said a familiar voice out of the darkness.

"Khasim?"

He stepped into her field of vision and looked down at her. "It's unguent, Jessie," he explained. "A very special sort of unguent, made from the blood of the lapwing and the bat, the raspings of necromantic bells, soot, and a few somewhat less appetizing ingredients. It's ground up by hand with a mortar and pestle, boiled over a fire of vervain and applied over every inch of flesh while it's still warm. It's known as 'witch's unguent,' and it's necessary to be anointed with it prior to the mass, so as to properly prepare the flesh. It nullifies the effects of Christian baptism, you see, allowing you to attend the Sabbath in the same state of nakedness and purity as Adam and Eve."

"What in God's name are you talking about?" she said, staring at him with fear.

"Not in God's name," said Khasim with a sinister smile. He held up his right hand with the thumb and two middle fingers bent in toward the palm, little finger and index finger extended. "In the name of Satan."

"You're crazy," Jessica whispered, shaking her head, refusing to believe that this was happening to her.

"Am I?" said Khasim, taking the string of beads from the second girl and holding them over Jessica's face, so she could see them. "Do you know what this is, Jessie?" he asked.

It looked like a small necklace strung with amber-colored beads that alternated with obsidian, as well as dice in various shapes and sizes, tiny bells of gold and silver, a broken crucifix, and what appeared to be a miniature skull.

"It is Satan's Rosary," said Khasim, handing the horrid thing back to the girl, who immediately started fingering it once again, counting the beads and swaying back and forth, groaning unintelligible words in some unspeakable, guttural tongue.

"And these," Khasim continued, holding up a large bowl filled with what looked like old brown sticks, "are the bones of a murderer buried in unhallowed ground. Crazy men imagine things that are not there, Jessie. Yet there is nothing imaginary here. It is all absolutely real and authentic."

He put down the bowl and picked up two black, leather-bound books, one in each hand.

" La Clavicule de Salomon, " he said, showing her the one in his right hand. "And Le Grimoire du Pope Honorius.

" He held up the other book. "Both dating back to the seventeenth century. The Church declared these to be abominations and ordered them all burned, but a few were hidden away by the sorcerers of those dim, dark days, who only groped blindly toward the powers I serve now."

Jessica began to cry. "Khasim, please . . , please, I'm begging you, please let me go. I'll do anything, anything you want. . . ."

Somewhere above them, a giant gong was struck.

"It's time," Khasim said, his eyes glittering with madness.

The two ensorcelled girls, one holding the dish of bones, the other the bowl of witch's unguent and the Satan's Rosary, stepped up onto the platform on which stood the stone altar that Jessica was chained to. One of them stood on either side of her, their expressions vacant, their eyes glazed. Khasim also stepped up on the platform and stood at the foot of the stone slab, the two black books held clasped against his chest. "Khasim," sobbed Jessica, "please . . . please. ..." The gong rang out again and two trapdoors opened in the ceiling. With a low, scraping sound, the stone platform slowly began to rise.

"Mommy, Mommy, that man's got a rock in his head!" shouted the little five-year-old, tugging on his mother's hand and pointing at Wyrdrune.

They had stopped to make way for a small parade of fantastic-looking mythical creatures, little two-foot-high gargoyles with scaled, batlike wings and goat's horns, capering around for the amusement of the onlookers, led by a piper in a dark, hooded cloak. Wyrdrune scowled and pulled the brim of his hat down farther to cover the bright green emerald runestone.

"Come on, dear, it's not polite to point," said the boy's mother. She tried to pull him along, but he stubbornly dug in his heels and pulled back against her.

"Mommy, I want a rock in my head, too!"

The tired-looking woman glanced at Wyrdrune and gave him a strained, apologetic smile. "Come along now, Michael."

"Mommy, buy me a rock for my head!"

"Michael"

" I want a rock in my head, too! "

"Come on, Michael. . . ." She tugged sharply on her son's arm.

Wyrdrune brought his hand up to his forehead.

"Are you all right?" asked Rebecca.

"I don't know," said Wyrdrune. "There's something—"

"Mommy, look !"

The little gargoyles suddenly took flight, their metallic wings making clicking sounds as they swarmed toward Wyrdrune.

"Look out!" shouted Makepeace, shoving Wyrdrune aside as one of the creatures came diving down at him, raking the air with its sharp talons. It caught Wyrdrune's hat as he fell and the brown fedora started smoking as the caustic acid from the creature's talons ate into the cloth. Rebecca pulled out her gun, but there were too many people around to risk a shot.

The gem in Wyrdrune's forehead blazed and a bright green bolt of thaumaturgic energy shot out from it, striking one of the dive-bombing gargoyles as it plummeted toward Rebecca. The creature shrieked loudly and broke apart in an explosion of bright, gleaming shards that rained lightly to the ground like pieces of cut glass. Makepeace whipped off his beret and threw it up into the air. It stiffened and started whirling like a discus, then began darting among the flying creatures with astonishing speed. As it struck them, they broke apart and fell to the ground, shattering into tiny fragments, the pieces melting away into small puddles of steaming ooze. Wyrdrune's energy bolts knocked the remaining few creatures out of the air and the onlookers broke into delighted applause at the display, thinking it was all part of the show. The beret returned to Makepeace like a boomerang and softly fell back into his outstretched hand.

"Mommy, Mommy, I want a frisbee hat, too!" the little boy named Michael shouted. The hooded piper who had led the creatures took off running, his cloak billowing out behind him.

"Don't lose him!" Wyrdrune cried.

They shoved through the crowd, running after the hooded figure, who pushed through a line of people waiting to get into The Enchanted Grotto. He vaulted the gate, hopped into a cart, and disappeared inside.

"Hey, wait your turn!" one of the parents shouted as they pushed past the people on line in pursuit of the hooded figure.

"Wait a minute, lady," the attendant at the gate protested, grabbing at Rebecca's sleeve. "Get to the end of the line."

"Police officer!" she said, shoving the man away and leaping into a waiting rail cart. Wyrdrune and Makepeace piled in beside her as the cart shuddered off down the track, into the darkness. As they passed through an arched gateway made to look like the entrance to a cave, they were greeted by a cacophony of sounds, like the wailing of spirits echoing throughout the artificial cavern. They could barely see several feet ahead of them.

"I'm not sure this was such a good idea," said Rebecca, nervously holding her gun. With a bloodcurdling howl, a grinning troll suddenly came scuttling out at them from a crevice in the wall. Rebecca fired and the magically animated troll burst apart in a shower of plaster dust.

"You'd better put that thing away," said Wyrdrune as their cart lurched around a sharp bend in the tunnel. The gem in his forehead glowed brightly in the darkness.

"That's it. I'm calling in the order to evacuate the park before somebody gets hurt," Rebecca said. She reached for the radio she had clipped to her belt, but it wasn't there anymore.

" Damn! The radio's gone! I must have dropped it somewhere back there!"

"It's too late, we can't go back for it," said Wyrdrune. "We've got to catch that piper before he can warn the Dark Ones."

"We'll never do it at this rate," Makepeace said. "Hold on."

He took a deep breath, grabbed onto the edges of the cart and it suddenly started to pick up speed. Kira heard Wyrdrune's voice in her mind and came to a sudden stop. "Wait," she said.

"What is it?" Merlin asked. "You sense something?"

"It's Wyrdrune," she said. "Come on, he's after someone!" She sent a telepathic call to Modred.

" I heard. We'll meet you there. "

The cart was gathering speed as they hurtled through the tunnel, past screaming apparitions that popped up on either side of them.

"Slow down, Sebastian!" shouted Wyrdrune. "We're liable to run into something!" Rebecca recoiled with a gasp as a flock of gibbering bats came swooping down at them from the ceiling, but it was only a magical illusion. They passed harmlessly right through the insubstantial flock of bats and lurched around another sharp bend in the tunnel, into a chamber that widened out around them in a garishly illuminated diorama scene depicting little dwarves at work with picks and shovels, digging glittering diamonds out of the rock wall. They sang in high-pitched voices as they worked and some of them paused to wave as the cart went by. They made another turn and the cart swung wildly around, almost overbalancing as they hurtled down another tunnel.

"Sebastian, we're going way too fast!" said Wyrdrune.

Suddenly there was another cart ahead of them. Sebastian tried to slow them down, but they collided and the impact knocked both carts off the rails. Their cart overturned and they came tumbling out onto the floor of the tunnel. After a few moments, Wyrdrune slowly picked himself up off the ground, groaning and rubbing his shoulder.

"Damn it, Sebastian! I told you we were going too fast!"

A dancing skeleton knocked into him as it came prancing out from a niche in the wall. Wyrdrune cried out, startled, then angrily batted it away. It fell rattling to the floor, then scuttled back into its niche. Wyrdrune glanced toward the other cart, lying on its side in the middle of the tunnel. It was empty.

"Terrific," he said. "Looks like we've lost him." He looked toward Makepeace. "Are you all right?"

"A little bruised, perhaps," said Makepeace, dusting himself off, "but nothing seems to be broken." He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I should have listened to you, but I was afraid we wouldn't catch him."

"Never mind," said Wyrdrune sourly. "Rebecca, are you okay?"

He turned around.

"Rebecca?"

There was no sign of her.

"There's something wrong," said the attendant at the exit gate. "One of the carts must've gotten stuck or something."

"Shut down this ride at once," said Thanatos.

"It shuts down by itself," said the attendant. "It does that automatically if there's any kind of stoppage. Don't worry, sir, it's perfectly safe. I'm sure it's only a minor problem. Kids, you know. Teenagers. Sometimes they get out of the carts and . . . hey, wait a minute, mister, you can't go in there!"

Modred pushed past the attendant and started into the tunnel. Kira, Ben, Jacqueline, and Billy hurried after him.

"Hey, you people can't go in there!"

"Let them go," said Thanatos, showing the attendant his identification. "You stay right here. Under no circumstances are you to let anyone else inside, you understand?"

"Look, mister, what's this all about?"

A plainclothes officer came up to them and flashed his badge. "Police officer," he said. 'What's going on here?"

"I.T.C.," said Thanatos. showing his I D "You're part of the task force?"

"Yes, sir. Detective Foster."

"Task force?" said the attendant. "What task force? What the hell is going on here?" Thanatos ignored him. "Captain Farrell's in there." he said. "Something's gone wrong. Get on your radio and have your people move in. I want this park closed down right now. Get everybody out, as quietly and as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir!"

Thanatos ran into the tunnel after the others.

The stone slab came rising up through the floor into a large, torch-lit, vaulted chamber with walls of mortared blocks of stone and fluted columns supporting arched stone cross braces. It looked like the throne room of some ancient castle. And, in fact, there was a throne, on a high dais at the far end of the room. It glittered in the flickering light of the large bronze braziers placed on either side of it. It was made entirely of gold and encrusted with precious stones. For the moment, it was empty.

To the left of the dais hung a giant gong and it was ringing out steadily, despite the fact that no one was there to strike it. Its sound was deafening. Jessica wanted to cover her ears, but her arms were chained down at the wrists. Drawn on the stone floor around the altar was a large cabalistic circle, with strange signs painted within it. The circle itself was inside a larger drawing on the floor, that of two interlaced triangles forming the Seal of Solomon. Jessica recognized the satanic paraphernalia from the necromancer films that she had starred in. Placed on the floor at various points inside the circle were a human skull, cracked and brown with age; a severed human hand, known as a "hand of glory"; a lamp burning scented oil; a violin and bow; and a turnip painted black that was used in the satanic mass in place of the Host.

It was both ludicrous and terrifying at the same time. It was just like a scene from one of Rydell's films. It had to be a set. None of this could possibly be real. And then Jessica recalled what had happened the last time they filmed a scene that was almost identical to this and she began to tremble uncontrollably.

Khasim stepped off the dais and carefully laid the two black books down inside the circle, opening each of them to a specific place marked with a raven's feather. The two enchanted girls stepped back away from her as well, to the outermost points of the circle. In the darkness at the far sides of the cavernous room, Jessica thought she could see shadowy shapes moving.

The ringing of the gong ceased abruptly, its echoes reverberating off the walls. Khasim raised his arms up to the ceiling and the violin and bow suddenly floated up into the air, as if borne up by some invisible musician. The bow moved as if of its own volition across the strings and Jessica recognized the opening notes of "Night on Bald Mountain" by Saint-Saens. Death playing his violin at midnight while the evil spirits come out of their graves to dance.

The Black Sabbath had begun.

CHAPTER Thirteen

" Rebecca!'" Wyrdrune shouted.

His call echoed in the dark tunnel. There was no answer.

"We'd better split up and look for her," Makepeace said.

"No way," Wyrdrune said. "One of us has already disappeared. Let's not try for two, all right? We stick together." They heard running footsteps.

"Be careful, someone's coming." Makepeace said.

"It's all right," Wyrdrune said, hearing Modred's voice in his mind. "It's only Modred and the others." Slater came running around a bend in the tunnel. He was breathing hard. "What's happened?" he said, gasping for breath. "Where's Rebecca?"

Modred and the others were right behind him.

"Rebecca's disappeared," said Wyrdrune.

"What the hell do you mean, she's disappeared?" Slater said.

"I mean she's gone," said Wyrdrune. "We were chasing a man in a dark, hooded cloak through this tunnel and our cart collided with one that was ahead of it. We overturned and were thrown clear. When we got up, Rebecca had disappeared."

"You were supposed to be protecting her!" cried Slater.

Modred put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, Slater. Both you and Captain Farrell were advised to stay behind. You were told we couldn't guarantee protection, yet you both insisted on coming along. Now recriminations are not going to help us find her. She might still be around here somewhere, lying unconscious—"

"No," said Wyrdrune, shaking his head. "We've already looked all around here."

"Then she's either been carried away or she somehow passed through a dimensional portal," Modred said.

"If she passed through a portal, then it must be around here somewhere," Kira said.

"Unless it was closed after she passed through it," said Jacqueline.

"God, then what do we do?" asked Slater anxiously.

"What we started out to do," said Modred. "Find the lair of the Dark Ones. This is probably nothing more than a diversion intended to draw us away from our objective."

"You're not going to just leave her!" Slater said.

"We have no choice," said Modred. "We must find the Dark Ones at all costs."

"No!" shouted Slater. "I'm not going! Somebody's got to look for Rebecca! She could be in danger!" Modred paused, hesitating. "Very well. Jacqueline?"

She nodded. "I will stay and help look for her."

"I'll stay, too," said Makepeace. "It's my fault she's been taken. We'll try to catch up with you."

"How will we know where you'll be?" Jacqueline asked.

"If we find the Dark Ones," Wyrdrune said, "I have a feeling you'll know."

"Good luck," said Makepeace.

"You, too," said Kira.

They split up and Wyrdrune, Kira, Modred, Billy, and Thanatos went back out through the exit while Slater, Makepeace, and Jacqueline headed in the opposite direction, retracing the route the cart had taken.

"How will we know if we find one of these dimensional portals?" Slater asked. "What do they look like?"

"You cannot see them," said Jacqueline. "They are invisible."

"Well, that's just great," said Slater. "How the hell are we supposed to find it, then?"

"If you come in contact with one, it will be very cold," Jacqueline explained. "It will feel like freezing water."

"But you can't see it," Slater said.

"Correct."

''So by the time I get this feeling like I'm touching freezing water, I'm already going through the damn thing."

"All the more reason to proceed with caution," Jacqueline replied. "If you pay close attention to your surroundings, then if you pass through a dimensional portal, you will be able to get back the same way."

"Wait a moment," Makepeace said, pulling up short.

"What's wrong?" said Slater.

They had come around a bend and Makepeace stood in the center of the tunnel, between the rail tracks the carts traveled on. He stood frowning, staring at a place where the tunnel opened out into a garishly illuminated diorama.

"The dwarves," he said.

"What dwarves?" asked Jacqueline. "I see no dwarves."

"Precisely," Makepeace said. "What the hell happened to the dwarves?"

Rebecca couldn't move. She was being taken down a narrow corridor by two ranks of tiny dwarves, who carried her between them on their shoulders while they swung their free arms in exaggerated motions and sang, "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work we go . . ."

She had struck her head and lost consciousness when she was thrown clear of the cart and when she came to, she was being tightly bound and gagged. The magically animated dwarves had dragged her from the spot where she had fallen and pulled her through a narrow maintenance door in the tunnel before Wyrdrune and Makepeace had recovered. By the time Rebecca realized what was happening, it was too late. They had her legs tied together and her arms bound tightly to her sides. She couldn't move a muscle.

The little dwarves reached the end of the maintenance corridor and came out into a fenced-in work area around the back of the ride. They dumped Rebecca into the back of a small cart with a fringed canvas top, piled in themselves, and drove off through the gate. Down in the bottom of the cart, Rebecca couldn't see a thing. All she could see were the grinning little dwarves all around it, swaying happily from side to side as they sat in the cart and sang in their high-pitched voices.

* * *

"Watch it!" said Thanatos, pulling Billy back by the arm as the little cart whizzed by, almost running him over. The cart swung around wildly with a screech of its small tires and continued weaving its way down the walk while the dwarves inside it swayed back and forth like beer buddies and sang their little work song. *

"Ey! Watch where the bloody 'ell yer goin'!" Billy shouted. He turned to Wyrdrune. "Blasted little morphodites," he said in Merlin's voice. "The\ shouldn't let them drive!"

"Why are the dwarves driving?" Wyrdrune said, thoughtfully staring after the cart.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the park is being closed, " a police officer announced through a bullhorn. " Please proceed immediately to the nearest exit. Thank you for your cooperation. Ladies and gentlemen, the park is being closed. ..."

"What did you say?" asked Modred.

"The dwarves!" said Wyrdrune. "The dwarves from The Enchanted Grotto!"

"What?" said Thanatos.

"Come on!" shouted Wyrdrune. "Run!"

Jessica could not believe her eyes. it was a scene wilder than anything she'd ever sees and she was trapped right in the middle of it. Musical instruments were whirling around in midair and playing by themselves while fantastic-looking creatures danced and capered all around her. It was like a surrealistic scene by Breughel, with her bird-legged, furry creatures with short horns and long tongues leaping all about, whistling teapots and steaming cauldrons waddling around her on stubby little legs, heards of great horned toads and white mice hopping about in time to the music while the torches blazed up on the walls, revealing nude figures standing there, entranced, naked teenaged girls and boys waiting in stiff, ensorcelled postures, eyes blank, jaws slack, oblivious to their surroundings. The torches blazed up once again, and several niches opened in the walls, through which a number of somber figures stepped into the room. They were sorcerers, like Khasim, dressed in their ceremonial robes. Adepts in the service of the Dark Ones. They came toward the cabalistic circle and stood around its circumference, their hands clasped in front of them. They looked up at Khasim, the high priest, and bowed respectfully. Jessica gasped when Khasim turned back to face her. She almost didn't recognize him. His long, sleek, jet-black hair had turned completely gray and his handsome face had aged. It was lined and wrinkled, pale, and his lips trembled like an old man's.

The sorcerers around the circle shrugged off their robes and stood naked in the torchlight as the music peaked and the surrealistic creatures spun around in their wild dance. And as Jessica watched in disbelief, the sorcerers started changing. Matted fur started to sprout from their bodies and horns pushed up through the skin of their foreheads. Their feet seemed to wither and gnarl, then harden into bone as they turned into tufted hooves. Their knees bent sharply and their thighs grew larger and more muscular. They were turning into satyrs right before her eyes. And then Jessica saw other strange creatures, elves and skeletons and little pigs in human clothing walking up on their hind legs, all leading little children by the hand, bringing them into the room where they stood watching, fascinated, not realizing the danger they were in. Now other people started coming in, groups of men and women dressed in pirate costumes, Indian loincloths and headdresses, cowboy clothing, the fringed buckskins of frontiersmen, and each small group carried a person, either bound and struggling or unconscious. Jessica realized with horror that there was going to be an act of mass sacrifice—and she would be the main offering.

"Look!" said Slater, bending down to pick up something from the ground. "Rebecca's gun!" He tucked it into his waistband as the others came to join him.

"Yes, she was unquestionably brought this way," said Makepeace. He pointed at the ground, where there were long tracks in the dust. "Looks like she was dragged."

They followed the trail to a narrow door made to look like part of the artificial rock wall. Makepeace found the handle and opened it.

"Be careful," Jacqueline said.

Makepeace felt around inside. "Nothing so exotic as a dimensional portal," he said. "Just a plain, ordinary doorway. The dwarves took her this way. Come on."

"You're telling me Rebecca was carried off by a bunch of magically animated dwarves?" said Slater.

"It certainly seems that way," said Makepeace, moving down the narrow maintenance corridor. He bent down quickly and picked up something off the floor.

"What is it?" Slater said.

"A piece of rope," said Makepeace. "They must have tied her up."

They proceeded quickly down the corridor and came outside into an open, fenced-in work area. There were two little maintenance carts with fringed canvas tops parked against the fence and the gate was open.

"They must have loaded her up in one of the carts and driven off," said Makepeace.

"Now what?" asked Slater.

"We'll have to try and find them somehow," Makepeace said. "There's nothing else to do. Come on." They climbed into one of the other carts and drove out through the gate.

" Attention, ladies and gentlemen, attention! The park is being closed. Pleased proceed immediately to the nearest exit. Thank you for your cooperation. Attention. . . ."

"They've started to evacuate the park." said Makepeace as he drove, looking all around for a sign of any cart similar to theirs.

"We're never going to find her." Slater said.

"We'll find her, Ben," Jacqueline said. "We'll find her."

"My baby!" screamed a woman. "What happened to my baby?"

"Michael?" another woman cried. As they drove by, Makepeace recognized the mother of the obnoxious five-year-old. "Michael, where are you?"

"Jennie?" called a young man as they passed him. "Jennie?"

"There's going to be a panic," Slater said tensely. "The cops are going to lose control. People are getting separated from their kids, it's all going wrong. It isn't going to work."

"Sheila? Sheila, where are you?" someone called as they drove by.

"My God," said Makepeace, weaving through clumps of people running around and streaming toward the exits.

"They've started snatching people!"

"What?" said Slater.

"That's why Rebecca was abducted," Makepeace said. "They've started grabbing people, children . . . victims for a mass sacrifice."

"A mass sacrifice?" said Slater, alarmed. "What are you talking about?"

"A Sabbath," Jacqueline said softly. "They're celebrating a Black Sabbath."

They ran hard, trying to keep the crazily weaving cart in sight. All around them, people were moving toward the exits, some proceeding in an orderly fashion, others running. People were calling for their children, boyfriends were calling for their girlfriends, husbands seeking wives they had suddenly become separated from. Nobody knew why the amusement park was being evacuated and everyone had their own suspicions. The police were moving through the crowd, trying to keep order and keep everybody moving, but the people who had become separated from members of their families were refusing to be herded out. The crowd was on the verge of panic.

"Do you feel it?" Modred called out as they ran.

"It's all around us," Kira said. "What the hell is happening?"

"It's much worse than I thought," said Modred. "They've taken over. They've overwhelmed the spells controlling all the attractions and illusions. They have the entire park under their control."

"There's an incredible amount of energy being gathered," Wyrdrune said, gasping as he ran. "I can sense the focus somewhere just up ahead."

They passed a sign that said, "Sleeping Beauty Castle closed for repairs." The castle was just ahead of them, its graceful towers and turrets rising up into the sky. The drawbridge had been lowered and the cart driven by the dwarves turned and drove across it.

"There!" said Modred, stopping to catch his breath. "The Dark Ones are in there! I can feel it!"

"No," said Wyrdrune, aghast as he stared at the beautiful castle, the famous symbol of the Magic Kingdom. "Not in there!"

As they stood there, the drawbridge slowly started to rise.

"We'll never make it," Thanatos said.

"Yes, we will," said Modred. "We'll teleport."

"Kira, quick, give me your hand," said Wyrdrune.

"Not this time, warlock," she said. "I'm not ending up in that damn moat! Modred?" He took her hand. "Thanatos?"

"I can make it."

"All right. Now!"

The drawbridge was already up at a forty-five-degree angle. They teleported. Modred, Billy, and Kira reappeared inside the courtyard of the castle. Thanatos popped in a second later, right behind them.

"Where's Wyrdrune?" Kira said.

" Shiiiiiiiiiiiit !"

They turned around in time to see him sliding down the inside of the rising drawbridge, rolling end over end until he hit the ground and came to a tumbling halt at their feet.

"Well, that certainly was graceful," said Modred wryly.

"Get any splinters?" Kira added.

"Very funny," Wyrdrune said sourly.

"Modred, look!" said Thanatos. He held up his hand. The fire opal on his ring was glowing brightly. Modred stared at it and frowned.

"What does it mean?" asked Thanatos.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Modred said. "I didn't even know it was enchanted."

"Don't look at me." said Merlin. "Morgana did not always confide in me, you know. For that matter, even she might not have known. The ring belonged to Gorlois. It's as old as the runestones themselves." Thanatos tugged at the ring. "It won't come off!" "Well, then I guess you're about to find out what the spell is," said Modred as they went through the castle doors. "Let's hope it isn't too unpleasant. This is not a good time for surprises."

Jessica watched in frozen fascination as the last of the captives were brought in. Rebecca was among them. The dwarves set her down and joined in the whirling dance as the sorcerers-turned-satyrs moved among the captured victims, making passes at them and putting each into a deep trance. The ropes holding Rebecca magically fell away, along with her clothing, and she had time only for a brief gasp as a leering satyr stepped before her and then her vision blurred and everything went numb as she retreated somewhere deep inside herself, still able to see and feel, but no longer able to control herself.

Khasim stood on the altar beside Jessica, his arms thrown wide, his chest rising and falling as he gasped for breath. He was a doddering old man now, aging rapidly before her eyes. His hair had turned pure white. His pale skin now translucent, the flesh hanging in slack folds. His dark eyes were glazed and deeply sunken, his hands were liver-spotted, gnarled, and palsied, the fingernails as long as talons. His right hand held the ritual dagger and Jessica could not tear her eyes away from it. She writhed panic-stricken on the altar, pulling against the chains, but they held her fast. The music was reaching a crescendo and the dancing figures whirled faster and faster and faster. Suddenly there was a mist in the shadows over the throne, an area of deeper darkness that slowly formed into the brightly glowing outline of a man. A moment later, the dark shadow with the glowing border resolved into a handsome, golden-skinned young man with dark red hair and a crimson robe thrown over his well-muscled shoulders. Except for the long robe, he was naked. He had the body of a Greek god. But below the waist, he was a goat with cloven hooves and a forked tail. Ram horns sprouted from his forehead. He held a pitchfork in his hand. Jessica cried out and shook her head. No, she thought, it couldn't be, it couldn't possibly be. ... A strong voice suddenly rang out in the torch-lit chamber, rising above the music and echoing off the walls.

" Khasim! "

The music stopped abruptly. The skeletal sorcerer jerked as if struck. His hair had all fallen out and the bones showed through his face. He was barely able to stand. He looked up toward the sound of the voice. He was astonished when he saw that it was only a young boy.

"Drop the knife!" called Merlin, extending his arm toward the high priest. "Drop the knife or die!" Khasim looked down at Jessica, his face a grinning death's head. She screamed as the knife started to descend. A searing, bright blue bolt of thaumaturgic energy shot out from Billy's outstretched hand, lancing across the torch-lit chamber and striking Khasim in the chest. It blasted him right off the altar platform and he flew backward to land on the stone-floor, lifeless, his skin shriveling away to nothing, his bones collapsing, turning into dust. With a snarl, Ashtar threw off his robe and leapt from the throne. Large, batlike wings unfolded from his back, spreading as he launched himself into a long glide across the chamber, swooping down over the altar. Jessica screamed hysterically as he raised his hands, claws extended, intending to rip her open as he swept on past her in his dive toward Billy, but in that moment, three bright beams flashed out across the chamber. Modred had torn open his shirt and a scarlet beam lanced from his chest to strike Kira's upraised hand, where she stood against the wall, near the center of the chamber. A bright sapphire beam shot forth from Kira's palm and struck the stone in Wyrdrune's forehead, which in turn sent its emerald beam across the chamber to strike the stone in Modred's chest. The living triangle was formed and it extended up and out from them in a pyramid shape, trapping the Dark One and all the shape-changed sorcerers beneath it. With a cry of agony, Ashtar fell, his wings collapsing and shrinking away as he reverted to his normal form under the combined power of the runestones. The satyrs started bellowing as they reverted to their human shapes and sank down to the floor, clutching at their throats. Billy ran up to the platform and climbed up to the altar. His eyes sizzled with blue fire and twin beams of thaumaturgic energy shot out from them, burning through the chains holding Jessica. He picked her up in his arms and carried her through the archway and down the corridor, which led out to the courtyard, calling to the others to follow him. In a daze, Rebecca and the other captives stumbled after him. Behind them, Ashtar fought to struggle to his feet, but he collapsed at the foot of the altar, gasping as he tried in vain to draw air into his lungs. He clawed at his throat and thrashed upon the ground, his movements growing weaker and weaker as the living triangle leeched his life force from him. Halfway down the corridor, Billy came to a sudden stop. A strikingly beautiful, golden-skinned young woman with a thick mane of fiery red hair stood at the far end of the corridor, blocking their way. She was wearing a long black robe and her green eyes glowed with thaumaturgic fire.

" No! " she snarled in a voice that was laced with venom. "You'll all die for this!"

"No, Yasmine," said Thanatos, stepping out from a side corridor to stand between her and the others. His voice sounded much different, deeper and more resonant. "You have killed enough. This time, you shall be the one to die." The fire opal on his ring burned like a star, glowing brighter and brighter and brighter, its blinding light enveloping him entirely and when it died away, Thanatos was gone and in his place stood a knight in full, gleaming armor, a twisting, ivory horn rising from his helmet, his shield bearing the device of a unicorn rampant. Yasmine stared at him with disbelief. " You! " she said.

The knight unsheathed his sword and started walking toward her.

She opened her mouth and a deafening screech issued forth that sounded like the trumpeting bellow of some prehistoric beast. She spread her robe out and scaled wings began to form. Her face lengthened and her back arched. She began to grow, looming larger and larger as the metamorphosis progressed with amazing speed. Her long tail whipped back and forth, her giant wings beat at the air, her long, curving teeth snapped as she hissed and bellowed at the knight who continued to approach her resolutely. She grew until her scaled bulk filled the entire corridor and her wings scraped against the ceiling. And then the dragon opened up its mouth and a stream of fire shot forth.

'"Gor'blimey!" Billy said, staring slack-jawed as the knight took the fire full upon his shield and continued to advance.

The dragon flapped its wings furiously and pieces of the ceiling started to rain down.

"Get back!" Billy shouted. "Everyone get back!"

The dragon's tail whipped around and the knight jumped over it, then he dropped his shield and caught it as it whipped around again. The dragon bellowed and started to rise up into the air as the knight climbed up along its tail, clinging stubbornly despite all her efforts to dislodge him. Debris rained down as she broke through the ceiling and rose up high into the air, screeching with fury and pain as the knight clung to her back, his sword rising and falling as he hacked away at her repeatedly.

The little cart swerved wildly as Makepeace nearly lost control and almost crashed. Around them, people ran screaming toward the exits, the police no longer able to control them.

"Sebastian, look!" Jacqueline said.

"I see it," Makepeace said, braking sharply and staring at the apparition ahead of them.

"My God," said Slater, staring wide-eyed at the sight. "What the hell is that?" A dragon was rising up high over the fairy-tale castle, its huge wings beating at the air, its bellowing screams echoing throughout the park. There was a tiny figure perched upon its back, an armored knight who kept plunging his sword down between the dragon's shoulder blades again and again and again. The creature threw back its head and screeched in agony, then fell, pinwheeling to the ground. They felt the force of its impact as it struck.

"Come on!" Jacqueline urged Makepeace. "Drive on!"

The cart lurched forward, toward the castle.

Billy stood over the dead woman's broken body. Her back was covered with raw stab wounds and blood trickled from her mouth and nose. Her neck was at a strange angle and her legs were splayed out beneath her. As Billy watched, she slowly began to fade away like a mirage until there was nothing left of her at all. Thanatos lay on his back in a pool of blood a short distance away, his glazed eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky. Billy bent down and closed them. He heard a clinking sound as the ring fell from the dead sorcerer's finger and rolled toward him, coming to a stop at his feet. Billy picked it up and put it in his pocket. A crowd was gathering around him. The dazed captives from the castle stood around, confused, some embarrassed by their nakedness, others too disoriented to fully realize their state. The small maintenance cart pulled up and Slater leapt out and ran over to Rebecca, taking off his coat and wrapping it around her protectively. Modred, Wyrdrune, and Kira came through the crowd to stand behind Billy. They looked utterly exhausted. Makepeace took off his long black leather coat and was about to offer it to Jessica, but she didn't even see him. Heedless of her nakedness and the crowd around her, she came up to Billy and put her arms around him.

"You saved my life," she said, and kissed him deeply.

"Please, madam," Merlin said in an embarrassed voice, extricating himself awkwardly. "Go get some clothes on."

EPILOGUE

They sat drinking coffee in the kitchen of Rebecca Farrell's small apartment. It was late and she had just come off duty after the busiest and longest day of her career.

"Officially, the story is that Khasim went completely off the deep end at some point during his involvement in Rydell's necromancer films and started taking it for real," she said. "He supposedly 'discovered' a sub-basement underneath the mission, a relic from the days of the Collapse when an older building had stood there, and he used it as a meeting place for a satanic cult he organized. The department called in Gorman to help with the investigation of the murders and Gorman asked the I.T.C. for help when he realized that necromancy was involved. Gorman uncovered what Khasim was doing at the mission and Khasim killed him, then holed up in the Magic Kingdom after subduing the wizards on the staff, which allowed him to assume control of the spells used to maintain the attractions and illusions in the park. That part of it, at least, is true, except it was the Dark Ones who overpowered the wizards at the Magic Kingdom and not Khasim.

"As for what happened in the castle," she continued, "the official word on that is that the whole thing was an elaborate special effects illusion executed by Khasim. He had become obsessed with Jessica Blaine and intended to murder her in a reenactment of the climactic scene from the last necromancer film. A team of non-adept special effects technicians who worked with Khasim on that film have testified that he was a gifted illusionist who could easily have pulled off such a sophisticated series of effects, especially if he was able to tap into already existing spells devised by the wizards of the Magic Kingdom. Thanatos had managed to put it all together and he stopped him with the aid of a special department task force, but both Khasim and Thanatos died in the confrontation. Fortunately, the people who were kidnapped by the Dark Ones and their acolytes were sufficiently dazed and confused by everything that happened and none of them can really contradict the official version of the events that transpired in the castle. The Bureau has brought in a team of therapist adepts to debrief the victims and provide counseling. So far as the official version of the story goes, none of you were even there, although both the Bureau and the I.T.C. are very anxious to find out what really happened. In particular, they're anxious to speak with the staff of Warlock Productions, but luckily, I was able to get to Ron Rydell before they could question him."

"How did Rydell respond?" asked Modred. "What did you work out with him?"

"Rydell's story is that Warlock Productions decided to back out of the film deal due to adverse publicity and he doesn't know what happened to them. He told the investigators that the Warlock people closed down their L.A. office and left town, leaving him holding the bag, and he made a lot of noise about how he'd like to find them himself because he intends to sue. He conveniently neglected to mention the twenty-five million dollars that you gave him but assured me that he intends to pay it back as soon as the heat's died down."

She smiled at Modred. "He seemed extremely anxious not to antagonize you. Anyway, he was very convincing. In the meantime, the so-called adverse publicity has given Jessica Blaine's career a tremendous boost and there's apparently a deal in the works to adapt Ambrosias! as a Broadway musical, starring both her and Burton Clive."

"Oh God!" said Merlin with dismay.

"Serves you bloody right," said Billy, still angry with him for not having allowed him to take full advantage of Jessica Blaine's gratitude. "'Gor', I ain't never 'ad anyone kiss me like that before an' you 'ad to go an' ruin it!"

"That will be enough of that," said Merlin sternly. "You're much too young for that sort of thing and as for me, I'm much too old. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner we leave Los Angles, the better."

"That's a very good idea, said Rebecca. "There's an I.T.C. investigator by the name of Graywand who's been asking a lot of very pointed questions about the four of you. And he's particularly interested in 'Michael Cornwall.' I had a pretty close call with him."

"I know of him," said Modred. "He's the I.T.C.'s senior field agent. I've had a couple of close calls with him myself over the years. He's very sharp and extremely competent."

"That was my impression, too," said Rebecca. "He's convinced I know a lot more than I'm telling. He wanted to interrogate me under a spell of compulsion, but the police commissioner and the chief put a stop to that idea. They said that I'd already answered all his questions and the fact that I'd been abducted and almost killed entitled me to some consideration, so he decided not to push it. But he's not the sort to let it go. He'll keep after it, you can be sure of that. So if I were you, I wouldn't stay around too long."

"No, I think we'll be leaving right away," said Modred.

"What, again we're moving?" said the broom, swishing in with a fresh pot of coffee. "Nice of somebody to tell me. How do you expect me to keep things organized if nobody ever tells me anything? Always everything at the last minute! Rush, rush, rush! Gevalt! I'm going, to get permanent jet lag at this rate!"

"Since when does a stick get jet leg?" Kira said.

"You hear this?" said the broom, turning to Rebecca. "You see the kind of respect I get? What it is with young people these days, I'm asking you? They're spoiled, that's what they are. Spoiled rotten."

"There's still one thing that I don't understand," said Slater. "Not that understanding it will do me much good. It's really ironic. The greatest story of my career and I can't even write it. But I still can't help being curious." He turned to Billy. "That spell on the ring Thanatos wore. When he changed into that knight, you said he called the Dark One by name. Yasmine. And from what you said, she seemed to know him, too. So if he wasn't Thanatos, who was he?"

"No, he was Thanatos," said Modred. "But for a short time, the spell of the ring changed him into someone else. And it explains why my mother always wore that ring and why she gave it to him after they were married. She wanted to protect him." He paused. "The unicorn device on the knight's shield means that it could only have been my grandfather. The last survivor of the Council of the White. Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall."

"Of course!" said Merlin. "I, of all people, should have realized that. Only it was so very long ago ... I had forgotten."

"But... I thought you said that Arthur killed him," Kira said.

"He did," said Modred. "But my grandfather was as powerful a mage as the ones who fused their life forces with the runestones. He must have prepared a similar spell to guard against his physical death, one that would preserve his spirit." He paused and sighed heavily. "I looked for the ring when Thanatos died, but he was no longer wearing it. The only explanation I can think of is the spell must have worn off."

"No, wait!" said Billy, reaching into the pocket of his coat. "You should 'ave told me! I've got the ring!"

" What? " said Modred, sitting bolt upright. " Where is it? "

"Just a minute," Billy said, rummaging through all his pockets. "Wait, I know I've got the bloody thing 'ere somewhere. ..."

"Billy," Kira said. "It's on your hand!"

"It's what?" said Billy. He looked at his hands. The fire opal was gleaming on the ring finger of his left hand.

'"Gor'blimey!" he exclaimed. "So it is! But it wasn't . . . I didn't put it on! I swear I didn't! I 'ad it right 'ere in me pocket!" He tried to take it off.

"I think it's stuck," he said, grimacing. "I can't understand it, it was way too big before. . . ." He kept pulling on it, but it wouldn't budge. "Bloody 'ell, now it won't come off!"

"I don't mink it's meant to, Billy," Modred said softly.

Billy stared at him. "What? No, g'wan, it's only stuck, see"

He put his finger in his mouth and moistened it, then redoubled his efforts to pull it off, but it remained stuck firmly on his finger.

"It looks like Modred's right, lad," Makepeace said. "It seems as if the spirit of Gorlois has chosen to remain with you."

Billy looked up at them with alarm! "No," he said. "No, it can't be!"

"I'm afraid it is, Billy," Modred said. He smiled. "It's the supreme irony, in a way. Arthur killed Gorlois with Merlin's help, and now both their spirits are with you. It should prove rather interesting, to say the least."

"No!" said Billy, shaking his head with disbelief. "Aw, no! You mean now I'm stuck with two of 'em? Oh, bloody

'ell! "

"You can say that again," said Merlin, miserably. "Oh, bloody hell!" As if in answer, the fire opal glowed brightly for a moment and Billy got a very strange smile on his face. Then he threw back his head and laughed. Only they knew it wasn't Billy laughing. And Merlin was not at all amused.