“How did you know we were having the same dreams?” asked

Wyrdrune.

“I didn’t, really. I surmised it. These are no ordinary nightmares,

Melvin. There’s something deeply malevolent about them. And I

sense a presence behind them. An uncomfortably familiar

presence.”

Wyrdrune glanced at him sharply. He’d experienced no such

sensation. It was yet another example of Makepeace being…

different.

“A familiar presence?” he said.

“Oh, yes, indeed, ” said Makepeace. “It would seem that we are

being toyed with. Teased. A markedly feminine characteristic,

teasing.”

Wyrdrune stopped again. They had reached the entrance to

Lovecraft’s.

“Leila?” he said.

“Leila, ” Makepeace said. “After you, my friends.”

He beckoned mem through the door. Lovecraft’s, on MacDougal

Street, was a basement-level tavern that was popular with

students, adepts, and various Village arty types. The lights were

dim, the tables were rickety and covered with black cloth, with

white ceramic skulls on each table, holding candles. The decor was

reminiscent of a mausoleum, and the waiters and waitresses all

dressed in black, with black eye shadow all around their eyes,

making them look like sepulchral raccoons. The bartender greeted

Makepeace by name as they went through and took a table in the

back. A slinky, long-haired waitress in a dress so tight that she

could barely move glided over to then-table and gave Makepeace a

dazzling smile, which somehow looked a little disconcerting with

the black lipstick she was wearing.

“Hi, Doc. The usual?”

“As ever, Morticia, my dear. And a couple of beers for my

friends.”

She glanced at Billy and pursed her lips. “He doesn’t look old