well clear. That's an order. I mean it. Don't anyone go playing hero. I willnot appreciate it."

well clear. That's an order. I mean it. Don't anyone go playing hero. I willnot appreciate it."

"Joe," said Paul, "I know it looks pretty bad right now, but believe me, Michael isn't the killer."

"I believe you, Paul."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Don't ask me why. I just know it in my gut. Same way I know you're holding out on me. I think

he's on the level about wanting to stop the killer, but not because he's a cop. This is something very

personal for him, isn't it? Only I'm not about to stand for any personal vendettas in my town. The law's

going to take care of this, not your friend Cornwall. If that's his real name."

"He's the only one whocan take care of it, Joe," said Paul softly.

"Yeah? We'll see about that."

He took out his Smith & Wesson revolver and broke open the cylinder. He pushed the extractor rod

and dumped the six .38 Special cartridges into his palm, put them in his left breast pocket, then took out

a speedloader and smoothly inserted six copper-jacketed, hollowpoint .357 Magnum rounds into the

chambers. He closed the cylinder carefully, holstered the gun, then took the .38 Specials out of his breast

pocket one at a time and carefully inserted them into the empty speedloader.

"Joe . . ." said Paul uneasily. "You're not going to . . ."

"I'm taking him in," said Loomis, turning the speedloader upside down in his palm and locking the rounds

in. "And don't tell me I can't hold an adept who can teleport. I'll have his mouth taped up, his hands

restrained so he can't even move his fingers, and his eyes blindfolded. I'll personally wrap him up like an

Egyptian mummy if I have to, but Iam taking him in. And if he resists arrest, I am surely going to shoot

him."

He stuck the speedloader back in its belt pouch and pulled away from the curb with a rattle of gravel in

the wheelwells.

"Joe . . . you can't. Youmustn't . You don't know what's at stake."

"I'm getting real tired of hearing that," said Loomis. "Suppose youtell me what's at stake, Paul? Who the

hell is Cornwall? And what's he got to do with this necromancer?"

Paul took a deep breath. "I swore I wouldn't tell," he said. "But I'm afraid I have no choice . . ."

The lock on Paul's office door presented no problem to an experienced cat burglar like Kira. She had it

open in a matter of seconds.

"I can't believe we're doing this," said Broom. "If we get caught—"