The sun hadn't yet risen when word came that they'd found Emma Setlow, AKA Dixie Starr, in the usual state. The troops had arrived while the ritual was winding down. Winchell had taken another successful powder but his helper had been captured. The knives had been recovered.

"Knives?" I asked. "What knives? We already broke the knives."

The knives in question turned out to be plain old kitchen knives, not the best for the job they had done.

The Dead Man observed, I suspect we will find that the knives were not the vehicle for the curse.

"Hell," I muttered, "I had that figured. Winchell wouldn't still be on the hoof if they were."

The knives are broken, shattered, but the curse goes on.

"Cute. What about the guy they caught?"

The helper was a retarded ratman (an oxymoron again) who admitted he'd been baby-sitting Dixie since her kidnapping, which had taken place well before the snatch on Candy. Meaning Winchell had decided to stock up on brunettes. After he had escaped from Block and the Prince he'd just run off to where he'd had Dixie stashed.

I muttered, "I don't like this. This Winchell sounds too damned smart."

"Winchell?" Block sneered. "Winchell needs help tying his shoes."

It is the curse, gentlemen. This time around —meaning this return to the world —it has reached some critical stage of growth. I suspect it would not be false to state that it has reached a point where it has begun to teach itself, not just to learn in the slow way a dog does, through numerous repetitions. It might behoove us to consider the horror of the possibility that it may develop an ability to reason.

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. A curse makes your cow go dry or gives you shingles or makes your kid crosseyed. It isn't something that—"

In the world of your village charm seller, you are correct. Probably no sorcerer alive today could cast this spell. But this spell comes down from a time when giants walked the earth.

Giants were walking the earth right outside. Well, within a mile, anyway. But I didn't argue. One of the earliest lessons I learned about dealing with Old Bones is: don't get him going on the good old days. "Giants? Well, maybe. But we're here to develop a strategy."

Considering the Prince and Captain Block, that strategy would be as much political as it was aimed at removing a major villain from the streets.

The Dead Man agreed with me. Winchell will keep as short a profile as possible but he will not be able to remain hidden. He may be able to do without a helper, but his need to kill is on a short and shortening cycle. Six nights from tonight he will have to kill again. Inasmuch as Miss... Altmontigo... has been rescued, he will have to develop his next victim from scratch—assuming we can keep our two houseguests isolated. That he sent to me alone. Our guests didn't need to know we had anyone special squirreled away. He will be hunting. If he manages to get his victim without help this time, he will still have to recruit helpers. He cannot stop killing and he cannot stop the circle of death growing smaller every time, so that he has to kill sooner.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Block said. "There a point to all this yammer?"

Yes. Winchell's financial resources cannot be vast. Counter his recruiting efforts by offering a substantial reward for his capture.

"Who's Miss Altmontigo?" I asked, regretting it before I finished speaking. Yet I wondered why he'd hesitated that instant, before and after. Because of Block and the Prince?

Candy to you. Or Mickey.

One very unsettling point here. The Altmontigos are an ancient and honored family from the highest heights of the Hill. What was I getting into? I had a royal prince and as high-toned a young woman as could be found visiting at the same time? Not to mention I was giving shelter to a princess of the underworld.

All of that meant notice. I don't like being noticed by people with that kind of power.

The arguments went on and on. Dawn came and went. I said the hell with it. I wasn't contributing anything and wasn't hearing anything useful to me. What suggestions I did make were ignored. So let the great powers scope things out their own way. After they screwed up and looked like complete fools, I could lean back smugly and tell them they should've listened to me in the first place.

I stopped at the foot of the stairs. Belinda was up there. Candy was up there. Dean was on the daybed in the small front room again.

That damned kitten started rubbing up against my ankle, purring, trying to get in good. I picked him up. "Little buddy, first thing in the morning you get to learn a valuable lesson. You can't get by on cute and the kindness of strangers. You're going to hit the street."

The cat purred. And somebody pounded on the door.

51

I didn't get in any hurry. I ambled toward the front door wondering if I couldn't booby-trap the front steps, putting in something where if you didn't trip the secret safety you got dumped into a bottomless pit.

Wonderful idea but, unfortunately, not really practical. The practical thing to do was ignore the door. Only most people who want to see me know I have that habit and know that I'll storm to the door eventually if they just raise hell long enough.

This little nightmare visitor was one neglected subject slash coconspirator name of Barking Dog Amato. Just what I needed in the middle of the night. Well, morning. It had turned morning when I wasn't looking.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No. Me? I haven't been to bed yet. I was just heading there. It's been a nasty day in a nasty week in a nasty month."

"The girl killer? I heard there was another one."

"That's on the street already?"

"Word gets around when people are interested."

"I guess. Come back to the kitchen." I jerked a thumb at the Dead Man's door. "Your old pal Block is in there cooking up something with His Nibs." I settled Amato at the kitchen table. "Beer?"

"Sure."

"What's up?" I asked as I drew two.

"Well... It's an imposition, I know. I got up, it was raining out, I was sick of doing signs and handbills. So I got out and started walking. My feet brought me here."

What the hell? I didn't need sleep. Who needs sleep when you lead a righteous life? "Some leftover apple pie here. Want some?"

"Sure. I don't get much decent food. What did you think the other day?"

"You made a hell of a start. I didn't get to see it all, though."

"I noticed you disappeared."

"Not by choice. Some of Chodo Contague's thugs came around, told me the man wanted to see me."

"I thought I saw some of those guys just before you disappeared."

"You know Chodo's people?"

"Not by direct experience, thank heaven. But I've watched the outfit for years, gathering information. They haven't tried to profit at my expense yet, but when they do, I'll be ready."

Which meant what? There was someone inside the outfit who suffered from mercy and tolerance? Not hardly.

Belinda walked in. Candy was right behind her. Neither was formally attired. Barking Dog immediately proved that he wasn't all crazy. His eyes bugged. He drooled. If the moon had been up, he would have howled at it. He squeaked, "Who are these lovely ladies, Garrett?"

"They're involved in the serial-killer thing. This one is Belinda and this one is Candy. Guys, this is Kropotkin Amato."

Belinda wasn't impressed but Candy practically jumped out of her underwear. She just had to ask: "Barking Dog Amato?" Looking me right in the eye, "Sas's father?"