Jack checked his watch. He had a little time to spare so he double-parked and jogged toward the Sheep Meadow to get another look at the hole.

The crowd was thick there. Everyone seemed to be watching something going on down by the hole. Over their heads he could see cranes dipping up and down. He wove through the press until he got to a decent-sized tree. He shimmied up the trunk to where he could see the Sheep Meadow.

The southern half of the hole was covered with some sort of steel mesh. Work crews were in the process of screening over the rest of the opening. Jack watched for a moment, then slid back to the ground.

"How's it going?" someone said.

Jack turned and saw a well-dressed young couple standing nearby with a baby carriage. The guy was smiling warily.

"Better than half done," Jack said.

The woman sighed and squeezed her husband's biceps with both hands and looked at Jack with uneasy doe eyes.

"Do you think those things will come back?"

"You can count on it," Jack said.

"Will the net work?"

Jack shrugged. "Maybe. But this isn't the only hole."

"I know," the guy said, nodding. "But this is the one that counts for us." He put an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I'm sure we'll be all right," he told her.

Jack looked down at the baby in the stroller. Eighteen months at the most, all in pink, sandy-haired, grinning up at him.

"You got a cellar where you live?" Jack said, staring into those two innocent blue eyes. "Someplace with no windows?"

"Uh, yes we do. There's a storage area down by the boiler room where—"

"Move in there before sunset. Bring everything you'll need until morning. Don't go upstairs until sunrise."

He tore his eyes away from the child and hurried off.

Gia and Vicky. Dammit, even if he had to sling Gia over his shoulder and dump her in the back of Abe's van, he'd see to it that they were on their way out of town tomorrow morning.

Monroe, Long Island

Sylvia stood in the driveway and watched the workmen swarming along the scaffolding they'd set up against Toad Hall's west wall.

"I think we're gonna make it," said Rudy Snyder as he stood at her side.

Sylvia looked at the sinking sun, the long shadows. The day was ending too quickly, as if winter were approaching instead of summer.

"You promised me, Rudy," she said. She and Alan had called all along the North Shore this morning and had finally coaxed Rudy out of Glen Cove. "You guaranteed me you'd have every window shuttered before sunset. I hope I'm not hearing the sound of someone beginning to hedge on a deal."

She tightened her fists to hide her anxiety. She didn't think she could stand another ordeal like last night.

"No way, Mrs. Nash," said Rudy. He wore a peaked cap with Giants across the front; he was tall and fat, with red hair and a veiny, bulbous nose. When he aided the work crew, he did so at ground level only. "We'll have them all in, just like I said. But they won't all be wired."

"I don't care about the wiring. You can do that tomorrow. Just get those shutters in good and tight, then pull them down and leave them down."

"You really think all this is necessary?" he said.

She glanced at him, then away. He thought she was a nut, overreacting to some wild stories out of the city.

"You've seen all those little teeth in the siding?"

"Hey, I'm not saying you didn't have a problem last night, but do you really think they'll come back again?"

"Unfortunately, I'm sure they will. Especially since they don't have to come all the way from Central Park this time."

"You mean because of that hole that opened up in Oyster Bay this morning? Whatta y' think's goin' on?"

"Don't you know? It's the end of the world." My world, at least.

Rudy's smile was wary. "No…really."

"Please finish the job," she said. She didn't feel like talking about it. "Seal the house up tight. That will earn you the bonus I mentioned."

"You got it."

He bustled off and began shouting at his workers to get their asses moving.

Sylvia sighed as she stared at Toad Hall. The old place's carefully maintained look of faded elegance was gone, destroyed by the rolling storm shutters. But they were good, tight, with heavy-duty slats of solid steel. The best. During the day they could be rolled up into the cylinders bolted above the windows; at sunset they'd slide down along tracks fastened to the window frames. They'd be cranked down by hand tonight, but after they were fully wired up tomorrow, Sylvia would be able to roll them all up and down with the flick a single switch. This particular model was designed to withstand storms of hurricane force. Tonight they were going to have to withstand a storm of a different sort. She prayed they'd be enough.

"The back's done," Alan said, rolling toward her. "They're moving around here to help finish up this side." His gaze followed Sylvia's to the anachronisms being attached to Toad Hall. "A shame, isn't it?"

Sylvia smiled, glad to know their thoughts were still in synch, even after the uncomfortable silence of the ride back from the city. Especially when Alan had told her what that nut had said as they were leaving. Only three will live to return. What an awful thing to say.

"I feel like I'm witnessing the end of an era."

"It might be the end of a lot more than that," Alan said.

Sylvia felt all her muscles tighten under her skin. She said nothing. She knew where Alan was leading and didn't want to go there. She'd been dreading this conversation since they left Glaeken's apartment.

"Talk to me, Sylvia. Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry."

"You're coiled like a steel spring."

Again she said nothing. I'm coiled, all right, she thought, but it's not anger. I wish it were. I can deal with anger.

"What do you think, Syl?" Alan said finally.

You're not going to give up, are you?

"About what?"

"About Glaeken. About what he said this morning."

"I haven't had time to think much about anything since this morning, least of all that old crank's ravings."

"I believe him," Alan said. "And so do you. I saw it in your eyes when you were listening. I know your expression when you think you're being bullshitted. You weren't wearing it back in Glaeken's apartment. So why don't you admit it?"

"All right," she said through tight lips. "I believe him too. Does that make you happy?"

She regretted that last sentence as soon as she said it, but it seemed to roll right off Alan.

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere. So I've got to ask you: If you believe him, why did you walk out?"

"Because I don't trust him. Don't misunderstand me on that," she added quickly. "I don't think he's lying to us. I think he's sincere, I…just…don't think he's as much in control of his end of things as he thinks he is…or wants us to believe he is."

"Maybe not. He was trying to sell us—you, especially—on something none of us is prepared to accept. The only reason we can accept it is that we've already had our lives turned upside down by something that ninety-nine per cent of rational humanity would swear is impossible."

"The Dat-tay-vao" Sylvia said.

"Yeah. And if he says he needs the Dat-tay-vao to try to close up those holes and keep the days from shrinking to nothing and the world being overrun by those monstrosities from last night, why would you hold Jeffy away from him? Jeffy doesn't need the Dat-tay-vao."

"How do you know that?"

"Has it ever treated its carrier well? Look at Walter Erskine. Look at me. Remember the lines from the old song about the one who carries the Touch? '…He bears the weight of the balance that must be struck.'"

"But the Dat-tay-vao hasn't harmed Jeffy."

"Only because he hasn't used it—yet. He hasn't had an opportunity—yet. But what if he does find out, and does begin using it?"