"Come downstairs and we'll discuss it."

"Downstairs? Oh, no. I'm not leaving this building."

"I'm not asking you to leave this building. I'm one floor down. In your apartment."

"How—how did you get in?

"Come now, Mother dear. I can do anything I wish. Anything. Come visit. We'll talk. I'll be there until darkness falls. After that I'll have other matters to attend to."

The face grew dim, became transparent, then faded completely. Gone as if it had never been.

Carol sagged back against the table. Expect the unexpected. Wasn't that what Glaeken had said? Easy enough to say, but Rasalom's face—floating in the air, talking to her as casually as if they'd bumped into each other in an aisle at the A&P.

And the ease with which he seemed to have entered the building was bad enough, but knowing he was waiting down in her apartment tied her up in knots.

Should she go? That was the question. And what was this all about? Was she supposed to haggle with him? Barter for lives? The responsibility was numbing.

Maybe she could ask him about Hank—where he was, if he was. She should have thought of that when Rasalom was here.

She had to risk it. If she could save even a few people…

But she didn't want to go alone. She knew she had to, but she didn't like it. She didn't have much time, either. If only she had a weapon of some sort. But what could she use against someone who could change the course of the sun and anything else he pleased?

As Carol picked up the broken dishes from the kitchen floor and threw them away, she spotted the knife rack over the sink. She pulled out the wide-bladed carving knife and tucked it into the folds of the old cardigan she had borrowed from Glaeken. A laughable weapon, considering who she'd be facing. She knew her best hope was not to need any weapon at all, but the weight of the blade in her hand imparted a modicum of comfort.

She peeked in on Magda and found her sleeping soundly. Carol guessed it would be all right to leave her for a few minutes. Glaeken would be back soon, and Rasalom had said he'd wait only until dark.

She hurried downstairs.

Her apartment had an empty feel. The drapes were open but because the windows faced north, the light was dusky.

Was he here? What was she supposed to call out? Jimmy? Rasalom? Certainly not Son.

"Hello?" she said, settling on that. "Are you here?"

She walked through the living room and down the hall. Why didn't he answer? Was this some sort of a joke?

Suddenly he was there, stepping out of the bedroom not three feet in front of her.

He was naked.

Carol cried out in shock and jumped back.

"Hello Mother." His voice was coarse, raspy, more dead than alive.

He stepped toward her as she backed away. His slim body seemed faintly luminescent, and his genitals…he was hugely erect, pointing directly at her face. Suddenly he darted by her and positioned himself between her and the door.

She turned and faced him, her heart thudding, her palm slick on the handle of the knife in her sweater.

"Wh-what's this all about? I thought you wanted to talk."

He smiled. "Isn't it wonderful what desperation will do to people? It paralyzes some, makes others brutish, and makes still others stupid. You fall into that final category, Mother." He spat the last word. "What's it about? It's about a love note to Glaeken and the rest of you. It's about defilement and slow, painful death, Mother. Incestuous rape and matricide. In other words, you and me."

He leapt at her. Reflexively Carol pulled out the knife and held it before her with both hands. She felt the impact as Rasalom's body struck it, felt the skin part before the point, felt the blade sink deep into his flesh. He grunted and stepped back. He looked down in wonder at the knife handle protruding from his upper abdomen, just below the breast bone. He touched the handle with a finger, then looked up at her.

"Mother…you shock me. I guess there are still a few surprises left in this world."

"Oh, God!"

"He won't help you. He was never there. But I am here now. And I am your God. Think of it, Mother. You are about to be raped by God. And afterwards. He caressed the handle like a priapic tool…"I shall use this to skin you alive. Won't that be a nice gift to hang in Glaeken's closet? Your skin."

Carol screamed and tried to dash past him but he caught her with one hand and slammed her back against the wall. The breath wooshed out of her with the impact. As she tried to regain it, the door to the apartment burst open.

"Carol!"

A group of men—some of then armed—burst in, and in the lead was Bill. He leapt to her side and Carol clung to him, sobbing.

"Oh, Bill, oh, Bill, thank God you're here!"

"You!" It was Bill. He was staring at Rasalom who had stepped back and appeared to be surveying the scene with amusement.

Jack stepped forward and faced Rasalom, a shotgun of some sort cradled in his arms. Ba stood by the door, similarly armed, while Nick stood behind him in the hall.

"Who the hell are you?" Jack said.

"I once knew him as Rafe Losmara," Bill said. "But his real name is Rasalom."

Jack's expression was skeptical as he glanced at Bill, then back to Rasalom's slim, naked figure.

"You're kidding. This…this is the cause of everything that's going on out there?"

Rasalom bowed, unfazed by the intruders. "At your service."

Bill was staring at the handle protruding from Rasalom's abdomen.

"Is that a knife…?"

"Probably," Jack said. The sight of the knife seemed to incite him. Jack appeared ready to explode. "I think I've been through this movie before."

As Carol wondered what Jack meant, Rasalom smiled and yanked the blade free.

"Please don't be concerned, Father Bill. I'm a rapid healer."

"Yeah?" Jack said. His face was tight with rage. In a single smooth, swift motion he had his shotgun extended to arm's length, its muzzle inches from Rasalom's face. "Heal this."

The explosion was deafening. Close against her Bill cried out in shock as Carol screamed and turned away, but not before she saw Rasalom's head disintegrate behind the muzzle flash.

A moment later, Bill's hushed, awed whisper slipped past the ringing in her ears.

"Look at that!"

Carol turned and saw Rasalom's headless body lying on the floor. It seemed to be shrinking, deflating. And then she saw why. Loose soil was pouring from the stump of his neck.

"Dirt," Jack said, nudging the body with his toe. "The guy was nothing but skin filled with dirt." His eyes were more than a little wild above his fierce grin. "A real dirt bag."

Glaeken hobbled through the doorway then.

"What has happened here?"

Carol quickly ran over the events of the past twenty minutes. Glaeken nodded with slow resignation.

"Leave your skin in my closet, he told you?" Glaeken said.

Carol felt Bill tighten his grip around her shoulders.

"Why?" Bill said. "What does it mean?"

"More of his games," Glaeken said. "A diversion while he waits for the Change to be complete, one more thing to confound, confuse, sicken, and terrify. He probably meant to leave Carol's skin and his own. A grisly reminder to me that his Change is far along to completion."

Glaeken went to Rasalom's remains and lifted the skin by both feet. Jack helped. Together they shook the last of the dirt from within. It looked dry and light, almost like an oversized set of a child's footed pajamas. Glaeken rolled it up and tucked it under his arm and started for the door.

"Come upstairs. I want to get rid of this once and for all. Then we have work to do."

Rasalom's skin smoked, curled, browned, blackened, and burned in the fireplace. Carol watched as Glaeken pushed it deeper into the flames with the poker. As the ashes curled and rose up the flue, he turned and surveyed the gathering of his inner circle.