He stared down at the sack hanging within spitting distance below him. A huge eye rolled against the inner surface of the membrane and stopped to stare back at him.

"That is quite far enough," Rasalom said.

"Perhaps you're right," Glaeken said.

He shifted his grip on the hilt and raised the weapon over his shoulder like a spear, its point directed at the eye. Rasalom's voice screamed in his brain.

"No! Glaeken, wait! I can help you!"

"No deals, Rasalom."

He reared back to hurl the weapon.

"I can make her whole again!'

Glaeken hesitated. He couldn't help it.

"Whole again? Who?"

"Your woman. That Hungarian Jewess who stole your heart. I can give her back her mind—and make her young again."

"No. You can't. Not even the Dat-tay-vao—"

"I'm far more powerful than that puny elemental. This is my world now, Glaeken. When I complete the change I can do whatever I wish. I will be making the rules here, Glaeken. All the rules. And if I say the woman called Magda shall be thirty again and sound of mind and body forever—forever—then so it shall be"

Magda…alert, young, healthy, sane …the vision of the two of them together as they used to be…

He shook it off.

"No. Not in this world."

"It doesn't have to be this world. You can have your own corner of the globe, your own island, your own archipelago. All to yourselves. You can even take some of your friends. The sun will shine there forever. You can live on in idyllic splendor."

"While the rest of the world…?"

"Is mine. All you have to do is acknowledge me as master of this sphere and drop your weapon into the abyss. After that I shall see to all your comforts."

For a heartbeat he actually considered it. The realization rocked Glaeken. Did he want Magda back that much? And Magda—she'd never forgive him. He'd have to live on with her abhorrence, her loathing of him.

He tightened his grip on the weapon.

"No deals."

Putting all his arm and as much of his foot-locked body as he could behind it, Glaeken hurled the weapon at the sack. The huge eye ducked away as Rasalom's voice screamed in his mind.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The point of the blade pierced the membrane of the sack, penetrated about a foot, then stopped, quivering. Rasalom's voice became a howl of pain as inky fluid spurted out around the blade, coating it, congealing around it, sealing the wound and encasing the weapon until the entire blade and all but the pommel of the hilt were mired in a hardening tarry mass.

And then Rasalom's howl of pain segued into a peal of laughter. The single huge eye once again pressed against the inner surface of the membrane and regarded him coldly.

"Ah, Glaeken. Noble to the end. Just as well, I suppose. You probably knew you'd never see the tropical idyll I promised you. But did you truly think you could hurt me? Here in the heart of my domain, in the seat of my power? Your arrogance is insufferable at times. It is too late to harm me, Glaeken. It has been too late for a long time."

Glaeken tried once more to pull his feet free but they would not budge. He took a deep breath and stood quietly, waiting, listening to the hated voice in his mind.

"You knew it was too late, Glaeken. You must have known all along. Yet knowing it was useless, still you took up the weapon and came to me instead of waiting for me to come to you. I don't understand that. Can you explain your madness, your arrogance? We have some time. Speak."

"If the answer is not apparent to you," Glaeken said, "no amount of talking will make you understand. Where do we go from here?"

"We wait. I'm almost ready. At the undawn I will be complete. When I emerge from my chrysalis I shall leave you here and move to the surface where I shall deal with your little circle of allies. And as I gut them I shall let you see it all through my eyes. And as for your wife, I shall keep my promise to you: I will restore her youth and her mind before she dies—after all, we wouldn't want her to die without knowing exactly what is happening. And when all that is done, I'll return for you. And then the fun shall truly begin."

Glaeken said nothing. There was no use in asking for mercy for himself or the others—there was no mercy to be had. So he closed his eyes and willed his insides to stone to inure them from the sick fear coiling through him.

"And while we wait, I believe I'll close that tiny wound in my perfect night. Too many people are taking undue pleasure in it. Imagine their fear when it starts to fade and they realize that they are naked prey to all the night things encircling them. Yes, I like that idea. I should have thought of the pinhole myself. Allow a little cone of light through here and there about the world, let the locals run to it like moths to a flame, let it shine long enough to lift hopes, and then douse it. Thank you, Glaeken. You've given me a new game."

"Look at them all," Bill said. "Must be thousands down there."

Carol had returned with the others to the living room of Glaeken's apartment and now she gazed down through the broken windows at the crowd below, listening to the noise floating up as each new arrival was greeted with cheers and hugs. It was a good sound, the noise of people taking a break from unrelenting fear. Some of the more daring revelers were following the channel of light that wound into the Park—but not very many and not very far.

"It's the radio," Jack said. "The only station in town still on is playing a message sending everybody here."

Suddenly it was quiet below.

"What happened?" Bill said.

Carol's heart thudded with alarm and she clutched his arm.

"I think the light just dimmed. Tell me I'm wrong, Bill. Tell me I'm wrong!

Bill glanced at her, then back out the windows.

"No…I'm afraid you're right. Look—it just dimmed a little more!"

"It's Glaeken's fault," said a familiar voice.

They all turned. Nick was still sitting on the couch where they'd left him, still facing the dead fireplace.

"Glaeken has lost. Rasalom is ascendant."

"Glaeken is…dead?" It was Sylvia, stepping forward, hovering over Nick.

Carol was surprised at her concern. She'd thought Sylvia blamed Glaeken for Jeffy's condition.

"Not yet," Nick said. "But soon. We'll die. Then he'll die. Slowly."

Carol heard a new sound well up from the crowd outside—murmurs of fear, wails of panic. She turned back to the window and had the sudden impression that their cries of despair seemed to chase the light. She watched with growing dread as it faded from midday glare to twilight glow.

They're afraid again.

"Afraid!" she cried. "Maybe that's it." Suddenly she knew what had to be done—or thought she knew. "Bill, Jack, everybody—downstairs. Now!"

She didn't wait to explain and she didn't wait for the elevator. Filled with a growing excitement and a desperate urgency, she galloped down the dizzying flights to the ground floor, dashed through the lobby, and out into the crowd on the twilit sidewalk.

Bill was right behind her, then Jack. Ba brought up the rear, carry Jeffy and guiding Sylvia through the restless, panicky people. Carol led them to the edge of the fading light, right to the shadow border facing the Park, then grabbed Bill's hand in her right and took a stranger's—a frightened looking black woman's—in her left.

"I won't be afraid anymore!" Carol shouted at the huge outer darkness that tried to stare her down. She squeezed the woman's hand. "Say it," she told her. "I won't be afraid anymore! Grab somebody's hand and say it as loud as you can." She turned to Bill. "Shout it, Bill. Mean it. Take a hand and get them to say it!"

Bill stared at her. "What's this—?"

"Just do it. Please! There's not much time."