Karl placed his unconscious burden gently on the dirt floor. Lacey looked at the black-clad man for a moment, and something in her face reminded me of stories I'd read about Indians involved in intertribal warfare centuries ago, and how their greatest fear was being taken prisoner and turned over to the women.

  "Well, you might as well strip him and get him secured to the frame," she said. "Then we'll get started."

  Undressing our prisoner was easy enough, although I smiled a little when I discovered the guy wore no underwear – he really was going commando. But trying to get a naked, unconscious man tied to a structure like that, arms and legs spread wide, was harder than we'd thought. But finally it was done.

  Lacey looked at our work and nodded approval. Then she asked me, "You have something to break the spell?"

  "Sure do," I said, and brought the little statue from my pocket. "All set?" I asked her, and she nodded tensely. I closed my hand around the statuette, looked at the naked man, and said, "Pardac."

  The guy didn't snap awake. It took him ten or fifteen seconds to reach full awareness – and when he did, he was not a happy little camper.

  He blinked rapidly, then shook his head, the way a dog will when trying to get rid of water on its fur. Like the other representative of the Church's elite guard that we'd met, this one was in his late twenties and very fit-looking. His black hair was cut short, but his eyebrows were bushy. One of his knees was circled with old surgical scars, as if he'd tried a little too hard when playing high school football.

  Our prisoner looked around at us, eyes wide.

  "Who are– What did you– How did I get–" Then he seemed to realize the full extent of his plight – he was alone, tied up, spreadeagled naked in front of strangers whose intentions were uncertain. In his place, I'd be scared, too.

  "Jesus fucking Christ – let me down from here! Let me go, goddamnit!!

  "Blasphemy. How distressing." Karl sounded disapproving.

  "And so early in the proceedings," I said. "Gives us less to look forward to later."

  The commando's gaze traveled around the room, and he didn't seem nearly as pleased with what he saw as Lacey had been. "Wh-where am I?"

  "Someplace where nobody can hear you scream," I said.

  When I spoke this time, he'd stared at me, as if my voice had jarred something in his memory. "I know you!"

  I just nodded. Then the guy shifted his gaze to Karl. "And you! I know you, too. You're that vampire cop!" Karl nodded as well.

  Finally, he looked at Lacey, who stood there, hands in her pockets, a gentle smile on her face.

  "Who – who the hell are you?"

  She walked slowly over to him until she stood with her face only a few feet from his. "Me?" she said softly. "I am Vengeance."

  The commando opened his mouth, but no sound came out. After a few seconds, Lacey walked slowly over to the table and its array of agony. She gently ran the fingertips of one hand along the length of the display, lightly touching each instrument in turn. Then she turned back to our prisoner.

  "Do you recognize these?" Her voice was light, almost casual. "They should be familiar. I thought there was a certain… irony involved in taking the implements that have been the source of so much pain for others…" She paused. "And using them on you." Lacey abandoned the teasing tone then, and her voice became hard. "Every one of them."

  The naked man was trembling now, as if the temperature in the basement had just dropped twenty degrees. Finally he screamed, "I don't care what you do to me – I'll never talk! I'll never tell you anything, you cunt."

  "Ooh, such language." Lacey was playing the tease again. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Or should I say, 'Did you?' Because you never will again."

  She was wearing a medium-weight navy-blue jacket, and now she unzipped it to reveal a short-sleeve knit pullover top and jeans underneath. She draped the jacket over the back of a nearby chair, then reached up, crossed her arms, and pulled the top over her head.

  At least she hadn't gone the Victoria's Secret route. Underneath the top, she wore a plain black sports bra. I thought it looked pretty damn good on her anyway, but that wasn't the point. The striptease wasn't part of the script we'd agreed on.

  Calling a huddle right then might give our prisoner reason to suspect dissension among the ranks of his tormenters, and that would never do. So, trying to sound casual, I said to Lacey, "Um, what're you doing there?"

  She was just kicking off her plain black shoes to reveal bare feet. "Doing?" She gave me an innocent look that I didn't believe for a microsecond. "Oh, you mean this?"

  As she spoke, she'd been unbuckling her belt and undoing a button on the jeans. Now she yanked the zipper down and pushed the jeans past her slim hips. They fell, pooling around her ankles, and she kicked them free.

  "Gosh, Stan, you don't think I want to get a mess all over my clothes, do you? Blood washes off skin much more easily than it does fabric."

  Lacey bent, picked up the jeans, and placed them on the chair. She had on a pair of those gray women's undershorts that look like the boxers men wear, and are just about as sexy. But, still, on Lacey…

  A couple of steps brought her over to the commando, who was staring at her in barely concealed panic, despite his big talk of a few moments ago.

  She ran a hand slowly along his inner thigh, just brushing his shrunken penis. "Besides, having a naked woman do all the things that I'll be doing to him adds a touch of piquancy to the whole experience – don't you think?"

  Then she reached behind her back for the bra fastener. "If you guys want to stay for the show, it's OK with me. But if you go upstairs, there's beer in the fridge and a working TV in the living room. In fact, you might want to turn it up extra loud."

  "Good idea," I said, and turned away just as the fastener came undone and the bra slid down her arms. Karl followed me at once.

  We pulled the big door shut behind us, and immediately from inside came the sound of metal sliding on wood. I remembered that there'd been a big bolt next to the knob, and it seemed that Lacey had just shot it, locking the door securely from the inside. I looked at Karl, and he stared back. This part wasn't in the script, either.