"I will position myself here," he stated, glancing at Jack.

"I have no objection," Jack said. "Your a.s.sociates will be to your right, I presume?"

"That was what I had in mind. Morris here, MacCab to his right, then Jill," he said, gesturing.

Jack nodded, just as a dark shape swept past the face of the moon. Moments later, Nightwind dropped out of the sky, coming to rest atop the woodpile.

"h.e.l.lo, Snuff," he observed. "Care to switch?"

"No, thanks. Yourself?"

He did one of those unusual rotations of his head.

"I think not, especially when we outnumber you in all respects."

Shortly, Tekela swept in with a caw, landing upon the vicar's left shoulder.

"Greetings, Nightwind," she said.

"A good Game to you, sister."

She looked at me and looked away. She said nothing. Neither did I.

Everyone added more kindling and more ingredients to the fire. Finally, a pair of fairly large logs were set upon it. Many-colored flames played about them, and soon the logs darkened and the fires danced upon their surfaces. A mixture of odors reached me as powders, bones, herbs, fleshy samples of anatomy -- both human and other -- were added. A few vials of liquid were also dumped upon it, to smolder and produce heavy, crawling ropes of smoke, to flare brightly, briefly. Within the crackling, I seemed to hear a subliminal whispering begin.

I heard Jill's footsteps mounting the northern slope long before she appeared. When she did she was hard to distinguish against the night for several moments, as she had on a hooded black cloak over a long black dress. She looked taller, more slim; and she carried Graymalk, though she set her down immediately when she achieved the level area.

"Good evening," she said, in general. All four men responded.

"Hi, Snuff," Graymalk said, coming up beside me. "It's a good fire already."

"Yes."

"As you can see. . . ."

"You were overridden."

"Did you find Larry?"

"No."

"Oh my."

"There is a backup plan," I said, and Nightwind came by just then, to greet Graymalk.

I felt a strong desire to howl at the moon. It was such a howlable moon. But I restrained myself.

The smell of incense reached me. Jill had just begun casting parcels into the banefire. The moon moved nearer to midheaven.

"How will we know when it is time to begin?" Graymalk asked me.

"When we can talk with the people."

"Of course."

"How's your back?"

"It's all right now. You look fit."

"I'm fine."

We watched the fire for a time. Another log was added, and more packets. The smells became a sweetly seductive bouquet. The flames leaped higher now, changing colors regularly, flickering in the wind. Sharp, tinkling musical sounds came sporadically from their midst, and the sounds of voices rose into and out of audibility. Looking away from it, my gaze was attracted by a new light source. The inscription was beginning to glow. Overhead, the moon had reached midheaven.

"Jack, can you hear me?" I called.

"Loud and clear, Snuff. Well-met by moonlight. What's on your mind?"

"Just checking the time," I said.

Suddenly Nightwind was talking to Morris and MacCab, Tekela to the vicar.

"I guess it's time," Graymalk said, "to take our places."

"It is," I replied.

She went off to collect Jill, who was tossing a final packet into the fire. The air was distorted above its colored flames now, as if it were burning in more than one place simultaneously, and in the shimmering area just about it one could catch glimpses of some of those other places. From somewhere to the north, I heard the howl of a wolf.

The vicar went and stood at the spot he had indicated. Morris and MacCab moved to take up their positions to his right; Nightwind stood atop a rock between them. Then Jill moved to stand beside MacCab, Graymalk next to her but three cat-paces forward. I went and stood near her, Jack to my right. The line was bowed, out away from the big stone, with Jack and the vicar across from each other. Lynette dozed on the altar about ten feet in front of me.

From somewhere within his cloak, the vicar removed the pentacle bowl, which he placed on the ground before him. Then he withdrew the Alhazred Icon, which he propped against a rock to his left, facing the glowing stone. Nightwind moved to a new position, back behind the pentacle. The openers always begin things, as the closers' work is purely reactive.

Jack's satchel, to his right, was already open, from the removal of various ingredients for the banefire, but he leaned and spread its mouth fully, for easy access.

MacCab knelt and spread a piece of white cloth upon the ground before him. As it was windy, he weighted its corners with small stones. Then, from an ornate sheath which hung from his belt beneath his jacket, he drew a long, thin blade which looked to me like a sacrificial knife, and he placed this upon the cloth, point toward the altar.

Then the moon went out. We all looked upward as a dark shape covered it, descending, rushing toward us. Morris shrieked shrilly as it fell, changing shape as if dark veils swam about it. And then the moon shone again, and the piece of midnight sky which had fallen came to earth beside Jack, and I saw that vision-twisting transformation of which Graymalk had spoken -- here, there, a twist, a swirl, a dark bending -- and the Count stood at Jack's side, smiling a totally evil smile. He laid his left hand -- the dark ring visible upon it -- upon Jack's right shoulder.

"I stand with him," he said, "to close you out."

Vicar Roberts stared at him and licked his lips.

"I would think one of your sort more inclined to our view in this matter," the vicar stated.

"I like the world just the way it is," said the Count. "Pray, let us begin."

The vicar nodded.

"We shall," he said, "to its proper conclusion, with the Gate thrown wide."

The Count tossed a twig and a small parcel into the flames. The fire moved in its colorful dance, crackling and chiming, burning a hole in the night, through which the voices -- now chanting -- emerged. Shadows constantly moved past us, over the altar, and across the face of the stone. I heard the howl again, much nearer.

I looked at the vicar and saw him flinch. But he straightened and performed an opening gesture. He spoke a word of power, deeply, slowly. It hung in the air and resonated afterwards.

The inscription on the stone began to glow a little more brightly, and now -- very faintly -- I could discern the formation of the door-like rectangle come to frame it, that configuration which earlier had sucked Graymalk and me through to our Dreamworld adventure.

The vicar repeated the word and the rectangle came clear.

Within the chanting, I could now hear faintly "I! Shub-Niggurath!" being repeated, as if in response. Ahead of me, Graymalk had risen to her feet and was standing very stiffly.

The vicar turned then, rather than proceeding to the next phase, and moved slowly to the cloth on which the sacrificial blade rested. To his rear, I noted that the Alhazred Icon had also begun to glow. He knelt and raised the blade with both hands, bringing it to his lips and kissing it. Then he rose and turned toward the altar, Tekela still upon his shoulder.

And there came a movement from my right, beyond Jack and the Count. Another dark shape was moving to join us.

The vicar had taken but a single step ahead when a great, gray wolf moved into the firelight and rushed past him toward the altar. Larry Talbot had arrived, apparently in reasonable control of his faculties.

He seized hold of the girl's left shoulder with his teeth and dragged her down from the altar. With that rapid backing motion I had seen him employ before, he dragged her quickly before us toward the north, whence he had come, to my right.

The report of a gunshot filled the air and Larry staggered, a dark blot appearing and spreading high upon his left shoulder. The vicar held a smoking revolver, pointed in his direction. Larry continued moving almost immediately, however, and the vicar fired again.

This time there was blood on the top of Larry's head, and he uttered a moaning sound as his jaws fell open and Lynette dropped to the ground. Larry slumped forward then, and the shiftings of firelight and shadow swam over him. The chanting continued -- "I! Shub-Niggurath!" -- against the strange music. The vicar pulled the trigger again. There followed a clicking sound from the pistol, but no discharge. Immediately, he drew it near and worked the hammer. Suddenly, as he released it, there was a sharp report and the round kicked up dirt near the south end of the altar. The vicar hurled the weapon to the ground, perhaps having cast only three rounds. Homemade bullets. . . .

"Get her back onto the altar!" the vicar ordered. Morris and MacCab immediately departed their positions and moved toward the supine girl. Larry's sides were still heaving heavily, and his eyes were closed. There was a lot more blood, on his head, neck, shoulder, now.

"Stop!" the Count said. "Players are forbidden to move a sacrifice once the ceremony is in progress!"

The vicar stared at him. Morris and MacCab halted, looked back and forth from the vicar to the Count.

"I never heard of such a restriction," the vicar said.

"It is a part of the tradition," Jack stated. "There must always be a small -- even if only symbolic -- exit open to a sacrifice in this. They may go as far as they can. They may be stopped. The place where they fall becomes the new altar. Do otherwise and you destroy the pattern we have created. The results could be disastrous."

The vicar pondered for a moment, then said, "I don't believe you. You're outnumbered. It's a closer's bluff, to make things more awkward for me. Morris! MacCab! Put her back!"

The Count stepped forward as they advanced.

"In a case such as this," he said, "the opposing parties are permitted to resist the desecration."

I heard heavy, clumping footsteps in the distance, but they seemed to be pa.s.sing the hill rather than approaching it.

Morris and MacCab had hesitated but then they moved forward, reaching for Lynette.

The Count flowed forward. No single limb seemed to stir, but suddenly he was there beside them. Then he raised his arms, out to the sides, his cloak dependent therefrom; and he moved them forward, completely engulfing the men within its folds. He stood thus for only an instant, arms across his chest, before a succession of snapping sounds could be heard.

He opened his arms and they fell to the earth, to lie at odd angles, blood emerging from their ears, noses, and mouths. Their eyes were wide. They did not breathe.

"You dare?" the vicar cried. "You dare to touch my people?"

The Count turned his head slowly, raising his arms again.

"You presume," he said, "to address me so."

He flowed toward the vicar, but much more slowly. The music came clearer and clearer, the chanting louder, the inscription brighter. And as he moved, I beheld a silent form in the shadows to my right, whose presence had first reached me in the form of his scent, which I recognized from an encounter in a wood by moonlight. He approached soundlessly, the stranger wolf.

The vicar's hand snaked out from beneath his cloak, casting something toward the Count. Immediately, the flowing ceased and the Count stiffened. In the meantime, shielded from the vicar's view by the Count's body, the stranger wolf entered the firelight, took hold of Lynette's shoulder and continued what Larry had begun, dragging her back into the darkness.

The Count was suddenly less than graceful. He swayed. He took an awkward step toward the vicar, whose hand dipped beneath his own cloak to emerge and repeat whatever he had done.

"What -- is it?" the Count asked, reeling toward the vicar, who retreated before him.

Then the Count fell.

"Dirt from one of your own caskets," the vicar replied, "mixed with pieces of my church's altar stone relic, left over from more papish times. Fingerbone of St. Hilarian, according to the records. You require your consecrated soil, but overconsecration is like the difference between a therapeutic and a debilitating dose of strychnine. Do you not agree?"

The Count muttered a reply in a foreign language, as the wolf disappeared with Lynette; and I realized that, from all his talks with Larry, plus his knowledge of drugs, and the samples he had obtained, he had succeeded several days ago in developing his own ideal dosage, and I had just witnessed the Great Detective's greatest disguise yet. I howled a "Well done!" into the night. Later, a "Good luck!" came back to me.

The inscription glowed brilliantly now. Whether the deaths of Morris and MacCab had contributed to this was hard to tell. The vicar looked up and saw that Lynette was gone. He glared at Jill.

"You should have told me," he said.

"I didn't notice till now," she replied.

"Neither did I," said Nightwind.

The vicar picked up the sacrificial knife which he had dropped, moved back to his position, and drove the blade into the ground at his feet.

He straightened then, repeated the word of power, and said another. Immediately, his face became the snouted, tusked visage of a boar with a shredded ear. This lasted for perhaps a minute before Larry's eyes opened. He turned his head, saw that Lynette was gone, looked immediately to the altar, saw she was not there either. He tried to rise, failed. I wondered how serious his condition was. True, there was a lot of blood, but head wounds are often that way. Even a silver bullet still has to hit something major. Larry tried to crawl forward, succeeded in moving perhaps half a foot, paused, and panted.

The vicar spoke another word. Graymalk was suddenly striped like a small tiger. This, too, pa.s.sed quickly. Tekela was starting to look like a vulture. Suddenly, Jill was an ancient hag, bent far forward, hooked nose almost touching her jutting chin, strands of white hair hanging about her face. I glanced at Jack and saw that he suddenly wore the s.h.a.ggy head of a great brown bear, yellow eyes staring forward, saliva running from the corners of his mouth. Looking downward, I saw that my fur was blood-red and moist; and I felt as if horns jutted from my brow. I had no idea what I might resemble, but Graymalk drew back in alarm. The boar spoke again, and the word rang like a bell in the chill air. The Count was suddenly a skeleton wrapped in black. Something unseen pa.s.sed high overhead, laughing like a demented child. Pale mushrooms sprang up all about us, and a shifting of breezes brought me sulfurous scents from the fire. A green liquid flowed outward from that blaze, spreading in bubbling streams. The chanting now seemed to contain all of our names. MacCab had become a woman whose painted face began to peel off in long strips. Beside him, Morris was now an ape, his long hairy arms reaching to the ground, and he leaned to rest upon his knuckles. His mouth was opened wide, showing an enormous expanse of teeth and gums. Larry was now a bleeding man sprawled upon the ground. The air before us shimmered and became a mirror, giving this entire prospect back to us. Then our reflected heads detached themselves and drifted leftwards. It was a strange feeling, pa.s.sing out of one and into another, for I seemed unmoved, though I felt the sudden weight of the bear-head, saw the hog's drift by to settle upon Jack's shoulders. Graymalk suddenly wore an overlarge one, horned, demonic; Jill, a small striped cat's head -- and so on along our crescent. Then the bodies shifted to the right, and I was a cat with a bear's head, lying flat because of its weight, my heart thudding like a steam engine. Jack had become a boar-headed demon. Again, the laughter rang from overhead. If I were not my body or my head, what was I -- sprawled there amid the mushrooms and the stench, another wave of chanting rolling in my ears? Illusion, it must all be illusion, mustn't it? I never knew before and I still didn't know. The mushrooms blackened, shriveled, and fell when the hot green flow reached them. Our images in the mirror wavered, became splashes of our dominant colors, flowed together. I looked downward again, but everything was hazy. Upward then, at some half-noted change. The moon had gone blood-red and was dripping upon us. A shooting star cut past it. Another. Another. Soon mult.i.tudes of them rained down the heavens. The mirror cracked, and Jack and I stood alone at our end, our forms returned to us, as a great gust of wind out of the north blew away the haze. The others came clear, also, restored, in their piece of reflection. The starfall lessened. The moon grew pink, then turned back to b.u.t.ter and ivory. I sighed and held my place, felt Graymalk's gaze pa.s.s over me. The green tendrils from the fire began to congeal, lavalike. For a moment, I seemed to hear a collection of animal sounds from within the flames -- baas, nickers, whinnies, whimpers, a sharp barking, several varieties of howling, the coughing of a giant cat, a croaking, a mewling cry. There followed a stillness, save for the fire's own cracking and snapping.

I felt a familiar tingling in the air. The time had come for the opening. I glanced at Jack and could tell that he felt it, too.

Larry dragged himself another foot forward.

I was looking at the vicar as he spoke the final word. I saw the Count's left hand twitch. But apparently the vicar did, too, and he stooped and raised the pentacle. Something dark fled forth from the Count's ring, but the vicar caught it in the pentacle bowl and it was reflected off into the night. It was probably too late for killing the man, anyway, for the opening was definitely beginning. The vicar stooped again, raised the icon, and placed it upon the Count's chest. The ring did not flare again. All in all, as I regarded both Larry and the Count, I was forced to a sort of grudging respect for the fellow. He was much better at his business than I'd have guessed.

"Jill," he called out, "use the wand now."

Jill reached inside her cloak, produced the wand, raised it. Oddly, the growing brightness of the stone halted for a moment. Jack had his wand out in an instant, raising it and training it upon the same target. I heard the heavy footsteps again, this time approaching us. The rectangle began to brighten once more, and a great depth occurred within it, swimming with colored lights. The cries from the banefire grew louder and louder: "I! Shub-Niggurath! Hail to the Black Goat!" The music also increased in intensity, and the moon blazed like a beacon overhead. Larry began dragging himself farther along. The experiment man came into view off to the right, heading toward us. I glanced at Jack. Beads of perspiration had formed upon his brow. I could tell that he was pouring his will and spirit into the wand, but the opening continued.

The experiment man lumbered up to us.

"Pret-ty kit-ty," he said, pausing in front of Jack, which might have killed anyone else, but he already smelled of death and seemed aware of nothing untoward.

Suddenly, the opening was arrested, the Gateway lost some of its depth. The experiment man stooped and quickly s.n.a.t.c.hed up Graymalk.

"Pret-ty kit-ty," he repeated. Then he turned and walked away in the direction whence he had come.

"Put me down!" she cried. "I can't leave now!"