"Just to be safe, how do I kill an un-zombie zombie?"

"No special way. They're the same, physically, as when they died the first time."

"Plain old murder then."

"Lizbeth," Ruthie said on a sigh.

"I need to know. What if something happens on the way to the cemetery? What if I fall and I can't get up? What if Mait does his dirty deed and raises a hundred thousand souls? Then what?"

"Chaos," Ruthie whispered.

"Worse. The only reason to raise the dead is to create an army for the final battle."

"And they gathered them together to the place called in Hebrew, Armageddon," Ruthie quoted.

Everyone's heard about Armageddon-and I don't mean the Bruce Willis movie, but the OK Corral of the Apocalypse. Technically Armageddon is where the last battle between good and evil should take place.

As stated in Revelation 16:16, the word harmageddon means "the mount of Megiddo," literally the mountain of slaughter, and it's located in northern Israel. More than two hundred battles have been fought on that extended plain near the mount. Napoleon once called it "the most natural battleground on the whole earth." He believed all the armies of the world could maneuver across such a vast s.p.a.ce, and from the photos I've seen they could. From what I've read, they'll have to.

Sounds like I paid attention the day they taught Revelation, doesn't it? Wrong. I looked it up last week.

"I need to get to Mait before he stops practicing on people and starts bringing back half demons."

"He won't," Ruthie said. "At least not right away."

"Of course he will. What good is an army of humans who can easily be demolished by anyone with supernatural powers?"

"We don't much like to kill people, Lizbeth. We're supposed to protect them."

"Which makes them the perfect foot soldiers." I rubbed at the pulse pounding between my eyes. "Why would human beings fight for the dark side?"

"What would you do for someone who raised you from the dead?"

I dropped my hand. "There's a price."

"Ain't there always?"

"Yeah."

"Remember that." Ruthie held my gaze. "Nothing on this earth ever comes for free."

"So the risen dead will pay their debt on the front lines."

"They were trampled in the winepress outside the city," Ruthie quoted, "and blood flowed out of the press, rising as high as the horses' bridles for a distance of sixteen hundred stadia."

"You wanna translate?" When she started talking about stadia, my head just spun.

"In the final battle blood will rise as high as a horse's bridle."

"That doesn't sound good." The last time I'd stood next to a horse, the bridle'd been as high as my chin.

"A stadia is like a furlong," Ruthie continued. "Sixteen hundred stadia would be about a hundred and eighty miles."

"Blood as high as a horse's bridle across a distance of a hundred and eighty miles," I repeated.

Ruthie spread her bony, bird-like fingers. "So it was written."

Since a lot of what was written had come to pa.s.s, my stomach pitched like the Red Sea. Prophecy is tricky, but once it starts to make sense, things fall into place like the last few pieces in a very big puzzle.

"Nephilim would be ashes," I murmured. "No blood." Which only lent weight to Ruthie's belief that Mait would raise humans-at first.

"For centuries scholars argued over the meaning of Revelation nine-sixteen," Ruthie said. "And the number of the army of the hors.e.m.e.n were two hundred thousand thousand."

"Two hundred million," I translated.

"The number was too big to be taken literally for a very long time. But then came a nation with not only a huge population, but a mammoth standing army with uncountable reserves."

"China."

"Yes. The force will come out of the east, and the population in what is now considered the east is more than three billion."

"The scholars focused on China," I said. "But they were wrong."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"What about the coming out of the east part?"

"East is relative, child. March east-to-west and bam," she smacked her palms together, "you've got an army from the east. All the Bible really says is that the big ol' army will march across the Euphrates."

"Which happens to be east of Israel."

"Last time I looked," Ruthie agreed.

"I gotta go."

"Hold on." Ruthie laid her hand over mine. "The book is gone. The only being capable of bringing back the dead is Mait. You know what that means?"

"Charmed dagger to the left eye and fast."

"You also have to consider what's best for the world in the long run, not what's best for any one person right this minute."

"What are you trying to say?"

"You wanna raise Sawyer."

I didn't bother to lie. Not to Ruthie. "So?"

"No one comes back the same, Lizbeth."

"You sent me to Sani to learn how to raise ghosts."

"I sent you to Sani because I was told to send you to Sani."

That made me pause. Though Ruthie often behaved as if she were the lead singer in our rock-and-roll end times band, she wasn't. She took her orders from the biggest voice of all-the one that had serenaded Moses on Mount Sinai. Or at least that's what she told me.

And if she wasn't telling the truth about that . . . well, I was in bigger trouble than I'd ever get out of.

"There's a reason-" she began.

"For everything," I finished, having heard it before.

I didn't much care for being ordered around without an explanation, but I was used to it. No matter how much I disliked operating half blind, the truth remained-I had to have faith. In more ways than one.

"Sani knew where the book was," Ruthie said.

"Why didn't you know? Why didn't anyone know what Mait was up to before he was up to it?"

"The spell of protection cloaked everything."

"Then how did Sani know where to find the thing?"

"Sani isn't one of us. He's one of them."

I wasn't surprised. Still . . . "Why would he tell me-" I paused as my brain answered the question before Ruthie could. "Payment."

The twists and turns of fate, or G.o.d's will, or prophecy were far too complicated for a mere dumb-a.s.s like me.

"Perhaps," Ruthie said.

"Don't we need Sawyer?" I asked.

"Is it need or is it want, child?"

"He's . . ." My voice trailed off. I'd been going to say necessary, but instead I said, "Powerful."

"So are you."

"Two's better than one," I repeated.

"Is it?"

When she started answering my questions with questions, I always got a headache.

"You're telling me I shouldn't get him back?"

"Yes," Ruthie said. "That's exactly what I'm telling you."

Since Ruthie's motto had always been-Do whatever you have to do to win-I was shocked nearly speechless.

"But-" I began.

"Jimmy was right to burn the book," she interrupted. "The temptation is too great."

"I'm not a four-year-old with a box of chocolates, Ruthie. I can control myself."

"Hmm," she said, and I saw red.

I pushed back from the table, and this time my chair did fall over. The thwack of the wood against the tile made me flinch, but I left it where it lay.

"You think I'll be tempted to force Mait to raise Sawyer before I stick a dagger in his pretty green eye?"

Ruthie lifted a brow, which was all it took for me to pick up the chair.

"Sit," she ordered again, but I couldn't. Instead I paced to the window. The kids were now playing basketball on a full cement court, complete with a painted three-point arc, free-throw line, and boundaries.

"Mait knows better than to give us back one of our most powerful players," Ruthie said quietly. "You won't be able to force him to do anything."

"Wanna bet?" I murmured.

"Payment must be made, Lizbeth. Always. You can't reverse death without consequences. And sometimes those consequences are for the raiser and not the raisee."

I spun around. "You think I'm afraid?"

"No." Her dark solemn eyes caught and held mine. "I am. You're the leader of the light. The choices you make aren't your own. You have to be sure the sacrifice is worth the reward. Weigh the effect of what you do on the future. And if you don't know what that effect will be . . ." She let out a long, sad breath. "Best not to do anything at all."

She was right, and I knew it.

My eyes burned. I lowered my head, staring at the worn kitchen tile as I blinked several times hard and fast. Deciding to let Sawyer lie was like killing him all over again.

Ruthie remained silent while I got hold of myself. It never took me very long. I'd been getting hold of myself all my life.

"You know where I can get a charmed dagger?"

Ruthie searched my face. She must have been satisfied with what she saw there because she smiled softly. "You're a sorcerer, charm one yourself."

"I don't know how."

"Learn." She snapped her fingers, and I woke up in my room.

The storm had pa.s.sed, leaving the air smelling cool, fresh, and clean. At least until the sun rose and heated the streets and the overgrowth until they again smelled a little like garbage.

I glanced at the clock. Middle of the night. I couldn't exactly call the local charmed dagger shop, even if I knew the number. It was times like these that I really missed Xander Whitelaw. The professor had been able to find out just about anything.

I stared at the ceiling and suddenly remembered something-really someone-so I scrambled out of bed, tore through my backpack, and found the slip of paper with a cell number.

Bram answered on the first ring, and he sounded wide-awake. " 'Lo?"

"This is Liz."