Tomorrow night.

Already their dimensional prison was weakening. Enough that they might infuse her, their final liberator, with a taste of the G.o.ddesshood that awaited her. There were side effects. The constant drone in her head made it hard to think. And something, many things actually, slithered around in her stomach.

The Necronomicon mentioned this. The old G.o.ds were ancient and powerful. Their energies mutated any human who invited them in. Not just physically, but mentally as well. No mortal could retain their reason under such exposure.

But with ultimate power, who needed sanity.

She lifted her Magic 8-Ball from the small mound of graveyard dirt. She turned over the black orb. The triangular thingamabob rose to the surface.

"Earl, where am I?"

She tossed the Magic 8-Ball in her backpack and removed the collection of exotic ingredients needed to create the Dust of Waking Sleep. She'd paid a hefty rush-delivery fee for her latest catalogue order and was pleased to find a plain, brown box waiting in her temple. Crazy Ctharl was not only reliable, but efficient to boot.

The dust would handle the mortals who opposed her. a.s.sembling it herself saved her some money, even if it was more work. As for Duke, her latest shipment contained a jar of imps. And with all those obstacles put aside, Earl would be easy enough to stake during the day.

There was still one final problem. For the way to be opened, someone must be sacrificed. Getting a sacrifice was easy. But the sacrifice had to be performed by someone who "knew not what they did" according to her research. Paying someone to do it didn't count either. The higher forces weren't fooled by technicalities. She had to trick someone into it. There was always a catch. If these matters were easy, the old G.o.ds would not still be locked away.

Chad spoke up from the darkened corner where he huddled. "Mistress Lilith?"

Her head snapped around at the sudden noise, and he got a good, long look at her eyes. They were solid black. No white. No iris. Just inky darkness. He couldn't even be sure she had eyes anymore. Her sockets might very well have been empty.

"What, Chad?"

"Nuthin'."

She could smell his fear. It sent a quiver through her. She smiled, drawing in a deep, deep breath. She crawled toward him on her hands and knees.

"Does Big Jimmy need his lovin'?"

His heart beat faster as she drew closer. She could hear its thudding, feel its beating against his ribcage. The thought of scaring him to death only made her hungrier. She roughly shoved him on his back.

Tammy pushed away the power of the old G.o.ds. It wouldn't do to kill him just yet. Her eyes filled their sockets, but he was still scared. Just not scared enough to give up a chance to get laid.

After she'd finished with him, she realized just how mad she must have been to have actually enjoyed s.e.x with Chad. But soon the voices returned, and she went back to work.

In the cramped quarters of the Magic 8-Ball, there was no room for Cathy's ectoplasmic body. She was reduced to a soul floating in murky, blue darkness. It was a lot like sitting in a warm bath way too long until the water got cold and your fingers were wrinkled and prunelike. Not that she had fingers, but there was still a general moistlike sensation in her disembodied spirit.

She was not alone.

"Who's there?"

Though she didn't speak with a voice, not using even ectoplasmic vocal cords, there was an echo. It lasted a long, long time, bouncing from one end of her prison to the other and back again. There was no reply, but she was certain there was somebody else here. She could just feel him.

"I know you're there."

Again, no answer.

She suddenly felt very claustrophobic. She had no form.

s.p.a.ce was currently a meaningless concept, but the other bodiless soul crowded around her. She could feel him. Her five senses were gone, replaced by a kind of spectral radar she hadn't quite adjusted to yet.

"I know you're there."

He laughed. A dry, humorless rasp that filled the dark and chilled her.

"Who's there?"

The specter's rough voice wormed its way into her immaterial guts.

"You know who I am, Cathy."

And she did. From somewhere other than herself the answer came.

"Gil Wilson?"

The name meant nothing to her. She'd never heard it before.

"That's right, dear Cathy."

"Where are we?"

"You already know that as well."

She did. From the same place she'd learned his name, more information came. They were bound within a Magic 8-Ball. Something had gone wrong, but it wasn't Earl's fault. Tammy had beaten him to the casting.

She didn't know who Tammy was, other than she didn't like her very much. In fact, she hated her. Despised her for the ungrateful, traitorous, little b.i.t.c.h she was. It was all very confusing.

"Our souls are mingled," Gil said. "A byproduct of the binding."

Bits and pieces of Gil Wilson filtered across her consciousness. They repulsed her. She wanted to get far away from him, but there was nowhere to go. She shrank into herself. He wrapped around her, his voice echoing from every direction.

"You can't fight it, Cathy. Your struggles only make it harder."

"Go away."

"I intend to. But first, I need your help."

More knowledge came to her.

She saw Gil poring over books, studying ancient texts, researching things man was never meant to know. Spending years and years in darkened rooms, deciphering arcane secrets, figuring heavenly alignments, and plowing deep into the advanced physics of interdimensional s.p.a.ce until finally finding the fabled Gate of the Old G.o.ds in a quiet, dusty town called Rockwood.

Coming to Rockwood, he'd bought the seemingly unremarkable plot of land under which the Gate rested and built a temple to his masters, disguised as an innocuous all-night diner. It was far more than that. Cathy saw how something that looked so ordinary could be so much more. It was all in the architecture, the angles, the placement of the supporting pillars, and all the other little details that added up to something wholly unnatural. Even the positioning of the porcelain toilets and track lighting made a difference. She didn't understand completely. She didn't want to. But she knew the diner served to weaken the Gate even further, and that this was not a good thing.

"Yes, Cathy, you know my secrets, and I know yours. I must admit I feel somewhat cheated by the exchange. I mean, really, the worst thing you ever did was lie about hitting a baseball into Mr. Weinberg's window."

He chuckled.

"Wait. I'm getting something else. Ah, you ran over a kitty once and stole some candy and also, yes, yes, you cheated on some math tests. Terrible sins indeed. The guilt must be tearing you apart."

The horrible acts Gil Wilson had performed in his quest for unholy power swam just beneath her own memories. In an effort to repulse them, she concentrated on the less ghastly remembrances invading her.

Strongest was the night fate, or destiny, or perhaps merely random chance had nearly destroyed his chances for G.o.dhood. It was after a simple ritual, the final consecration rite of his temple. After sanctifying it with an offering of his own blood, he rose on wobbly legs. Groggy from the magic spell, he failed to notice a ketchup bottle lying on the floor.

It fell underfoot, and he tripped. The knife wound up between him and the tile. It plunged into his heart.

The old G.o.ds, enraged at his failure, gathered up enough power to reach out and drag him to their h.e.l.l where they might torment him for eternity. They only got his flesh. His spirit barely slipped through their grasp. But as a ghost, Gil was powerless to open the way.

He'd all but given up hope when finally stumbling upon Tammy. Sensing the talent within her, he groomed her to complete what he had started. When she opened the way, the old G.o.ds would know who was really responsible for their rise and reward him appropriately.

He'd tutored her, teaching her secrets only he knew. She'd locked him in this prison in grat.i.tude. Where he could once again feel his destiny pa.s.sing him by. Yet fate saw fit to give him another chance. By persuading Tammy to bind another ghost in the ball, he'd tricked her into giving him his means of escape.

"That's right," he agreed. "Together, we are strong. Strong enough to escape this prison."

"No."

His voice became icy. "What?"

"No!" she repeated, stronger than before. "I won't help you. You belong here. I won't let you out."

"Would you stay with me then? For eternity?"

She didn't want to. His soul was like acid, eating away at her own spirit. But he was too dangerous, even as a ghost, to let loose on the world. Even if it did end up destroying her utterly.

"How selfless," Gil spat, as if through clenched teeth. "Yours is a n.o.ble soul, girl, but I will not be denied."

She tucked deeper into herself, calling upon fond memories in an effort to ignore him. Playing baseball with her dad. Her favorite song. Her college graduation. Earl.

"Your undead admirer. You are quite fond of him, aren't you?" Gil's voice oozed into her. "In fact, you love him. A trifle premature, if you'd like my opinion. You haven't even known him a week."

"Shut up!" She wished she had hands to cover her immaterial ears. "Leave him out of this!"

"You'll never see him again, shut away in this ball, Cathy."

"I don't care!"

"Yes, you do." He thrust deeper, digging into her memories. "Cathy, you little s.l.u.t. Throwing yourself at the first vampire that comes along. I'm disappointed in you."

She didn't want to remember, but he forced her to.

"You'll never feel his touch again. You'll never feel anything again. Just you and me together for eternity. Or you can help me, free yourself, and run away with Earl."

It wasn't as simple as that. If she let him out, then the world would end. There'd be no place for Earl and her to run away to.

"But if you keep me here, Tammy shall complete the ceremony anyway. It's your choice. I can't force you. Either way, the world ends. At least my way, you'll get to spend a few precious hours with your lover. Who knows? You might even warn him in enough time to stop me." He laughed skeptically. "Doubtful, but you're welcome to try."

She groped for other solutions, but none came. This was the only way. The only way to save the world. The only way to save Earl. And she admitted to herself that he was her true reason for even considering it. She'd been alone too long. Whether it was selfish or not, she had to take the chance.

"Okay, what do I have to do?"

"Not yet. Tammy is watching. But soon."

In the darkness of their prison, Gil Wilson grinned a wide, immaterial smile.

"Soon."

Earl spent the rest of the night in the empty graveyard. Hector hadn't been able to provide any answers for what had happened. He rea.s.sured Earl he'd look into it, but Earl didn't have much hope. He sat on Cathy's grave, nursing a six-pack, and feeling sorry for himself. It was times like this that he really missed being able to get drunk.

About half-an-hour before dawn, Duke moseyed into the cemetery.

"I'd offer you a beer, but this is my last one." Earl popped it open. The warm alcohol foamed and spilled over his hands. "s.h.i.t."

"Hector tell you what happened?" Duke asked.

"Nope. Said she might have finally moved on to the next plane."

"Say why?"

"Said he didn't know, but told me he didn't see how it could've been anything I'd done."

Earl offered Duke a drink. Duke waved it away.

"No thanks. So how you doing?"

"Me? I'm just fine. I just killed my girlfriend, that's all. How else should I be?"

"If Hector said it ain't your fault, then it ain't."

"Aw that's bulls.h.i.t. I screwed it up, Duke. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I screwed it up."

Earl threw the half-full aluminum can at the moon. It twirled, spraying beer, and hung in the air for a long while before finally coming down to earth.

"I f.u.c.ked it all up."

"Ain't as bad as all that," Duke offered.

"h.e.l.l it ain't!"

Earl wiped a solitary drop of moisture that had managed to work its way free of his dried-up tear ducts.

"Sorry, Duke. I ain't mad at you, but you just don't understand. You don't know what it's like, being me. Everybody likes you. Or at least they don't not like you."

"People like you, Earl."

"No, people get used to me." He chuckled. "It's not the same thing. No big deal, really. I'm used to it. My mama didn't even like me. And my daddy thought I was a worthless pile of cow s.h.i.t. Told me so on his deathbed. Pulled me over and whispered it in my ear just before croaking.

"My whole life, I can count four people who liked me. There's you, and this pet turtle I had when I was six, and my grammy Betta. And Cathy. She was the first woman who really liked me."

"There'll be others."