"I'll tell you everything, but you have to listen to me fairly. And even if you don't believe me... well... at least get me something to eat before you call the police."

Sarah smiled thinly, not letting it touch her eyes.

"Spill it. Everything. And we'll decide if we call the cops right away. Whatever you say, we're gonna have to call eventually."

He raised his eyebrow in an arch look that didn't go well with his blunt features. He closed his eyes for a long time.

When he opened them, he began speaking in a low tone, as if repeating by rote what he'd done.

"I was hired by a man named Sam Phelps to find someone," he began.

His tone frightened Sarah a little; here was a man who could divorce himself from himself so easily as to become an automaton.

When he was through, he shifted in the bed, sitting higher. "But there's more to my story. This pirate station broadcasts music-Phelps played me a snippet of a song-by a musician named Ramblin' John Hastur. Either of you ever heard of him?"

Sarah looked puzzled, shaking her head. Alice narrowed her eyes and peered at Ingram.

"What you wanna know about Ramblin' John?" she asked.

He looked at Alice. "You heard of him?"

"Yes," she offered reluctantly.

"What've you heard?"

"He a blues man. Sold his soul to the Devil, like they say about every blues man."

"You heard anything else?"

"His music is crazy. Makes you wanna drink and-" She paused. "Make love."

He continued to look at her, weighing her response.

"My man... my children's daddy-" Her eyes blazed as if defying him. "He was a blues man too. He could sing... well, he could sing a girl right outta her clothes, he could." She blushed. Sarah felt Alice's hands squeeze her shoulders.

"He came home from giggin'-that's what he called playing music, giggin'-and said he heard about a blues man over Desha County way, who could the change the weather and all sorts of other things with his music. Some good and some not so good. And Calvin-my man-he believed, and maybe I did too. A little at least. My momma always told me that the most powerful spells were sung, not spoken. And Calvin himself had a little of that, the magic in his voice. I mean, he was a damned fool, but he sure sung his way into my heart. And I knew he weren't any good. But he got in anyway. So Calvin decided he was gonna find this blues man, who went by the name of Ramblin' John Hastur. He left two, maybe three, years ago now and never came back. I thought he took up with another woman. That's all I know."

Ingram looked thoughtful as she spoke. His expression never changed, except once. When she mentioned Ramblin' John Hastur, he winced.

He said, "Well, you're partly right."

He continued with his story.

Alice looked surprised when he mentioned KQUI. "It's been off the air for a week or so. But that happens from time to time, after storms and such. We didn't think nothing of it."

Ingram nodded. "When I got to KQUI, there was no one there, and I got a bad feeling about the place. So I poked around a little. I found the owner lying dead on the floor right behind his microphones and records and turntable. He looked like he clawed his own face to shreds and his heart exploded. Can you guess what record was on the player?"

"Ramblin' John," Sarah said.

He nodded again. "It was rolling around at the end of the record, like when you put a phono on and let it play and don't take it off at the end. You know?"

"Yes."

"So I moved the needle back a little bit, just to hear it for a second, and the record got caught in a loop, between scratches. The music was... I don't have words for it really. It touched me, and I don't mean in a good way. I felt like I could murder somebody when I heard that music. But it caught me up in its web too, and it was hard for me to move. And even though the record was caught in a loop, the music grew. Got more... horrible. Till I couldn't take it anymore. But it was too late by then, because the dead man on the floor started to get up and come after me."

He held up his hands.

"Now, I know you're thinking now that I'm insane or that I just didn't realize that the man was asleep on the floor. No. I checked his pulse. He was dead. But once that music started playing, he got up and came for me."

It was Ingram who looked defiant now. He looked at the women as if challenging them to argue.

"I don't care if you believe me or not, it's true. I'd searched the station and found a slip of paper saying that Ramblin' John was gonna play at Ruby's, so after that I checked into the Royale in Stuttgart to wait. I spent my time listening to the radio, searching for the signal coming from the station. I didn't ever want to hear that sound again, but, what was I gonna do? If something like that can exist out there-"

He paused, shifted in the bed, trying to make himself comfortable with his arm above his head. He looked like the boy again, and Sarah wanted to take his hand or brush the hair out of his eyes.

She said, "How can you know you'll ever be safe? That anyone will? Is that what you were thinking?"

"Yes," he said, sounding relieved that she understood. He looked at her quizzically. "Yes. How can folks have families, fall in love-anything-if that music is out there, waiting to be played? It's like any minute can be the last minute. The end of the world. How can someone find happiness like that?"

"I guess everybody lives like that, I mean... you never know. They always say you can get run over by a bus. But damned if I'll just accept it. Or allow it to happen, if I can stop it. Nobody deserves that-for their life to end just because they heard a song. And then, to get back up, after they're dead. To dance to somebody else's... something else's... tune." He shuddered.

Ingram finished the story, telling them in a dead voice of the events at Ruby's, of finding Early's reanimated corpse and realizing it was Hastur.

The women were quiet, each looking at him with wide eyes.

Alice sniffed. "It's pretty hard to stomach, to tell the truth. But there are some things in this world that just can't be explained away." She looked over at Sarah. "I always talked about my doodlebugs, and you never believed." She looked down, smiled sadly, and then looked back up. "Rightly so, I guess. I ain't got no doodlebugs. But my momma do, and my grandmame even more before her. Being born in Africa and brought over here as a slave, the magic was strong in her. I remember. She could heal the sick with her hands and find things that no one else could. I saw it with my own eyes. So I guess there ain't any reason not to consider what this man said, even though it might not have happened exactly as he said."

Tension seemed to flow from Ingram's shoulders, and it looked to Sarah, for a moment, like he might cry.

"There's something else," Sarah said, lowering her voice. "What brought you here?"

"What do you mean? The river did."

She shook her head, hair swinging. "No. How did the river know to bring you here?"

He looked dumbfounded. "It didn't. It was just chance. A coincidence."

"It's just too much for coincidence. I want to know what brought you here because... if there is a... Pale Man out there and he has this song or sound of madness, then someone or something is working against him, through us. And I want to know what and who it is."

She hesitated, not knowing how to go on. She sighed, squared her shoulders, then said, "There's even more. I've found some books in the library, here, that have something to do with this."

Alice drew a sharp breath. "What? In the library?" She looked as though she'd found a snake under her pillow.

Sarah nodded. "The book I've been translating. I took it, just today, to a priest."

She told them about Andrez, about the Opusculus Noctis and the Prodigium.

"The thing is, I found another book in the library... a horrible, evil book. The illustrations are so... so... ghastly that once you've seen them, it's like something changes in your mind. Like how you described Ramblin' John's song. Hearing it, or seeing these illustrations, unlocks something in you, an awareness like a door opening. These drawings are so simple and... hideous... you don't have to know the language to know what it's saying. About how to... I don't know... raise up the dead. Bargain with devils."

"In our library? Here? At the Big House?" Alice was incredulous. Sarah nodded slowly. She pulled the key out of her pocket, walked forward and unlocked the handcuffs.

He lowered his arm, slowly, wincing.

"I'm sorry, Bull. We had to be sure."

"What? This isn't a face you can trust?"

Sarah was quiet, taking his question seriously. Actually, it was a face she could trust. But she wasn't going to tell him that. Her heart gave a lurch in her chest, and her cheeks burned.

"What about that goddamned book," asked Alice. "You got to put that thing somewhere safe. What if Fisk got a hold of it?"

"It's still there, on the desk. Father Andrez is coming. He'll help us figure out what to do."

Chapter 15.

Ingram awoke to the sound of crying children.

He thought a wounded animal shared the room with him. The wailing pierced his ears and made his head throb. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he realized the children were crying somewhere in the house.

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, every bit of his body hurting. His bladder felt as if any moment it might burst. Very carefully, he put weight on his legs and found that they held, if not steadily. He moved to the bureau and searched the drawers. His shirt, pants, and underwear lay neatly laundered, folded, and mended, with tight stitches in the breast and sleeve. His jacket, shoes, and socks were missing. His keys, wallet, and a flattened package of Peter Stuyvesants sat on the bedside table.

Ingram's head pounded. The wailing of the children sounded like sirens in an air-raid. He padded out into the hall on bare feet, tucking in his shirt. The house was tremendous, opulent and foreign. To Ingram it looked like the dark mahogany insides of some lost Southern dream, all scroll work, dark wood, rich paintings, and ornate carpets. Men in funny outfits stood in moody dark fields with oddly shaped dogs. Women and children posed in rigid clothes that looked elegant and uncomfortable.

Next to a painting of a chubby red-haired boy, Ingram noticed an open door and peered in. A bathroom. He shut the door and threw the latch. Cigarette dangling from his lip, he pissed for what seemed like an eternity. He shivered with the experience, and his back crackled. He flicked his butt into the toilet and flushed.

After washing his hands and examining his haggard appearance in the ornate mirror above the sink, Ingram left the bathroom and walked down the hall until he came to where the wall fell away on his left, leaving only a railing fifteen feet above a grand entryway, paneled and mirrored, possessing a massive oak door as the center piece. Stained-glass lilies and hydrangeas circled it, letting colored light permeate the room. A staircase circled down on the right, ending in a curlicue.

He walked down the staircase, his good hand firmly on the balustrade, holding himself steady. The sound of crying was fainter now, and he could hear the voices of women. He recognized Alice's deep, melodious voice. Turning to his left at the base of the stairs, he walked under the gallery he'd emerged from only moments earlier, through a large dining room, and entered a kitchen smelling of biscuits and bacon and coffee. His stomach rumbled as he ducked his head going through the doorway.

With his entry, the crying stopped and five pair of eyes widened.

"Uh... hi. Is there something wrong?"

Franny's lip began to quiver, and she turned to Sarah. "Mommy! The peafowl-something got to 'em! I think they ate 'em. Even ole Phemus."

"Baby, I'm sure they're all right. Maybe a weasel, or fox chased one, or got to a chicken or-"

Fisk turned toward her. "No! They're dead. Blood in the grass everywhere, feathers all over the yard. Serious." He put his hands on his waist and for a moment Ingram wanted to laugh; in the few hours he'd spent with her, Ingram had seen Alice do the exact same thing at least ten times. Lenora crossed her arms and looked at Sarah like it was her fault.

"He's right," Lenora said. "Something happened. We gotta go check on 'em, Miss Sarah."

Alice shook her head. "Whatever happened to 'em, we all need some breakfast. Sit down at the table and we'll eat."

Fisk started to protest but Alice cut him off, saying, "Whatever got to the fowl, they gonna get 'em again? Huh? If they been got, they been got. We gonna eat breakfast and then go investigate. You hear me, Fisk?"

The boy scowled at Alice, his shoulders setting in an obstinate pose. Alice ignored him, and began dishing up food. Though the children glared at her and Sarah sullenly, they took their plates and began to eat.

Ingram asked, "Where are my shoes?"

Alice shuffled over, coffee pot in hand. She refilled his mug.

"You only had one when we found you. You must've lost the other at the..." She looked at the children. "The fracas. I'll ask Reuben or Wilson if there's somebody on the farm with feet as big as yours. Though I doubt it."

As he ate, the children watched him keenly, eyes following his every move. After Ingram emptied his plate, he looked at it mournfully, and scraped up the last of the gravy with his fork. The children took the plates to the sink and moved to stand by the backdoor that led to the porch and yard.

"Momma, come on. We ate. Now come on," Lenora demanded.

Ingram stood uneasily with Sarah. She said, "It's okay, Bull. You don't have to come. Why don't you go back upstairs and get some rest?"

"I'll tag along, just to see." He lifted a bare foot. "They're tough."

Outside, the dew of the yard held silvered paths, tracks made by the feet of children, punctuated by the entrails of peafowl arranged in strange and bloody piles. Littered among the gory configurations were feathers decorating the grass in bloody streamers. Not the work of weasels, or any other predator Ingram had ever heard of. Except one. Man.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Sarah came to stand beside him, her face pale and blank. Franny stood with them, making wet, heart-broken sounds.

Ingram looked at the little girl in wonder. He squatted on his hams next to her, like a farmer inspecting a crop.

"Hey. Hey." He placed his hand on her shoulder, then tried patting. She turned to him, her eyes huge.

"It's okay, everything's gonna be just fine." He looked up at Sarah, and she had the same stricken expression as Franny.

Goddamn, this is a hard lesson. For her. For me.

Sarah cleared her throat. "I need to take her back inside the house. Away from this."

Fisk ran between piles of guts and feathers, pointing and exclaiming. Lenora stood beside Alice, arms crossed on her chest, her face furious.

"Hey, look!" Fisk called. "Ole Phemus is right here! Ain't much left of him."

"Fisk! Lenora!" Sarah called. "I'm going back inside with Franny. You two come with me." Alice looked at Sarah, nodding approval.

Fisk ignored her. "Looks like Ole Phemus finally met his match. They put his head right here with tail feathers all around it." The boy looked up, toward some of the farm's outlying houses. "I wonder if-"

He ran toward the chicken coop.

Ingram, trying not to step in the gore with bare feet, moved over to where Fisk had stood. A decapitated peacock head looked up at him with a milky eye. Tail feathers lay arrayed around the head as if in mockery of how the peacock had appeared in life.

A voice said, "Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus."