"I remember where I got each one of these special people, even though the whole process took less than a day," said Septimus. "Recall, darling Bill, that this whole chore, getting these people, was as easy as A-B-C or 1-2-3 for me. I could have collected them in a microsecond, faster than your perceptions could ever catch. But I moved slowly, seized the opportunity. I wanted to savor the moments."

Septimus stroke the tattooed kid's face. "I got them from everywhere," the pale giant said. "Some were going to die, but most I killed."

"What about Travis?" asked Bill. Again, part of his brain demanded firm answers, as if facts were stones in a wall he could build around him.

"Travis was one of the first," said Septimus. "With him, I was creative."

"Gutted him."

"Didn't have to. But evisceration added flair. A certain B-horror movie quality that is appropriate, yes?"

Septimus laughed.

"And this," he said, looking back to the tattooed body. "Took him from the streets of Providence, Rhode Island. Less than an hour away. Before he knew what was happening, I gave him a blood clot in his brain." Septimus stroked the kid's hair. It shone blue and red in the firelight. "Studying art, the poor darling. But now he has the privilege of being one of my special, special boys. I can wake him up at any time I choose, and chase him through the grand desert of life." Septimus patted the body on the shoulder. The kid's head wriggled, sending strands of multicolored hair over his glasses.

"Zombies," said Bill.

Septimus looked up from the dead boy. He gave Bill a quizzical smile, his white teeth gleaming in the firelight.

The magician chuckled. The sound seemed to vibrate the ground, like a train rolling underneath them.

"No, Bill, no," he said. "Revenants. Zombies are mindless. These are real people who have been killed and altered and raised again. The difference between them and a zombie is enormous. Revenants still have their minds. Ignore the horror films, Bill. And here is one of your wife's guardians.."

The mention of Constance was like a kick in the gut. Bill stood against the tree, still leaning on it for support, but readying himself to spring forward and attack.

And attack what?

And less than forty-eight hours ago, he had been on the little dance floor of the West Valley Inn with his new wife. Her white skin and hair blended into the white of her wedding dress. He had felt somewhat detached from reality himself, as if he had been dancing with a ghost with whom he'd fallen desperately in love. The song the had danced to was something by Celine Dion, who Bill hated but Constance adored. But it was no matter. There could have been a squadron of baboons banging on frying pans for musical accompaniment, for all he cared.

And now he'd left his wife to sleep in the dark with monsters.

"It's Mary," said Septimus.

She tumbled into the clearing, crashing through the undergrowth. The firelight turned her necklace into a blaze, like an orange flame searing through her throat..

"Oooh, damn," she said, stumbling into the body of an Asian guy in a blue bathrobe. "Oh, Mr. Smith, oh no." Her face shone in the firelight, and Bill saw tears running down her face.

"Mary," said Septimus. He was not smiling. "You have quit your post."

"Had to come. He made me come, he made me," wailed Mary. "He came. He came early."

"What?"

"Mr. Smith, I love you, but don't be an asshole." Mary was picking her way through the field of the dead, carefully putting down her feet in the spaces between them. She moved with incongruous grace; it was like watching an elephant tiptoe through a minefield. "You know who it is."

Septimus waited as the blubbering dead woman reached his side. When she did, she collapsed onto the ground, and put her hands over her face.

"You see how devoted they are to me," he told Bill, smiling his dead smile. "Disobeying me causes them so much pain. Doesn't it, Mary?"

"I had to, Mr. Smith," she wailed, rubbing her eyes. "There is nothing that you can do about that. I had to come here...he made me..."

"He did?" Septimus asked.

"I am so sorry." Mary collapsed into another fit of blubbering.

Who had the woman been in another life, Bill wondered. A lunchlady? A housewife? What? There were horizontal scratches on the woman's right arm, as if something had raked its claws over her flesh.

"And he's coming," said Mary.

"He is," said Septimus, and frowned. "If he's coming here himself, why did he send you first? Are you lying to me, darling Mary?"

"No no no!" wailed the fat woman. "He is coming! He told me that I must obey him, or else he would kill that little girl!"

Bill's stomach dropped.

"What?" he shouted. "What are you talking about?"

Mary took her face out of her hands.

"He's got your wife," she said. "And he's..."

"I'm already here," said a quiet voice from the woods.

Twelve.

"Naughty!" shouted Septimus.

Then he roared with laughter and applauded.

"I was thinking," said the man in the white suit, who had suddenly appeared at the firelight's edge. "That I'd come and pay my respects. Was that what you were thinking?"

"Oh, darling," said Septimus. "I wasn't thinking anything!"

"I did not think so," said the white-suited man.

Then he looked to Bill.

"We have visitors," he said. "William James Wilfong. Do you know, Bill, that if I so desired, I could know everything about you, and not just your name? Or I could put myself inside of you and ride you like a meat puppet and you wouldn't be able to stop me?"

The short man took a step closer, his white suit reflecting the oranges and reds of the firelight. He stood atop a mostly-nude corpse of a hirsute older man. Bones and joints popped under the small man's weight.

"William James Wilfong," said the short man. "I am addressing you. Respond, please." But Bill didn't respond. His voice had jammed in his throat as if there were fingers around his windpipe.

The man in the white suit huffed impatiently. He was as short as a child, perhaps just under five feet, and appeared to be as wide as he was tall. The white suit was double-breasted and fitted snugly to his round torso. Three daisies had been rammed into the lapel pocket, and wriggled as if in a gentle breeze.

And his face was the worst part. His flesh was loose and baggy, and somehow pulled back toward his ears. This tension elongated his eyes, flattened his nose, and pulled his mouth into a long black line. Bill was surprised that his voice wasn't affected by the distortion of his lips.

"He has had some shocks today," said Septimus, his voice light, almost flirtatious. "Have some mercy on him. Not going to be responsive."

"Oh?" the short man said. "So perhaps I should read his brain? Something like that? Put a red and gold inside of him and tease it out?"

"No, no. Come, Terris, why did you have to interrupt?"

The mana"Terris, it wasa"turned away from Bill.

"You told them about the ceremony?" he asked Septimus.

"I told them. Somewhat."

"Should have killed them, Septimus Smith."

"I found myself interested," said Septimus. "Don't you admit, it's interesting?"

Terris shot another glance back at Bill. "Yes," he said, after a long moment.

"Shall we do something with them?" asked Septimus. "For fun?"

Terris smiled, scratching his chin. "We don't start until tomorrow," he said.

"Yes, and you and I won't fight until then, darling. And wouldn't it be fun to have these two fighting, as well? Like a lover's spat?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Like a spat! Look, I've already marked him as mine. I can give him some more...responsibilities...in this matter. Bill, darling, kindly raise your hand."

Bill felt his arm being lifted, as if a strong hand were holding his wrist. His joints cracked and he winced as his fingers flew open like a small firecracker had exploded in his hand.

"Look," said Septimus. "X marks the spot."

Terris shook his head. "You think that would keep me away from him, did you?"

"Didn't it?"

Terris laughed. "Ask her."

"No," Bill said, as Terris gestured into the trees. "No, no, no."

Constance walked into the firelight.

Thirteen.

Bill took one running step forward, but then Terris waved a hand and he was paralyzed. Just as he had with the devil faces, he felt himself take three steps back, until he was once again pressed up against the tree, the rough bark digging into his back.

"No," he moaned.

"She was asleep when we came," said Terris. "Hasn't woken up."

Bill watched in despair as Terris waved to his wife, who took a step forward. The hood of her pink sweatshirt was pulled up around her head, and her white hair looked matted, nearly dreadlocked with sweat and with filth. Shadows lurked behind her, humanoid forms whose eyes flashed in the firelight.

"You rogue," said Septimus, and laughed.

"We saw your mark when we pulled her out of that dump," said Terris. "And do you know what she was dreaming about? It was as obvious as the hair on her head. She was dreaming about this piece of human shit." He pointed at Bill. "She was dreaming about her wedding day. Weren't you, darling?"

Then, to Bill's horror, Terris stepped off of the body on which he'd been perched. He took two silent shuffling steps toward Constance, who was oblivious to the entire situation. Her eyes were half-closed and her mouth half-open, as if she were stunned or sleepwalking.

"Seems a shame to mar such a pale beauty," said Terris, reaching up toward her cheek. He stroked the scar with a fat finger. "William James Wolfing, you do not deserve such a woman as this."

Bill felt like he'd been stabbed in the stomach. Tears clouded his eyes.

"That's right, nothing," said Terris. "She was dreaming about dancing with you. To some tacky band in some tacky place."

"Don't you fucking hurt her," Bill said. "If you hurt her..."

"No no no, darling," said Septimus. "He wouldn't hurt her."

"You said...she'd be safe."

Septimus and Terris both laughed.

"She's still safe," said Septimus. "Still safe."

Then the tall man turned to Terris. "This visit was fruitful," he said, pointing to Constance, who was swaying back and forth as if listening to quiet music. "Are we going to do this?"

Terris smiled. He stroked the skin of his chin, pulling on the loose flesh. "Yes," he said. "Consider it a gentleman's bargain."

"Excellent!" said Septimus. He jumped up and down and clapped his hands. The display would've suited an excited girl. "Excellent! Shall we shake hands?"

Terris shook his head. "We may not touch each other."

"Oh, to hell with the rules!"

"Septimus. No."

Septimus stopped applauding, and stood next to the fire. He smiled and rubbed his massive hands together.

Constance's lips moved, and her eyes twitched as if she were reading long lines of text.