Sam gently squeezed her fingers in support.

"How touching," Roma said dryly, observing the gesture of love.

"Shut up, darling," Falcon told her, and this time she heard a distinct note of warning in his voice. She closed her mouth. Falcon said, "Is there no way we can reach a compromise?"

"No," Sam said, flatly rejecting the offer.

"He's just like his father," Roma blurted. "Hard-headed as a goat."

"And very proud to be," Sam said, smiling.

Roma nodded her head; the extent to which she agreed with Sam was impossible to tell from the curt gesture.

Falcon's eyes were hard as he looked at Nydia. "My dear, you can make this enjoyable, or very unpleasant ... when the time comes. I suggest you think about it."

"I don't know what you mean," she replied.

Falcon's smile was evil. He pointed to his crotch. "You and I, dear."

She shook her head slowly.

"The same applies to you, Sam," Roma said.

"Sorry," the young man told her. "I think I'll pa.s.s." He had no way of knowing his mother had spoken those same words to Roma more than twenty years before, referring to Black Wilder's offer.

"A lot of your mother in you, too, darling," Roma said with a nasty grin. "And your mother is going to have a lot in her before all this is over. Do pardon the slight pun, won't you?"

Sam shot visual daggers of hate at the witch.

"Do either of you realize," Falcon said, "how hopelessly outnumbered you are? How puny your powers are compared with ours? And how foolish you are to reject this offer of compromise?"

Sam and Nydia merely looked at him, saying nothing.

"We really are not obligated to abide by any rules," Falcon confided in them. "Believe that. The only reason we are here is to give you young people a chance to come to your senses."

"He is not lying," the heavy voice said as it sprang into Sam's head. "You may accept the offer from the devil's agent and become one of the undead. There will be no more trials and tests should that be your decision. The choice is yours."

"Tested by both G.o.d and Satan?" Sam flung the silent question. "How much is to be placed on my shoulders, and when does it end?"

But the mysterious voice was silent.

Both Roma and Falcon were once again aware of the strange power in the room, neither of them understanding it.

"Your decision, young man?" Falcon urged.

"Go to h.e.l.l!" Sam told him.

Both Roma and Falcon laughed, Falcon saying, "Oh, we've been there, many times. Even at its best, it is a dismal place."

"Then we'll do our best to avoid it." Sam locked eyes with the man.

"Very well," Roma said. "1 would suggest the both of you enjoy your . . . day of rest." Both she and the warlock laughed.

The witch and the warlock vanished before their eyes, leaving behind them a foul odor of sulfur.

Nydia's hand covered Sam's fingers and he gently squeezed it. "It'll be all right," he said.

A different odor covered the departing smell of Roma and Falcon. This one was hideous, stinking of stale blood and rotting flesh, of the grave and beyond.

Nydia looked up, her nose wrinkling at the smell. Her eyes widened, face paling. She began to scream.

Sam started to turn around, to see what Nydia was viewing. Something savage smashed into his head and he fell, tumbling into painful darkness.

"They have all withdrawn from sight," Wade said, putting down the shotgun. He was very tired, and he had left his bifocals at home, having to make do with an old, inadequate pair of gla.s.ses he kept in the glove compartment for emergencies.

"They have withdrawn-period," Miles said. He put his shotgun on a table, Doris frowning as the front sight scarred the polished wood. But she said nothing to her husband of oh-so-many years. Good years ... all of them. No regrets.

And she was sorry she had called him a klutz so many times over those years. But even with that feeling of love and penitence, she had to smile. Miles was clumsy ... always had been. She said prayers even when he tried such a simple task as changing a light bulb. Especially if he had to stand on a stepladder. For if he didn't fall off the ladder, he would always manage to drop one of the bulbs; usually the good one.

But she loved him, loved him with all her heart: he was such a good, decent man. Just like Wade, but in a completely different way. Both of them were honest, decent, and G.o.dfearing, helpful to people in need, no matter what race or religion. She sighed in remembrance.

She turned her attentions back to the men, who were, as usual, arguing.

"... in h.e.l.l do you know that?" Wade was saying.

"I know. I feel it. Something drastic has happened. You wait, you'll see. Sam will tell you I'm right."

"He is right." Balon's voice jarred them all.

They still could not accustom themselves to Balon's sudden appearances.

Balon said: "They will not be back here. Ever. They will come for Jane Ann on the night before their final night on earth."

"And us?" Miles asked hopefully. One could always keep a bit of optimism that The Man might change His mind.

"We will exit this life together."

Miles muttered something inaudible to human ears.

"I heard that," Balon said.

"So sue me," Miles replied.

"What about him? It?" Doris pointed toward the front steps, at the golem sitting hugely, impa.s.sively.

"He requires no aid, no comfort, no food or water-he is all those things. He will sit thusly until he is needed. When he is done with here, he will return to the river."

"I feel sorry for him," Anita said.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, honey," Wade said. "He's made of clay; he has no emotions, no feelings, no concept of what a human experiences. And I still don't believe he's really here."

"Don't blaspheme," Miles said quickly. "Now is not the time. Just accept."

Balon spoke to Wade: "You are wrong. G.o.d breathed life into him, so he does have feelings. He has feelings of protectiveness toward the four of you. But since he has no tongue, he cannot express them. Since he has no eyes, he cannot see you-as you know vision-so you cannot see his feelings. But that is just as well. Doris would probably have had him in for coffee and cake."

"And didn't I have you you in often enough for cake and coffee?" Doris challenged the mist. "I committed some sin by doing that? You ate like a horse, Sam Balon." in often enough for cake and coffee?" Doris challenged the mist. "I committed some sin by doing that? You ate like a horse, Sam Balon."

"Doris!" Miles was appalled. "You hush up that kind of talk. Don't you know who you're talking to?"

"I'm talking to Sam Balon the same way I always talked to Sam Balon. And I'll speak the same way when we get to ... wherever it is we're going."

"I never heard of such disrespect for the ... excuse me, Sam ... dead," Miles said. "Sam-why? Why did they pull back?"

"Because Satan knows he is beaten here."

"But people are still being raped and tortured and tormented and dying," Wade said.

"That is true."

"Why?"

"I do not question the will of G.o.d."

"Will we get a chance to ask Him?" Wade persisted.

The hollow voice that was Balon chuckled, then projected: "I think you're in for a surprise, Wade."

"What do you mean, preacher?"

"You'll see."

"Janey?" Anita asked.

"She is well."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. She has an ordeal ahead of her. A terrible one. But she will endure."

"You can't know that for certain, Sam," Doris said.

"I know."

Then the voice faded and the house was still.

Sam's head hurt, throbbing with pain. The side of his head was sticky. He put his fingertips to his head and gingerly touched the aching. His fingers came away sticky. He touched his head again, exploring the wetness, finding a small cut just above his ear.

Groaning, he attempted to sit up in the darkness. He made it on the second attempt, rested for a moment, then got slowly to his feet, swaying in the darkness of the ... he looked around him ... of the what? Where was he?

As his eyes began to penetrate some of the gloom ground him, he could tell he was in a large room. A damp bas.e.m.e.nt, he concluded. He stood very still, attempting to get his bearings. He was confused: Roma had a.s.sured them no physical action would be taken until Thursday night.

"And of course you believed her." The mysterious voice ripped into his aching head. "Words from the Devil's wh.o.r.e? How typically mortal."

Sam's temper flared. "Sermons I don't need. If you knew she wasn't to be trusted, why didn't you tell me?"

"You are your father's son."

"I'm getting a little tired of hearing that, too, Mr. whoever-you-are."

The powerful, awesome voice chuckled, and Sam could hear the rumblings of nearby thunder.

"Nydia!" He remembered her screaming. "Where is she?"

"Never take anything for granted," the voice said.

"What!"

"Do not trust them further. For as it is written: he knoweth that he hath but a short time."

"All I asked was a reasonably simple question. Why are you giving me such a bad time with all these riddles?"

"Oh, but I don't speak in riddles. It is only that you interpret my words as puzzles. But bear this in mind: remember your father's words at the airport."

Sam's sigh was more exasperation than frustration or anger. "What words?" he asked wearily. "More riddles?"

" 'I cannot guarantee she will not be hurt. If anything, it was blessed by the Dark One.' Now go to her."

A wind blew cold through the darkness; a door banged open, dim light beyond it.

"Through that door, huh?"

"You have reservations?"

"Yeah. How do I know you're one of the good guys and not Old Scratch pulling my leg?"

And again the powerful voice chuckled. Once more, thunder rumbled overhead. "You are learning, young warrior."

Sam felt the mysterious force move away. He was alone.

He looked toward the dim light of the open door. "Oh, what the h.e.l.l ... heck. No! I meant h.e.l.l!" He walked out of the dampness into the cold of the Canadian night. And it struck him: night! How long was I out? Hours, at least. That had to have come from more than a knock on my head.

"Witchery." That almost overpowering voice cut into his head.

"Thanks." Sam's reply was dry. He spoke as he walked around the huge mansion, searching for a door. "Tell me: Are you here to help me, or just to bug me?"

"Bug?"

"Annoy; hara.s.s; needle."