Cecil didn't like the man's eyes. They were cold. And catlike. But they weren't as bad as the gill slits on the sides of his neck. He used to wear a scarf, and Rhodes wished the man would tie it back on. Cecil knew what the man had done as an Explorer. Cecil had served as the O of B's prosecutor at the trial.

The phone rang.

Rhodes jumped forward, nearly knocking it off the desk.

"h.e.l.lo, sir. Yes, sir. It's done. Just the boy, sir. The girl may be among the poisoned." Rhodes covered the handset and looked up at his guard. "Sterling?"

"No sign of him."

Cecil lifted the phone back up. It was slippery with sweat. "No, sir. We don't know where he has gone. Would you like us to begin moving the bodies? No? I understand, sir. We will leave them for you to view. Wonderful. Yes, sir."

He hung up and jumped back, like he was shaking off a spider. The man with the gills laughed.

Edwin Ashes-Laughlin-Phoenix rose from his seat and limped forward into the c.o.c.kpit of his seaplane. One of the pontoons was grinding against the jetty. But he didn't care about the rocking waves or the damage to the plane. He cared about what he could see at the top of the slope, with its windows lit. He cared about a small piece of sharp tooth, and hidden sleepers in their Burials. They were now his.

The men and women of Brendan were dead. The time had come for a Phoenix to rise up out of Ashtown.

Behind him, two unconscious shapes lay motionless on narrow cots, and a red-winged blackbird fluttered and screeched angrily in a cage hanging from the ceiling.

"Shall we bring them?" One of the green twins pulled off his headset.

"No," said Dr. Phoenix. "First, the triumphal entry."

twenty-one.

THE SLEEPING MOB.

DR. PHOENIX WAS not going to enter Ashtown through a kitchen door. Nor would he make one of his offspring carry an umbrella for him. He had walked, flanked by his two lean sons, all the way up and around to the main lawn. Now, with rain streaming off his long trench coat and his straw hat, he stood at the base of the great stairs, near the wet body of a porter.

He could hear the beating wings of a platoon of giant dragonflies in the darkness behind him. They had grown in number, but there were no guards to see what they saw, and no one to command them to attack.

Climbing the stairs, he approached the huge wooden door, but it whined open before he reached it.

Inside, the glistening mapped floors and the vaulted frescoed ceilings stretched away toward the leather boat on its pedestal. Phoenix inhaled slowly and then sighed. It had been too long.

Cecil Rhodes and twelve others stood in a line with their backs against the wall.

Dr. Phoenix savored the sight. And then, laughing, pulling off his gloves, and shedding his hat and trench, he crossed the threshold into Ashtown. Farther down the hallway, he could see bodies, all facedown, limbs splaying awkwardly, foam dribbling from their mouths-the casualties of his triumph.

"Where is the boy?" he asked Rhodes.

Rhodes cleared his throat and picked at his mustache. "Not exactly sure, sir. Sterling had him. But, as you know, we seem to have lost Sterling."

A gilled man laughed. "Crack team."

Phoenix turned slowly, and then moved down the line until he stood in front of the man. He was much taller than the man was, though far thinner.

"My friend, who gave you those eyes?" he asked, smiling. "Those lovely shark gills?"

The man said nothing. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Did you ask to be born, sir? Did you ask for sight, for smell, for ten fingers? No. And yet you were given them. And I have given you more."

The man looked into Phoenix's eyes and flinched, trying to look away but unable to. Panic raced across his face. Phoenix raised his right hand, a long forefinger pressing against his thumb. He snapped, and the man's eyes rolled back in his head. His legs wobbled, and he staggered forward, gasping.

"Your body no longer wants its lungs," Phoenix said. "And gills do need water." The man fell to the floor. "Be comforted," Phoenix continued, smiling. "You are unique. Not many men can drown in air."

While the man kicked, Dr. Phoenix turned back to Cecil. "You are missing nine of the men named to me. Where are they?"

Rhodes licked his lips and shook his head. "I don't know, sir."

Phoenix nodded, filled his lungs, pushed back his black hair with the heels of his hands, and flattened the lapels on his soiled lab coat. "Do please take me to the bodies, to the harvest, to the sweet sunset of the Order's chattel."

"Right," said Rhodes. "Follow me, then."

While they moved down the hall, Rhodes cleared his throat. "About what we discussed, sir," he whispered. "The Brendanship ... the coup is complete. It might be appropriate for you to tell the others. I will, of course, reiterate my loyalty to you."

Dr. Phoenix stopped and let his head hang. His long arms dangled limp by his sides. His shoulders bobbed with laughter, but when he looked up, his face was a sharp tombstone.

"Mr. Rhodes," he drawled loudly. "You are a traitor to your people, your Order, and your friends. I would not entrust you with my laundry." He moved on. "When I have need of more betrayals, then I shall have more need of you. Come. I have asked to see the dead, the many you have stung for me."

"I didn't-" Cecil stopped himself. The green twins parted around him, neck gills fluttering, heeling to their master. "But you said ..."

"There will be no Brendan!" Dr. Phoenix yelled. "No Order, no ranks, no charade of self-importance! Only master and mastered, Mr. Rhodes. I will build a new race, a species apart and above the filth of humanity. Ashtown will be a womb, and you shall be a nursery maid."

The twins followed Dr. Phoenix down the hall and past the boat. The other men trailed behind, some glancing at Cecil, some smiling, some smirking, some hanging their heads.

A minute later, Cecil Rhodes stood alone. He looked back down the hall at the large door still open onto the courtyard, the door leading away from Ashtown, away from what he'd done. Rain spattered on the stone steps, and he could see a porter's feet. Dragonflies darted past the entrance.

Turning away, he ran after Phoenix, rushing past hundreds of d.a.m.ning eyes staring out of photos, past sprawling bodies bearing witness to his crime.

One of the bodies jumped to her feet and kicked him in the stomach.

Breathless, he crumpled to the floor and slid into the wall. His eyes filled with tears, and as he blinked them away, he found himself looking up the barrel of a revolver and into the face of Diana Boone.

The hammer clicked back.

Over her shoulder, the Smith boy appeared. He was holding a small African club.

"G.o.d knows I should," Diana said. Her voice was low. A growl. "But I can't waste the bullet."

The boy stepped forward and raised his club. The blow fell.

Cyrus looked down at the limp, unconscious lawyer. Diana was already scanning the hallway.

"That's one," she whispered. "Your sister? Jax? Dennis?"

Cyrus shouldered his club and looked into the Quick Water. His heart was racing. "All down," he said softly. "They saw them coming."

"Good. Watch our backs."

Diana jogged down the hallway toward the big, open front door and a porter's feet, pulling out the small corked bottle Jax had given her as she did.

Looking over his shoulder, Cyrus ran behind, keys jingling against his chest.

The two of them stepped out into the wet wind and flipped the small porter onto his back. Cyrus opened the boy's mouth and lifted his tongue. Diana squeezed two drips off her dropper, and they rolled the boy back onto his face.

Straightening, Diana squinted out into the dark courtyard. "See anyone?"

"Over there," Cyrus said, pointing. "On the path. Two people."

Side by side, they stutter-stepped down the slick stairs, reached the gravel path, and jogged through the stinging rain.

"It's Rupe!" Diana yelled, and she moved into a sprint.

The big man's head and shoulders were off the path, his face in the gra.s.s. He was wearing a rain cape, but the hood had fallen back. In one hand, he held a short shotgun. His other fist was clenched around foil-wrapped chicken. A dragonfly screen flickered in the gra.s.s. The boy, Oliver, was lying facedown in the gravel.

Antigone's cheek was pressed into the red carpet. She'd put a large man's foot on her head to disguise herself, but there hadn't been much need. The place was strewn with bodies. Young, old, men, women, children, monks. Under tables, on tables, tangled up in tablecloths, buried beneath food, shattered china, and the limbs of dining partners.

So many people and so much silence. Each breath felt like a sneeze in church. The Quick Water had worked. She'd seen the horrible man coming with his people, and she'd shoved Dennis down and whispered at Jax. He hadn't stopped. Not at first. Not until the doors had moved and the two green men had stepped aside for the monster in the bright white suit beneath the soiled lab coat. She stopped her breath and felt her heart quicken.

The cloak. She hoped Nolan was right.

A small crowd had entered behind Phoenix. Don't look closely, she thought. Don't, don't, don't.

The bodies closest to the kitchen were all facedown. The bodies closest to the kitchen were all foaming at the mouth.

The monster in the white coat moved farther into the room, prodding the unconscious dying, grinning from ear to ear.

Suddenly, he stopped and closed his eyes, lifting his face and raising his arms.

"Children of Brendan," he said, falsely somber, "I pardon thee whatever sins thou hast committed-"

He stopped, interrupted by a cough. Lowering his long arms, he squinted around the room. Nolan's voice descended from the ceiling.

" 'My name is Edwin Harry Laughlin.' " Lilting, mocking. " 'I am sixteen years old and a recent Acolyte in the Order of Brendan, Ashtown. My father's name is Harry Hamilton Laughlin. My mother's name was Pansy. She died two years ago, after one of my father's experiments.' "

Phoenix's face purpled, and then paled quickly as he collected himself. "It seems we have a wit in the room," he drawled. "Do show yourself now. Or how can I know in which direction to applaud?"

Antigone bit her lip, watching Phoenix's men swivel and search. And then the two identical green men slid forward, creeping smoothly across the bodies like stalking wolves. Their nostrils were flared, and their eyes were on one of the heat vents just beneath the beamed ceiling.

"Shoot him," Phoenix said.

The men drew guns, and a pair of fireb.a.l.l.s corkscrewed toward the vent, exploding in the grate.

"Idiots!" Phoenix groaned. "I would prefer if you didn't burn the place. Bullets! Use bullets. And your heads."

The men tucked away their weapons and drew new ones-long-barreled revolvers. The beveled grate bent and puckered as they fired, and the smell of sulfur and gunpowder drifted through the room.

Antigone jerked at each report, but no one was watching. She could see Dennis breathing hard. Jax was inching forward, his jar tucked beneath his arm, dropper in hand. Antigone wanted to yell at him to stop moving. The men were right there. If any of them so much as glanced down, he'd be killed.

The firing stopped. All eyes were on the ruined grate. The silence was brief.

" 'My mother,' " Nolan said, " 'was the sort of sweet, empty-headed thing great men like my father can find themselves burdened with. There were even moments when I loved her. But I hate her Gypsy blood. I hate that it is in me. I want it out. I will get it out. My father tried, and he came close. I will succeed. At least, there are times when I think I will. I dream that I will. But my waking hours are spent in pain. My legs. My mind. Too many blood purifications. Too much electricity. I cannot sleep without nightmares, and when I wake, my bed is swamped with sweat.' "

Dr. Phoenix was a statue, his face bloodless. His eyes unfocused. "You, sir ...," he began, but his voice trailed away. His jaw clenched, pulsing. His chest heaved. He was panting now, rolling his head, clenching his fists. Antigone tensed and slid a little farther away. Nolan had wanted Phoenix angry, but why that would make him take off his coat, she didn't understand.

And then, suddenly, the thin man with the black hair raised quivering hands to his shoulders. He tore off the stained white coat and threw it on the ground. His suit coat followed. Antigone blinked. The man's hair was whitening. His nostrils flared, and his shoulders thickened, broadening. Huge hands balled into hairy melon fists. His legs thickened, shortening and bowing out.

Snarling, Phoenix-Mr. Ashes-leapt forward, scrambling over bodies, jerking the guns from his sons' hands.

A gun fired, but not his. Flame flashed out of the vent, and Dr. Phoenix-Mr. Ashes-dropped to his knees. One of the twins fell. The other reached the wall. The firing shifted toward the door, into the crowd.

Yelping, leaving one of their own behind on the floor, the men flooded back into the hall.

Antigone saw Jax pinch two drops into the next mouth, roll over the body quickly, and wriggle on.

Dennis raised his head nervously and then scooched himself forward.

The coat was on the ground. Antigone puffed out her cheeks. It was her turn.

Antigone tucked her little bottle into her jacket pocket. She had a gun in the other, but guns were everywhere. Sliding slowly over a drooling monk, still gripping her Quick Water, she braced herself and prepared to run.

Phoenix rose to his feet, and his back rippled beneath his shirt as he looked up at the vent. Dropping his guns, he splayed and flexed huge fingers. His voice was mola.s.ses-thick and just as slow. "I'm not that easy to kill, friend."

"You and me both," said the voice of Nolan. "But the green one there looks hurt."

Phoenix moved like a gorilla, knuckling off the ground as he rushed toward the wall beneath the vent. Behind him, one of the wounded twins struggled to his feet. The other stepped out of his way.

Phoenix leapt at the wall and two wrecking-ball fists crashed through the plaster. Leaving his arms in the holes, he pulled himself up off the floor. One fist at a time, he punched grips in the plaster as he climbed.

Antigone's eyes locked on the rumpled white coat. She should have gone already. What was she waiting for? Jax was nodding at her. Dennis, peering through bodies, widened his eyes meaningfully. She had to be fast. Faster than she had ever been in her life.

One of the bodies near the kitchen door moaned loudly, coming to. Another one rolled onto its side. A third struggled to sit up. She'd waited too long. Phoenix's men were peering back in from the hall.

"Go!" Dennis yelled. "Run!"

Antigone scrambled to her feet. Three men jumped forward through the door. Nolan's gun cracked again and they jumped back. Both twins turned.

Antigone's knees were bouncing high. Running through the bodies was like running through Cyrus's pool of tires-tripping, slipping, bouncing off backs, stepping on wrists. Her eyes searched for empty spots of floor and bounced back up to the coat. Jax was high-stepping toward the kitchen. Dennis lagged behind him.