The old man sighed as if he were in great emotional pain. "He was in the country for six months. When you're in a foreign country that long, you develop a lot of the local customs and way of living."

"What are you saying?" Mrs. Budd asked.

He frowned. "I think you know, madam."

"No," Mr. Budd said.

"Yes," the old man replied.

"He ate the meat?" Mr. Budd asked just so there was no misunderstanding.

"Worse than that. He developed a taste for it. I got a horrible letter from him describing how wonderfully sweet the meat is. I shredded the letter to pieces it so incensed me. I tell you, if I ever lay eyes on him... Children are precious, Mrs. Budd. I treasure them. You can't blame me for what I would do to that man." Tears started to flow down his cheek.

I stood in awe of the old man's performance. He even convinced me he was disgusted by the thought of eating children, and I knew what he really was. The Budds didn't have a chance.

Mrs. Budd reached across the table and patted his hand. "Mr. Howard, don't dare tell me the man's name because I would hunt him down in a week's time and make him pay in the most painful way possible."

The old man looked at Mrs. Budd with surprise and then started with a small chuckle that turned into a hardy laugh. The Budds joined in. They were so enjoying themselves that they didn't notice when Grace and Beatrice returned with their brother Eddie and his friend Willie Korman.

The children stood at the edge of the room and watched in amazement as the adults yucked it up. Mrs. Budd was the first to acknowledge them.

"You're late," she said to Eddie.

"We got a game of stickball going. Went long."

"Mr. Howard's a busy man, boys," Mr. Budd said. "Can't make him wait like that."

"Sorry, Mr. Howard," the boys said in unison.

He waved them off. "Nonsense. Who's your friend, Eddie?"

"This is Willie Korman, sir. He's strong. Seen him lift fifty pounds over his head."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir," Willie said.

"We was wondering if you could use him on the farm, too, Mr. Howard."

"You were, were you?" The old man examined the boy. "I'll have to have a talk with his parents."

"They don't mind," Willie said.

"I'm sure they don't, but I can't have them reporting me for kidnapping," the old man laughed. He pulled out his pocket watch. "I've got time to visit your house before I go back to the country. In fact, I just found out yesterday my sister is having a birthday party for my niece this afternoon, and I won't be heading back until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Eddie said sounding disappointed.

The old man laughed. "The boy is certainly anxious to start earning money."

"He looks at it as an adventure," Mrs. Budd said.

"Indeed." The old man pulled the money out of his pocket again and handed two dollars to Eddie. "Round up all your friends and see a picture show on me. You and I will head over to Willie's house in the morning and then we'll start your adventure."

Eddie stared at the money as if it were a pot of gold. "Whoa." He unintentionally yanked the money out of the old man's gnarled hands. The two boys exited the house giggling the whole way.

The old man stood. "I should be going. My sister is expecting me." He took one last sip of his coffee, smiled and then did a half turn toward the door to the hallway before he stopped. "Say, I just had a thought." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "My niece is Grace's age. This party is going to be full of little girls just like her. I would be the hit of the party if I brought more than my brittle old bones."

The Budds were thrown by the request. They looked at each other for guidance. Each one wanting to defer to the other.

Mrs. Budd said, "I don't know. Grace doesn't usually like to take trips."

"I'll be her escort," the old man said. "No need to worry. She'll have the time of her life. There will be cake and ice cream, and a pony..."

"A pony?" Grace said excitedly.

"That's too much trouble for you, Mr. Howard," Mr. Budd argued.

"I'd enjoy the company on the train." He looked at the paper. "My sister lives in a nice building on Columbus Avenue, 137th street."

There was a moment of silence while the Budds considered it.

I darted from Mrs. Budd to Mr. Budd screaming at the top my lungs. "Don't let her go! Don't do it! Please, don't let her go!" Of course, they couldn't hear me, but I thought if I could just shout loud enough, some part of the message would break through.

Mrs. Budd smiled. "C'mon, Grace. Let's get you in your party dress."

I rushed to the dead boy and yanked him up by his collar. "Why am I here? Let me help her!"

He did what he did best, gave me a cold, pointless stare.

"I don't understand what I am supposed to do." I released him and was only mildly surprised to find that my location had changed. I was no longer in the Budds' home. I was standing next to the newsstand. The operator was holding the old man's package. He wanted to open it. I could see it in his eyes. I wanted him to open it.

A girl giggled and startled the newsstand operator. He quickly put the package back from where he had retrieved it. The giggle belonged to Grace. The old gray man was guiding her down the street. He had not seen the operator examining his package. He was too enthralled by the little girl.

"Enjoy your lunch, sir?"

"Indeed I did."

"I see you picked up a pretty young friend."

"The prettiest. We're on our way to a party."

"My, doesn't that sound grand. A fine day for it."

"Yes," the old gray man said. He was growing impatient. He wanted to be on his way. He wanted to get to... it. "You still have my package, I trust."

"I do." The newsstand operator bent down and picked up the package. "Is this for the party?"

"No," the old man said.

"The girl, then?"

The old man shook his head.

"It's a secret, is it?"

The old gray man stiffened. He scowled and shot darts with his eyes at the newsstand worker. "These are my tools of the trade. I'd be lost without them." He shoved the package under his arm and took Grace's hand.

The newsstand operator felt the same fear I'd felt in the basement of the Biltmore. I could see it in his face. He knew just as I did that Grace was being led to her death, and he knew that death would be more horrific than anyone could ever imagine. He felt it in his bones.

I stood inches from the newsstand operator's face and shouted, "Stop them!" If I could just shout loud enough, he could hear me. I knew it. "You know what's going to happen to her! Stop them! Please!"

He followed the old gray man and Grace in a desperate stare until they disappeared around the corner. He sighed, pulled his stool closer, and sat down. He ran a shaky hand through his sweat-drenched hair and then examined both hands. In a low whisper he said, "The devil's tools."

DAY 2.

TWELVE.

I woke up to a voice whispering "devil's tools" in my ear. I lay at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the fourth floor. I didn't remember descending them. I slowly became aware of a series of dull pains shooting through my back to my knees and then to my head. I was hurting and if I had to guess why, I'd say I fell down the stairs.

I sat up gingerly. I tested the areas that hurt the most for broken bones. As far as I could tell, everything was intact. Rubbing the back of my head, I found a good sized lump that was tender to the touch, but it was nothing I couldn't deal with on my own.

What had happened to me? I had been at the top of the stairs... the girl in black grabbed my hand... the ground fell away. Had I just fallen down the stairs? Knocked myself out and had some weird hallucination while I was unconscious? Is that all it was?

No, I was there. I had gone to the Land of the Dead. I was sure of it. I had seen the Flish, the Budds... Grace. I don't know what I was supposed to do with the information, but I had no doubt that I was actually there.

I heard a crackle, pop, and then a hiss. I recognized it immediately. Someone was calling me on my two-way. The problem was .. where was my two-way? I scanned my surroundings and had difficulty focusing in the dark. I crawled around the immediate area on my hands and knees and listened carefully. "Oz?" a voice said through a wave of static. I placed my hand in front of me and felt the nylon fabric of the backpack. Frantically and clumsily, I opened the pack and pulled out the two-way.

"Go for Oz," I sighed.

"I think... Ty... April." I didn't recognize the voice. The static was heavy. I couldn't make out every word.

"Say again."

"Tyrone... insane... April... eat her." I heard a scream through the crackling.

"Who is this? Where are you?"

The voice came again. It was Lou. She talked slowly and deliberately this time. "I heard... Tyrone... on the radio. It sounds like... he has April. He's going to... eat her... winter garden."

"Winter garden?" I couldn't think straight. What winter garden? Then it hit me. The main floor, it was a glassed indoor garden. "I'll go. Just stay clear."

I heard another scream through the radio followed by a roar from Ajax. "Stop..." was the last thing I heard.

I stood, shook off the stiffness from the pain, and prepared to make my way down to Lou as quickly as possible. A small figure darted out of a nearby corner and wobbled toward me. It was a boy, a small smiling boy. A large, white furry mass followed closely behind him. Tarek. That meant the boy must have been...Nate. My Storyteller. He was walking. He could barely keep his head up by himself when I'd last seen him. He had grown so much and so fast. I was elated. Not because I hadn't seen him in such a long time. I was elated because I was hungry, and this small boy would hit the spot. I took a step toward him and was quickly knocked on my backside by Tarek, the Keeper who had helped me defeat the Takers.

"Back, boy," he groaned. His voice rumbled like a high powered race car. "You stink of the Flish."

My gut twisted and I doubled over from a jolt of hunger pains. "Why are you here? Why did you bring him here?"

"He goes where I go," Tarek said. "I came here to tell you it's not safe for you here."

"You think?" I said sarcastically. "Thanks for the tip."

He ignored my tone. "You think this is something you can beat. You can't. The Flish isn't like the other Destroyers."

I tried to inch my way toward Nate without Tarek noticing. I thought if I moved ever so slightly every few seconds the big beast wouldn't see until I was close enough to pounce and get one small bite of the sweet, sweet Storyteller meat. "What makes him different?"

"The other Destroyers, they are impossible yet they exist. They shouldn't be, but they are. That is their weakness. They are cruel because they were imagined that way. That is their limitation. The Flish is cruel because he was born that way. He was meant to be. He once served a purpose, a horrific and terrifying purpose, but a purpose nonetheless. He has no limitations." Tarek scooped the youngster up in his enormous hands and shielded him from me. "You have to leave, Oz Griffin."

"I can't," I said feeling greatly disappointed that Nate was impossible to get to.

"Why?"

I thought about the question. The truth was, I wasn't sure why I couldn't leave. I had thought it was because I had to find the Land of the Dead, but I was pretty sure I had just been there. The smart thing to do would be to call the others on the two-way and leave... I looked at the radio. "Lou. She's in trouble."

Tarek grumbled. "Why was I stuck with such a stubborn and stupid warrior? She will be in greater trouble if you get close enough to smell her. You're infected by the Flish."

"I won't hurt her. I can't hurt her. She's my..." I didn't know how to finish that sentence so I left it undone.

"She's nothing but a meal to you now."

"Shut up!" I barked. "Don't say that!"

"The Flish gets in. That's what he does."

I bent over, placed my hands on my knees, and breathed deeply. It was getting harder and harder to hold back from making an attempt to get at Nate. I could hear him giggling. It was driving me mad. "Help me beat him."

"I cannot."

"Don't give me that *this is not my fight' crap..."

"That's not it," he interrupted. "I don't know how to beat him. He is the end, Oz Griffin."

"What about the warrior... Creyshaw for this story?"

"Dead. Consumed by the Flish..."