"Tiff, d.a.m.n you!"

She entered the church and started along the central aisle. She meant to move quickly.

Her footsteps were slow.

She saw the chapels on either sides of the nave of the church, secretive dens of shadow.

There were altars in all of them and artwork hanging above the altars.

She curled her fingers about the cross that hung round her neck.

"Tiff?"

Fear was setting in. She glanced at the side chapels to make sure that the shadows weren't moving. She imagined she heard a fluttering of wings.

It was the sound of her own breath.

Get out of here, idiot!

Then she realized that the candles at the altar were set around something in a rectangular pattern. A long rectangular pattern.

A body.

For a moment she stood dead still; even her heart seemed to cease to beat.

"Tiff?"

She started walking again, forcing her footsteps along faster.

Yes, it was Tiff. She was stretched out on the altar in a long white garment, just like the innocent ingenue in a horror movie awaiting the menace of the villain.

"Tiff, d.a.m.n you, this isn't funny! Get up."

Something swept past her head.

Then, the roof above her seemed to be alive with the flutter of wings.

"Bats!" She looked up at the ceiling.

Yes, bats.

"Dive bomb me again, and I'll come back with a lighter and a can of gasoline, and let them arrest me for burning down half of Venice!" she threatened, raising a hand to the roof.

"d.a.m.n you, Tiff... !"

She neared the altar, shaking she was so scared and angry, but not about to leave without Tiffany Henley, and not without telling her just what she thought of this cruel nonsense.

"Tiff, get up!"

She swore, brushing her sleeve on a candle as she reached out to shake Tiff.

It was definitely Tiff. Dressed in white ...

Like a white shroud, winding all the way up to her neck. Any minute now, Tiff would open her eyes wide and go, "Boo!" She'd tell Jordan that she just couldn't help it, she had the money to play such an elaborate joke, and she just wanted Jordan to be able to laugh at what had happened at the contessa's palazzo.

But Tiff didn't move when Jordan shook her. Her arm was stone cold.

Jordan stared at her face. Her eyes were closed. Her color was ashen.

More than ashen. She looked as if her flesh had been bleached to white.

"Tiff... ?" She shook the woman again. Tiff wasn't just cold; she was icy. Jordan swallowed, losing her breath.

"Tiff?" she whispered again, this time her voice a plea.

But she knew the truth.

Tiff was dead.

She lifted her newfound friend by the shoulders. Then she gasped in horror, dropping the body and stepping back.

Tiff's head had remained on the altar. It had been severed from her body. Only the white shroud had hidden the decapitation.

She found her breath and let out a bloodcurdling scream. For an instant, she was transfixed in horror; a second later, the human drive for self-preservation shot into her like lightning.

She turned to flee, even starting to run for the open doorway before she saw that it was blocked.

A man stood there.

In black pants and a black leather jacket.

Head shining golden in the candlelight.

Ragnor Wulfsson.

"Oh, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" she shrieked, stopping, looking madly about for a weapon, something to throw. A dusty hymnal lay on the ground; she plucked it up, throwing it "Jordan, no!" he called to her, but she was in a frenzy, beyond listening, far beyond hearing him or comprehending.

She raced back for a candle, reaching for it with such abandon that she scattered half the candles, and disrupted the body.

She was dimly aware of the awful sound as the head hit the floor.

She threw a candle, then another.

"Jordan!" he shouted again, striding down the aisle. "Jordan, d.a.m.n you, watch out, come to me, run to me!"

But she was backing away.

She had to get around him.

"Jordan!" he shouted her name again.

And then, that was all she remembered. She felt the incredible sting of a sharp thud against the back of her head.

The shadows definitely moved.

They shot across her eyes.

They formed a solid wall of blackness.

And she careened into the dust-laden marble of the deconsecrated church.

CHAPTER 16.

"Jordan, Jordan ..."

At first, she was only dimly aware of her name being spoken. Then she felt the pounding in her head. The sound of her name penetrated through the layers of darkness and she opened her eyes.

Night.

She heard a trickle of water. She shifted her head slightly; skyrockets exploded. They cleared; she looked around and focused on the face peering down into her own.

Raphael.

"There you are. I don't own a cell phone. Stay still; I'll get help."

She stretched out a hand, grasping his arm. She was quickly gaining consciousness and memory. "No, don't leave me. Look in the church."

He stared at her, thinking that she was still under the spell of the conk on her head.

"Jordan, this was not a good place to meet. I don't know what you wanted, but-"

"The church, look in the church," she said desperately. She realized exactly where she was-just feet away from the steps to the church. She lay, half off, half on the silly little fountain. She touched her face; her cheeks were damp. Raphael must have used the water from the fountain to revive her.

He stood. "You need to go to the hospital-"

"No!" she said firmly. Was she crazy? She probably did need to go to the hospital. Her skull could be fractured, for all she knew. What had happened? She'd gotten there, gone into the church, seen the body...

And then Ragnor.

And then ...

"Wait!" she cried suddenly. She didn't know how she had gotten outside the church, but Raphael shouldn't go in. There was something very wrong inside.

"What?"

"Tiff, Tiff. . . is dead. On the altar. Someone cut her head off."

He stared at her, then turned toward the church. "No, don't go in! You could be in danger, Raphael-"

But he ignored her. He was already heading toward the church. The door still stood open.

The boot sc.r.a.per was back, next to the fountain, right where it had been. In fact, the way she lay, it might appear that she had tripped over it, fallen, and cracked her head.

Raphael was already going up the steps. She struggled to her feet, dizzy only for a moment. Her head was clearing. She tested her skull. It seemed fine. Her fingers were still upon her scalp as she hurried forward after Raphael.

He stood just within the church. He hadn't gone in far-there was so little light.

No candles burned now.

Down the stretch of the aisle, they could just make out the altar. It appeared to be empty.

Every instinct in Jordan screamed that she shouldn't enter the church again, but she couldn't believe her eyes; astonishment made her travel down the aisle quickly, determined to see the altar, and around it.

"Hey, Jordan, allora!" Raphael cried. "Stop! This building has been closed down until repairs can be made. It might be dangerous in here!"

She ignored him, proceeding to the altar.

There was no sign of Tiff. Not a speck of blood.

"She was here!" Jordan said.

"Who?" Raphael demanded.

"Tiff! I'm telling you, she was here, and her head had been cut off."

Raphael walked down the aisle. He pulled out his keys, flashing the mini-light attached to them around the area.

"Jordan," he said very softly. "There is nothing here."

"There was!" she insisted.

"Jordan, Anna Maria was right. I should not have put things into your head-"

"Dammit!" Jordan raged. "I'm telling you, I came here, and I saw her body on the altar. I thought Tiff was playing a joke on me-she had left me a message to meet her here. And there she was, on the altar. So I walked up to it, yelling at her, telling her to quit fooling around. Then I-I touched her, I tried to shake her by the shoulders. Her body came up; her head-her head stayed down. It wasn't attached. Then I saw Ragnor at the door, and then ...

someone hit me!"

Raphael was looking at her, trying not to appear skeptical.

"Do you think that you were so afraid for Tiff that you rushed here, tripped, hit your head ... and imagined the rest?"