Jack and Bagabond had stopped at a Terrific Pizza for takeout drinks. Both of them were parched. "Your syrup's low," said Jack to the counterman. He grimaced at the taste of his drink.

"Tough t.i.tty," said the counterman. "You don't like it, try the immigrant soda jerk down the block."

"Let's go," said Bagabond, mentally urging six hundred rats from the alley in back to slip into the back of the Terrific Pizza and check out the dough and cheese storage.

Out on the sidewalk, Jack said, "Oh my G.o.d!"

"What's wrong?"

"Come on." Jack led her toward the snake dancers. The line had started to break up. Apparently misshapen dancers, some of whom wore even more grotesque costumes, straggled toward them.

Jack confronted one of the dancers. The man was tall and dark, skin virtually blue-black in the mercury-vapor glare and the flickering fire-scatter. He wore a parody of tribal gear, beads and feathers in profusion. His skin was covered with a sheen of sweat. The droplets running down his face, however, were beads of blood from slashes run-nelled into his cheeks. The slashes were cut in regular chevrons, slanting down along the planes of his cheekbones. His eyes were infinitely deep caverns ringed by white makeup.

He wore a red Bozo the Clown nose.

"Dieu!" Jack said. "Jean-Jacques? Is it you?"

The dancer stopped and stared at Jack. Bagabond came up to them and watched.

"You recognized me," said Jean-Jacques sadly. "I am sorry, my friend. Now that I am not human, I thought no one would know who I am."

"I recognize you." Jack reached out tentatively, checked the motion. "Your face-what have you done?"

"Do I not look more like a joker?"

"You're not a joker," said Jack. "You are my friend. You are ill, but you are my friend."

"I am a joker," said Jean-Jacques firmly. "I have a sentence of death laid across me."

Jack stared at him mutely.

The black man looked back at him, then brushed the tips of his fingers across Jack's face. The motion was fleeting and tender. Others of the dance line had gathered around them. Jack saw they were all normals dressed in outlandish garb, some bright and desperately garish, others muted and more subtly grotesque.

"Good-bye, friend Jack. I shall miss you." Jean-Jacques turned away and started to chant the letters, "H, T, L, V!" The others took it up: "H, T, L, V!" roared along the street.

"HTLV?" Bagabond said to Jack as the pair stood there while Jean-Jacques and the other dancers whirled frenetically away.

"The AIDS virus," said Jack flatly.

"Oh." Bagabond looked at him strangely. "Jean-Jacques-that's his name?"

Jack nodded.

"You and he? . . ."

"Friends," said Jack. "Very good friends."

"More than just friends?" than just friends?"

He nodded.

"We need to talk," said Bagabond. "We'll talk when this is over."

"I'm sorry," said Jack, starting to turn away.

"For what?" She took his arm again. "Come on. I mean it. We'll talk." She reached up and touched him as Jean-Jacques had. His face was rough with stubble. "Come on," she said again. "We've still got to find Cordelia."

Their eyes met. Each thought, things things are are going going to to be be different different now now. But neither knew just how.

The shower was hot, but that was the way Spector liked it. The water spattered off him and ran down his thin body. He opened his mouth and let it fill up, then swished the water around and spat it out. His foot still hurt, but he was used to pain. At least it was clean now.

He turned off the shower and walked across the cold tile floor to the locker area, still favoring his foot. He whistled the beginning of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," then stopped. The sound echoed off the walls. The locker room was less impressive than he'd expected. Plain showers and lockers; wooden benches to sit on. Not that different from high school.

He walked over to a basket filled with dirty baseball uniforms and started sorting through them, looking for something close to his size. Most of it was much too big and he hated pinstripes. Better than his shot-up suit, though. If anybody asked, he could just say he was in costume. He managed to find a uniform that didn't fit him like a tent and got dressed.

He wandered into the equipment room, past the caged-off s.p.a.ce that held bats and gloves and beat-up practice b.a.l.l.s, into the trainer's area. He picked an elastic bandage off the floor. Spector took a breath, then started wrapping his broken half-foot. He had to stop twice, it hurt so much, but after a few minutes he had it fairly well covered. He put his foot down and shifted a little weight onto it. A sharp pain ran up his leg, but he could stand that. He walked back toward the dressing area, trying to limp as little as possible.

Spector dug out a pair of tennis shoes and shoved a sock in the end of the one, then painfully slipped his mangled half-foot in. He tied the laces loosely and slipped on the other shoe.

"Outside, Demise. Right now. I'm waiting."

Spector looked up. The Astronomer's image was floating a few feet in front of him. The projection didn't have the normal knife-edge clarity Spector was used to. It was faint, colorless, and ghosted around the edges. The old f.u.c.k must be low on power.

"Where are you, uh, exactly?" Spector asked.

"In the parking lot. Look for the limo. I want you now now."

"On my way."

The Astronomer's image vanished.

Spector picked up his suit and headed for the exit. He rubbed his forehead. The old man's energy was down; if he was going to do anything now was the time. He flipped off the lights in the locker room and started whistling "The Party's Over."

CHAPTER 20.

1:00 a.m. a.m.

The limo was running low on gas and Jennifer could see that Brennan was running low on patience. An hour had pa.s.sed and they had seen no sign of anyone who might be Demise carrying the books. They had seen plenty of suspicious and strange and downright weird sights, but nothing that was of any use to them.

"We might as well forget it," Brennan said. He checked his watch. "I want to get some equipment that's at my apartment. Then we can plan our next move."

As they headed toward Jokertown the streets became even more crowded with late-night revelers.

"It'll be quicker if we abandon the limo," Brennan decided. "Besides, it's just too conspicuous. We'll have Egrets all over us in a minute if we try to take it through Jokertown."

They pulled over and Jennifer reached for the keys to turn off the engine, but stopped with her hand resting on the keys, listening to the radio.

"What's wrong?" Brennan asked.

"Shhhh."

". . . beat the Stars 42 today at Ebbets Field, Seaver winning his fourteenth. But the events of the game took a back seat to the bizarre story that nearly the entire Dodger team had seen a ghost in the locker room before the game. According to the normally stolid, one might even say unimaginative, Thurman Munson, the ghost wished them good luck before vanishing through the clubhouse wall. Descriptions of this specter state it was a female in her twenties, tall, with long blond hair, and very good looking. It-or she-wore a black string bikini. Well, if you're going to be haunted-"

Jennifer turned off the engine, killing the radio, and got out of the car. Brennan looked at Jennifer critically, then frowned.

"What's the matter?"

"We've really got to get you out of that bikini now. Talk about conspicuous." He looked at her closely and she would have blushed had she thought he wasn't being a.n.a.lytical. "Well, I'll get something. I wish you wouldn't lose your clothes so often. Although . . ."

He seemed to think better of finishing the sentence, and turned and walked off, shaking his head.

They'd been tailing her for several minutes, since she left Fortunato's place in a cab. Spector was sitting in the back seat with the Astronomer. The old man's eyes were closed and he was completely silent. Imp and Insulin were sitting in the middle seat. Imp had his arm around her. They were probably sleeping together. Imp had made a joke about the baseball uniform, but the Astronomer had stepped in before Spector could kill him.

The girl wasn't what he'd been expecting. She was pretty enough and carried herself well, but wasn't dressed like a high-priced wh.o.r.e. She had on faded blue jeans and a red-and-white. University of Houston sweatshirt. Her hair was short, dark blond, and tightly curled. She'd bounced down the stairs with a smile on her face when the cab showed up. Saved them the trouble of going inside. It would be simple enough to grab her wherever she got dropped off.

Spector looked at the Astronomer. The old man was breathing noisily and his hands trembled. When he opened his eyes again, Spector would try his power. There wouldn't be a better opportunity. Spector stared at the Astronomer's eyelids and waited.

The Astronomer opened his eyes. There was still power there, too much for him to challenge. Spector turned away. "I wonder where the h.e.l.l she's going?" he asked.

"The Jokertown clinic." The Astronomer laughed wheezily. "That's right, Demise. The place you were born, so to speak."

"I'm not going in there," Spector said, shaking his head.

"Yes, you are, Demise. You really have no choice." The Astronomer closed his eyes again. "No choice at all."

Spector clenched his teeth. The old b.a.s.t.a.r.d was right. "You're sure she's going to the clinic."

"That's what she told the cab driver, Demise. There will be two other women. I want them all. Imp and Insulin will go inside with you." The Astronomer paused. "Just to back you up."

They rode in silence until the cab pulled up in front of the Jokertown clinic. The limo pulled past the cab and parked in front of a fire hydrant. The girl got out of the cab.

"Go get them." The Astronomer jerked his thumb in the direction of the clinic entrance.

Spector opened the door and stepped out of the limo. He walked slowly toward the brightly lit entrance. His guts were ice. He'd spent the worst days of his life in the clinic, most of them screaming. He'd had to kill an orderly to escape, and someone might recognize him and remember. Two women were coming down the stairs to meet the girl from the cab. One had dark hair and was wearing a black sequined dress. The other, also a brunette, had on a low-cut electric-blue lame dress slit up to mid-thigh.

"What happened?" asked the girl in the sweatshirt.

"It's Croyd," said the brunette. "We think he went into a coma or something. One minute he was fine, the next he's pa.s.sed out and we can't wake him up."

"Bet you tried everything you could think of, though." The girl in the sweatshirt smiled. Spector wondered what her expression would be if she knew what was in store.

He heard car doors close behind him. Imp and Insulin were moving in. Spector couldn't make a break for it with Insulin around.

Spector heard m.u.f.fled screams from inside. Gla.s.s from the entranceway shattered outward. A security guard bounced bleeding down the steps. Spector ran forward.

"Get the f.u.c.k out of my way, jerk-offs. Get away, or I'll feed you your own a.s.sholes." The speaker was one of the biggest, ugliest jokers Spector had ever seen. The thing's face was badly bruised. He raised a club like hand, tearing the white hospital gown that only partially covered his oversized body.

The joker saw the girls and smiled. They backed away from him toward the cab which was pulling away, tires screaming.

"Come to Poppa, little p.u.s.s.ies."

Spector moved in as the joker grabbed the woman in the lame dress. She tried to knee him in the b.a.l.l.s, but couldn't hit high enough. Spector looked at the dark-haired woman and squinted. It was the same girl who'd been in the subway station with the pimp. She looked even better dressed up. Spector took a step toward her.

"Who the f.u.c.k are you?" The joker had slung the other woman over his shoulder and leapt down the stairs at him. "One of the boys of September?"

Spector saw the punch coming and ducked; the blow grazed his left cheek and spun him to the ground. He rolled out of the charging joker's path. There was no way to lock eyes while he was moving so quickly. He turned at a scream behind him. Imp was dragging the dark blonde toward the limo.

Insulin faced the giant and smiled.

The joker went to one knee. "G.o.dd.a.m.n, what the f.u.c.k are you doing to me?" He dropped the woman and slumped over. The brunette pulled herself out from under him, tearing her dress. Insulin grabbed her by the elbow and pointed her down the street.

Spector sat up, thought about running, and looked at the limo. The Astronomer was staring at him. No chance to get away. There wouldn't be, ever. He went for the dark-haired girl, putting his arm around her. She didn't look scared, but there was something in her eyes that made him feel she wasn't all there.

"Me again," Spector said. "Looks like your visit is going to be kind of short." She didn't react. "Tonight n.o.body's getting out alive." Still no reply.

He kicked the fallen joker in the face with his good foot as he walked past.

CHAPTER 21.

2:00 a.m. a.m.

She glanced back, arched until her shoulder blades etched bony wings beneath her skin, but Tachyon failed to take the hint. He was agitatedly pulling the brush through his tumbled curls and staring sightlessly into the mirror. Frowning with irritation, Roulette reached back and unzipped the white silk gown. It whispered to the floor, brushing softly at her ankles.

The brush crashed onto the antique marble-topped dressing table scattering crystal bottles. "This day! What is it about this day that it always engenders so much grief? And they celebrate." He swept out an arm toward the closed window which could not completely block the sound of continued revelry. "Would you celebrate?" His violet eyes seemed to blaze in his pale face as he swung around to face her.

"No, but mine's a bleak nature." She took several steps toward him, but stopped short of touching him. "And I don't think you fully understand why they celebrate. It's not heedlessness, it's an attempt to survive. We have very few options when life plays its little jokes on us. We can laugh, hiding the hurt. We can die. Or we can be revenged. You hear the laughter, but I hear cries of pain."

"Pain. You talk to me of pain, I who have lived with it every day for forty years. You humans are fortunate. Your present time memory is mercifully short. The tragedies you endure fade quickly. Your minds draw a veil. It's not so with us."

He lifted the picture in its silver frame, staring at the delicate face captured there. His lips hardened, deepening the lines about eyes and mouth.

She felt again that tearing as the Astronomer stripped from her those buffering veils and released her demons. They lovingly presented each moment of loss and abandonment, and each repet.i.tion was as exquisitely painful as the one before. Her hand lashed out, and swept away the picture. It landed face down on the cold marble, and the gla.s.s shattered with a sound like frozen music. Tachyon lifted the photo, and held it protectively against his chest while Roulette stared in fascination at the crystal pattern left by the broken gla.s.s.