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"You!" It was Bill. He was staring at Rasalom who had stepped back and appeared to be surveying the scene with amusement.

Jack stepped forward and faced Rasalom, a shotgun of some sort cradled in his arms. Ba stood by the door, similarly armed, while Nick stood behind him in the hall.

"Who the hell are you?" Jack said.

"I once knew him as Rafe Losmara," Bill said. "But his real name is Rasalom."

Jack's expression was skeptical as he glanced at Bill, then back to Rasalom's slim, naked figure.

"You're kidding. This…this is the cause of everything that's going on out there?"

Rasalom bowed, unfazed by the intruders. "At your service."

Bill was staring at the handle protruding from Rasalom's abdomen.

"Is that a knife…?"

"Probably," Jack said. The sight of the knife seemed to incite him. Jack appeared ready to explode. "I think I've been through this movie before."

As Carol wondered what Jack meant, Rasalom smiled and yanked the blade free.

"Please don't be concerned, Father Bill. I'm a rapid healer."

"Yeah?" Jack said. His face was tight with rage. In a single smooth, swift motion he had his shotgun extended to arm's length, its muzzle inches from Rasalom's face. "Heal this."

The explosion was deafening. Close against her Bill cried out in shock as Carol screamed and turned away, but not before she saw Rasalom's head disintegrate behind the muzzle flash.

A moment later, Bill's hushed, awed whisper slipped past the ringing in her ears.

"Look at that!"

Carol turned and saw Rasalom's headless body lying on the floor. It seemed to be shrinking, deflating. And then she saw why. Loose soil was pouring from the stump of his neck.

"Dirt," Jack said, nudging the body with his toe. "The guy was nothing but skin filled with dirt." His eyes were more than a little wild above his fierce grin. "A real dirt bag."

Glaeken hobbled through the doorway then.

"What has happened here?"

Carol quickly ran over the events of the past twenty minutes. Glaeken nodded with slow resignation.

"Leave your skin in my closet, he told you?" Glaeken said.

Carol felt Bill tighten his grip around her shoulders.

"Why?" Bill said. "What does it mean?"

"More of his games," Glaeken said. "A diversion while he waits for the Change to be complete, one more thing to confound, confuse, sicken, and terrify. He probably meant to leave Carol's skin and his own. A grisly reminder to me that his Change is far along to completion."

Glaeken went to Rasalom's remains and lifted the skin by both feet. Jack helped. Together they shook the last of the dirt from within. It looked dry and light, almost like an oversized set of a child's footed pajamas. Glaeken rolled it up and tucked it under his arm and started for the door.

"Come upstairs. I want to get rid of this once and for all. Then we have work to do."

Rasalom's skin smoked, curled, browned, blackened, and burned in the fireplace. Carol watched as Glaeken pushed it deeper into the flames with the poker. As the ashes curled and rose up the flue, he turned and surveyed the gathering of his inner circle.

Carol surveyed it as well. The newcomers were Sylvia Nash and her son, huddled against her. Pale, distant, remote in her grief, Sylvia sat quietly in a corner of the huge sofa. Carol's heart went out to her. Alan was missing. Bill had told her what had happened last night in Monroe. She hadn't got to know that man in the wheelchair, but during their brief contact last Saturday Carol had sensed something fine and strong within him. And now, looking at Sylvia, she could sense a comparable rebellious strength within her. This woman had been battered but refused to bow. Ba stood tall behind her like some preternatural guardian.

Carol leaned against Bill; Nick sat stiff and straight but inattentive on Bill's far side.

And at the far end of the sofa sat Jack, aloof, silent, nearly as withdrawn as Nick.

"Well," Glaeken said, jamming his hands into his pockets, "our wanderers have returned. What have you brought back with you?"

Bill reached into a sack and pulled out a few odd-shaped pieces of rusted metal. He dropped them onto the marble-topped coffee table.

"This is the best I could do."

Glaeken picked up the pieces, examined them closely, then nodded.

"Amazing. These are from the blade. How—?"

"Nick helped. I'd never have found them without Nick's help. But are they…is it enough?"

"These are fine. We only need a sample of the metal." He turned to Jack. "How did you fare in Maui?"

Jack tossed a heavy, intricately carved necklace onto the table. It rolled and skidded to a stop in front of Glaeken.

"Let's hope you just need a sample of that too."

Glaeken picked it up. He didn't examine it. He seemed to know it was right merely by touching it.

"Very good. Oh, very good. Where's the other?"

"That's the problem," Jack said, keeping his eyes down. "I couldn't get it."

Carol noticed Glaeken's complexion fade two or three shades toward white. He seated himself—carefully.

"Couldn't…get it?"

Jack capsulized his travails on Maui.

"I got suckered," he said when he was done. "Kolabati seemed different. I thought she'd changed. I was wrong. Dead wrong. But that's okay, right? You've got enough here to do your thing, right? I mean, you've got the kid, pieces of the old sword, and one of the necklaces. That's enough, right?"

Glaeken sat motionless for an endless moment, then he shook his head, slowly, painfully.

"No, Jack. I wish it were, but we need the combined power within the pair of necklaces to make this work."

Jack shot to his feet and began to pace the room. Carol had learned something about him from Glaeken during the past few days, how he made his living working for people who had been let down by everyone else. She had the distinct impression that here was a man unused to failure, and that his failure here was eating him alive.

"I don't know where she is. She took off, disappeared. She could be anywhere."

"It's all right, Jack," Glaeken sad. "You did your best."

"But I didn't get it done. That's the bottom line: I didn't get it done!"

"I doubt if anyone else on earth could have returned with even one of the necklaces."

"All fine and good. But you're telling me one necklace doesn't cut it, so the whole trip was a waste of time. And Bill's trip was a waste of time. And I took Ba with me, and maybe if he'd stayed home…"

Jack didn't finish the thought. He stopped and faced the group. His eyes were tortured. It took him a moment to find his voice again.

"I blew it, didn't I? And because of that, there's no way out now, for any of us. I've let you all down. I'm sorry."

He turned and started for the door. Carol tried to think of something to say that would ease his pain, lighten his load, but before she could call out to him, she saw Sylvia reach out and grab his arm as he passed. He stopped and stared down at her. She rose wordlessly, slipped her arms around him, and hugged him.

For a moment Jack stood stiffly, looking baffled, then he lifted his arms and returned the embrace. He closed his eyes as if in pain.

Bill rose to his feet and Carol rose with him.

"It's okay, Jack," Bill said. "Really. We know you gave it your best shot. If you couldn't do it, then it couldn't be done. We trust in that. And if that's the way it is, then that's the way it is. We go on from here as best we can."

He stepped toward Jack and extended his hand.

Jack eased away from Sylvia and gripped Bill's hand, then Carol hugged him, then Glaeken offered his own hand.