All three had worn dark boots, pants, jackets and balaclavas. They'd ranged in height from about five foot six to six feet. Their clothing had been too bulky to determine weight. They spoke in whispers, and little of that, communicating only brusque commands, never using names. From the timbre of the voices, he guessed all had been men.

One of the three had brought a leather mask and the helmet from the storeroom. They'd wordlessly decided on the helmet. Botnick regained consciousness as they were putting the helmet on him, but the biggest of the three had restrained him. One of the others had done some "magical mumbo jumbo" as Stan put it, and Botnick's struggles had turned to twitches, his stifled cries to whimpers.

I questioned Stan further on the "magical mumbo jumbo." Being a nonsupernatural, the finer points of spellcasting eluded him. According to him, the person had "said foreign stuff and blown something on Eric."

Eve recited a few lines in the most common spellcasting languages-Latin, Greek and Hebrew. He thought Greek sounded right… but Latin was close too. Jeremy tried French and Spanish, but I doubted Stan would recognize the language even if the exact lines were repeated. He was more a "foreign stuff" kind of guy. Likewise for the "blown stuff." It had been powder, maybe gray, maybe white. In other words, anything from ash to cocaine to dust. Eve knew of no spells requiring such a thing.

Nor had she heard of anything like the "weakening" spell. As she said, there was no point using something like that if you had a binding spell. Meaning whoever used it didn't have a binding spell.

Once Botnick was subdued, they'd taken him downstairs. There, the tallest of the three had done all the talking. Interrogating, I should say. Not much different than what we were doing to Stan now. They'd wanted to know all about the "visit" we'd paid him.

Botnick had described us only in the broadest terms-a couple in their late thirties, dark-haired man, red-haired woman. They'd pushed for details, but, like Stan, Botnick wasn't an eagle-eyed observer. He'd gotten the best look at me, but his only description was that I was "a real looker."

Jeremy had been behind him most of the time, and he'd only gotten a glance at Jeremy's back as he'd followed me into the tunnel. Apparently not being one to check out a guy from the rear, Botnick could say only that he "wasn't a huge, brawny guy," thus supporting his belief that Jeremy's strength was preternatural.

They'd questioned him a lot on that-Jeremy's strength. Had I displayed any uncanny abilities? No. Had Jeremy displayed any others? No. What had we asked him? He told them. Where did we go? He told them.

Like Stan now, Botnick had been almost falling over himself to respond, probably thinking he was being tested and working hard to impress.

Once they'd been certain Botnick had nothingmore to tell them, they'd killed him. Then they'd staged the scene and left. Stan hadn't bothered to follow them, having no interest in secret societies that didn't involve sex.

PART IV

She glanced up at the bat. Its desiccated eyes stared back from its perch on the shelf overlooking the tiny concrete room. Beside it was a legless terrier-one of their earlier experiments, along with the other mammals and reptiles on the shelf ringing the room, dating from a time when they'd hoped animal sacrifice would be enough.

The remains now served a dual purpose. When they performed a human sacrifice, they had only to glance up to be reminded of why they'd needed to take this difficult step. The other reason was purely practical. While they'd taken every step to hide and secure this room-by both normal and magical means-if it was ever found, the animal corpses would serve as a valid explanation for its existence, making them seem guilty of nothing more heinous than animal sacrifice and dissection.

She knelt under the watchful eyes of those preserved beasts, waiting as Don explained to the group what she was about to attempt.

"This spell is far more ambitious than any we've tried before, but we've been working on it for months and finally, in this past week, we've seem a glimmer of success."

Her gaze slid around the circle, studying and evaluating each expression. Everyone was here. Under the circumstances-the promise of stronger magic-it should have been no trouble getting full attendance. But Brian had tried to duck out, claiming a pressing work deadline. And, to her surprise, Tina had also wavered, saying her in-laws were in town.

Murray 's death three weeks ago had shaken them more than she'd anticipated. She'd given them time to bounce back, and now she needed to follow the slap of his death with a reward. Reassure them that the prize was worth the price.

"We insisted you all be present today," Don continued, "in hopes that this will provide the boost we need to successfully cast this spell. All of us here, our combined life energy in this place, where the power has been harvested many times and where vestiges of that supreme power may still remain."

Don lied with the fervor of a true believer-convinced that what they were doing was right and, more than right, to his benefit. That's what set him apart from the others and what had made her choose him years ago as her confidante. Well, her confidante in most things…

Here, in this room, they'd killed six children, slitting their throats as they slept, drugged, on this floor. Here they'd watched a young man burn to death, the spell making him too weak to do more than mewl and rasp, his screams pouring from his eyes instead. Here they'd stabbed Murray in the back, watched their longtime fellow and, yes, friend, slide to the floor, his lifeblood trickling down the drain.