back,
and dispose of the body by whatever means you can. Just don't give it to her!'
'Don't listen,' Dorothea said. 'He doesn't care about Swann the way I do.'
55Harry raised the gun. Even looking straight at death,
Valentin did not flinch.
'You've failed, Judas,' she said to Valentin. 'The magician's mine.'
'What magician?' said Harry.
'Why Swann, of course!' she replied lightly. 'How many magicians have you got up here?'
Harry dropped his bead on Valentin.
'He's an illusionist,' he said, 'you told me that at the very beginning. Never call him a magician, you said.'
'Don't be pedantic,' she replied, trying to laugh off her faux pas.
He levelled the gun at her. She threw back her head suddenly, her face contracting, and unloosed a sound of which, had Harry not heard it from a human throat, he would not have believed the larynx capable. It rang down the corridor and the stairs, in search of some waiting ear.
'Butterfield is here,' said Valentin flatly.
Harry nodded. In the same moment she came towards him, her features grotesquely contorted. She was strong and quick; a blur of venom that took him off-guard.
He heard Valentin tell him to kill her, before she transformed. It took him a moment to grasp the significance of this, by which time she had her teeth at his throat. One of her hands was a cold vice around his wrist; he sensed strength in her sufficient to powder his bones. His fingers were already numbed by her grip; he had no time to do more than depress the trigger. The gun went off. Her breath on his throat seemed to gush from her. Then she loosed her hold on him, and staggered back. The shot had blown open her abdomen.
He shook to see what he had done. The creature, for all its shriek, still resembled a woman he might have loved.
56'Good,' said Valentin, as the blood hit the office floor in gouts. 'Now it must show itself.'
Hearing him, she shook her head. 'This is all there is to show,' she said.
Harry threw the gun down. 'My God,' he said softly,
'it's her .
Dorothea grimaced. The blood continued to come.
'Some part of her,' she replied.
'Have you always been with them then?' Valentin asked.
'Of course not.'
'Why then?'
'Nowhere to go . . .' she said, her voice fading by the syllable. 'Nothing to believe in. All lies. Everything:
lies.'
'So you sided with Butterfield?'
'Better Hell,' she said, 'than a false Heaven.'
'Who taught you that?' Harry murmured.
'Who do you think?' she replied, turning her gaze on him. Though her strength was going out of her with the blood, her eyes still blazed. 'You're finished, D'Amour,'
she said. 'You, and the demon, and Swann. There's nobody left to help you now.'
Despite the contempt in her words he couldn't stand and watch her bleed to death. Ignoring Valentin's imperative that he keep clear, he went across to her.
As he stepped within range she lashed out at him with astonishing force. The blow blinded him a moment;
he fell against the tall filing cabinet, which toppled sideways. He and it hit the ground together. It spilled papers; he, curses. He was vaguely aware that the woman was moving past him to escape, but he was too busy keeping his head from spinning to prevent her. When equilibrium returned she had gone, leaving her bloody handprints on wall and door.
57 Chaplin, the janitor, was protective of his territory. The basement of the building was a private domain in which he sorted through office trash, and fed his beloved furnace, and read aloud his favourite passages from the Good Book; all without fear of interruption. His bowels - which were far from healthy - allowed him little slumber. A couple of hours a night, no more, which he supplemented with dozing through the day. It was not so bad. He had the seclusion of the basement to retire to whenever life upstairs became too demanding; and
and dispose of the body by whatever means you can. Just don't give it to her!'
'Don't listen,' Dorothea said. 'He doesn't care about Swann the way I do.'
55Harry raised the gun. Even looking straight at death,
Valentin did not flinch.
'You've failed, Judas,' she said to Valentin. 'The magician's mine.'
'What magician?' said Harry.
'Why Swann, of course!' she replied lightly. 'How many magicians have you got up here?'
Harry dropped his bead on Valentin.
'He's an illusionist,' he said, 'you told me that at the very beginning. Never call him a magician, you said.'
'Don't be pedantic,' she replied, trying to laugh off her faux pas.
He levelled the gun at her. She threw back her head suddenly, her face contracting, and unloosed a sound of which, had Harry not heard it from a human throat, he would not have believed the larynx capable. It rang down the corridor and the stairs, in search of some waiting ear.
'Butterfield is here,' said Valentin flatly.
Harry nodded. In the same moment she came towards him, her features grotesquely contorted. She was strong and quick; a blur of venom that took him off-guard.
He heard Valentin tell him to kill her, before she transformed. It took him a moment to grasp the significance of this, by which time she had her teeth at his throat. One of her hands was a cold vice around his wrist; he sensed strength in her sufficient to powder his bones. His fingers were already numbed by her grip; he had no time to do more than depress the trigger. The gun went off. Her breath on his throat seemed to gush from her. Then she loosed her hold on him, and staggered back. The shot had blown open her abdomen.
He shook to see what he had done. The creature, for all its shriek, still resembled a woman he might have loved.
56'Good,' said Valentin, as the blood hit the office floor in gouts. 'Now it must show itself.'
Hearing him, she shook her head. 'This is all there is to show,' she said.
Harry threw the gun down. 'My God,' he said softly,
'it's her .
Dorothea grimaced. The blood continued to come.
'Some part of her,' she replied.
'Have you always been with them then?' Valentin asked.
'Of course not.'
'Why then?'
'Nowhere to go . . .' she said, her voice fading by the syllable. 'Nothing to believe in. All lies. Everything:
lies.'
'So you sided with Butterfield?'
'Better Hell,' she said, 'than a false Heaven.'
'Who taught you that?' Harry murmured.
'Who do you think?' she replied, turning her gaze on him. Though her strength was going out of her with the blood, her eyes still blazed. 'You're finished, D'Amour,'
she said. 'You, and the demon, and Swann. There's nobody left to help you now.'
Despite the contempt in her words he couldn't stand and watch her bleed to death. Ignoring Valentin's imperative that he keep clear, he went across to her.
As he stepped within range she lashed out at him with astonishing force. The blow blinded him a moment;
he fell against the tall filing cabinet, which toppled sideways. He and it hit the ground together. It spilled papers; he, curses. He was vaguely aware that the woman was moving past him to escape, but he was too busy keeping his head from spinning to prevent her. When equilibrium returned she had gone, leaving her bloody handprints on wall and door.
57 Chaplin, the janitor, was protective of his territory. The basement of the building was a private domain in which he sorted through office trash, and fed his beloved furnace, and read aloud his favourite passages from the Good Book; all without fear of interruption. His bowels - which were far from healthy - allowed him little slumber. A couple of hours a night, no more, which he supplemented with dozing through the day. It was not so bad. He had the seclusion of the basement to retire to whenever life upstairs became too demanding; and
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