He levelled the gun at her. She threw back her headsuddenly, her face contracting, and unloosed a sound ofwhich, had Harry not heard it from a human throat, hewould not have believed the larynx capable. It rang downthe corridor and the stairs, in search of some waitingear.

'Butterfield is here,' said Valentin flatly.

Harry nodded. In the same moment she came towardshim, her features grotesquely contorted. She was strongand quick; a blur of venom that took him off-guard.He heard Valentin tell him to kill her, before shetransformed. It took him a moment to grasp thesignificance of this, by which time she had her teethat his throat. One of her hands was a cold vice around hiswrist; he sensed strength in her sufficient to powder hisbones. His fingers were already numbed by her grip; hehad no time to do more than depress the trigger. The gunwent off. Her breath on his throat seemed to gush fromher. Then she loosed her hold on him, and staggeredback. The shot had blown open her abdomen.

He shook to see what he had done. The creature, forall its shriek, still resembled a woman he might haveloved.

'Good,' said Valentin, as the blood hit the office floorin gouts. 'Now it must show itself.'

Hearing him, she shook her head. 'This is all there isto 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?' Valentinasked.

'Of course not.'

'Why then?'

'Nowhere to go ...' she said, her voice fading by thesyllable. '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 onhim. Though her strength was going out of her with theblood, her eyes still blazed. 'You're finished, D'Amour,'she said. 'You, and the demon, and Swann. There'snobody left to help you now.'

Despite the contempt in her words he couldn't standand watch her bleed to death. Ignoring Valentin'simperative that he keep clear, he went across to her.As he stepped within range she lashed out at him withastonishing force. The blow blinded him a moment;he fell against the tall filing cabinet, which toppledsideways. He and it hit the ground together. It spilledpapers; he, curses. He was vaguely aware that the womanwas moving past him to escape, but he was too busykeeping his head from spinning to prevent her. Whenequilibrium returned she had gone, leaving her bloodyhandprints on wall and door.Chaplin, the janitor, was protective of his territory. Thebasement of the building was a private domain in whichhe sorted through office trash, and fed his belovedfurnace, and read aloud his favourite passages fromthe Good Book; all without fear of interruption. Hisbowels - which were far from healthy - allowed him littleslumber. A couple of hours a night, no more, which hesupplemented with dozing through the day. It was notso bad. He had the seclusion of the basement to retireto whenever life upstairs became too demanding; andthe forced heat would sometimes bring strange wakingdreams.

Was this such a dream; this insipid fellow in his finesuit? If not, how had he gained access to the basement,when the door was locked and bolted? He asked noquestions of the intruder. Something about the waythe man stared at him baffled his tongue. 'Chaplin,' thefellow said, his thin lips barely moving, 'I'd like you toopen the furnace.'

In other circumstances he might well have picked uphis shovel and clouted the stranger across the head. Thefurnace was his baby. He knew, as no-one else knew,its quirks and occasional petulance; he loved, as no-oneelse loved, the roar it gave when it was content; he didnot take kindly to the proprietorial tone the man used.But he'd lost the will to resist. He picked up a rag andopened the peeling door, offering its hot heart to thisman as Lot had offered his daughters to the stranger inSodom.

Butterfield smiled at the smell of heat from thefurnace. From three floors above he heard the womancrying out for help; and then, a few moments later,a shot. She had failed. He had thought she would.But her life was forfeit anyway. There was no loss insending her into the breach, in the slim chance thatshe might have coaxed the body from its keepers.It would have saved the inconvenience of a full-scaleattack, but no matter. To have Swann's soul was worthany effort. He had defiled the good name of the Princeof Lies. For that he would suffer as no other miscreantmagician ever had. Beside Swann's punishment, Faust'swould be an inconvenience, and Napoleon's a pleasure-cruise.

As the echoes of the shot died above, he took theblack lacquer box from his jacket pocket. The janitor'seyes were turned heavenward. He too had heard theshot.

'It was nothing,' Butterfield told him. 'Stoke the fire.'

Chaplin obeyed. The heat in the cramped basementrapidly grew. The janitor began to sweat; his visitor didnot. He stood mere feet from the open furnace door andgazed into the brightness with impassive features. Atlast, he seemed satisfied.

'Enough,' he said, and opened the lacquer box.Chaplin thought he glimpsed movement in the box, asthough it were full to the lid with maggots, but beforehe had a chance to look more closely both the box andcontents were pitched into the flames.

'Close the door,' Butterfield said. Chaplin obeyed.'You may watch over them awhile, if it pleases you.They need the heat. It makes them mighty.'

He left the janitor to keep his vigil beside the furnace,and went back up to the hallway. He had left thestreet door open, and a pusher had come in out ofthe cold to do business with a client. They barteredin the shadows, until the pusher caught sight of thelawyer.

'Don't mind me,' Butterfield said, and started up thestairs. He found the widow Swann on the first landing.She was not quite dead, but he quickly finished the jobD'Amour had started.

'We're in trouble,' said Valentin. 'I hear noises downstairs. Is there any other way out of here?'

Harry sat on the floor, leaning against the toppledcabinet, and tried not to think of Dorothea's face as thebullet found her, or of the creature he was now reducedto needing.

'There's a fire escape,' he said, 'it runs down to theback of the building.'

'Show me,' said Valentin, attempting to haul him tohis feet.

'Keep your hands off me!'

Valentin withdrew, bruised by the rebuffal. 'I'msorry,' he said. 'Maybe I shouldn't hope for youracceptance. But I do.'

Harry said nothing, just got to his feet amongst thelitter of reports and photographs. He'd had a dirty life:spying on adulteries for vengeful spouses; dredginggutters for lost children; keeping company with scumbecause it rose to the top, and the rest just drowned.Could Valentin's soul be much grimier?

'The fire escape's down the hall,' he said.

'We can still get Swann out,' Valentin said. 'Still givehim a decent cremation -' The demon's obsession withhis master's dignity was chastening, in its way. 'But youhave to help me, Harry.'

Til help you,' he said, avoiding sight of the creature.'Just don't expect love and affection.'

If it were possible to hear a smile, that's what heheard.

They want this over and done with before dawn,' thedemon said.

'It can't be far from that now.'

'An hour, maybe,' Valentin replied. 'But it's enough.

Either way, it's enough.'

The sound of the furnace soothed Chaplin; its rumblesand rattlings were as familiar as the complaint of hisown intestines. But there was another sound growingbehind the door, the like of which he'd never heard