Rosemary smiled. "Deal."

Time seemed to flow differently within the confines of the small church. Perhaps it was the quiet darkness lit only by flickering votive candles and a few fluorescent lamps, perhaps it was the reverent silence of the parishioners praying in the pews. Whatever the cause, the peace and tranquility she'd found within the small church had gone a long way toward calming her distraught nerves. Jennifer began to take her safety for granted, and her mind wandered. She studied the bizarre symbolism in the stained glass windows above the equally strange dioramas depicting Jesus Christ joker's twelve stations of the cross, but soon wearied of their obtuse theology. Her stomach growled with discontent and she looked toward the altar, wondering what was keeping Father Squid.

The parishioners praying silently around her were all jokers, though the deformities of some were more obvious than others. There was a bearded triclops, a pretty, shapely woman with a glossy pelt covering every visible inch of exposed skin, and a sweet-faced altar boy who moved jerkily, but carefully, about the altar, rearranging things and replenishing the stock of wine and wafers.

Jennifer heard the sound of a soft footstep behind her, and whirled around, an image of Wyrm and the memory of his tongue rasping her skin leaping into her mind. She relaxed when she saw that it wasn't the reptilian joker creeping up behind her, but just a girl who was as startled by Jennifer's sudden movement as Jennifer had been by her quiet approach. "I-I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She was a tall, slender, very beautiful teenager with very black, very glossy hair, and dark brown eyes. She wore worn jeans and a faded sweatshirt with the name of the rock band Ferric Jagger imprinted upon it in washed-out letters. She wore no makeup and only a single piece of jewelry, a silver ear stud in the shape of an alligator. The gator's eyes were small green gems. Her voice was soft and melodic and had a pleasingly exotic drawl to it that Jennifer had never heard before. She was carrying an old suitcase covered in faded floral-print cloth.

"That's all right," Jennifer said, smiling reassuringly. "I' Just a little jumpy."

"I've been watching you for a while," the teenager said in her elusive accents, "and noticed that, um, maybe you could use a sweater or, um, something else, it being so chilly in here and all." She stopped, smiled shyly, and then added quickly, as if afraid she'd offended Jennifer, "Unless you want to dress, that is, have a reason for wearing that swimming suit to church."

Jennifer smiled again, touched by the girl's offer. She was obviously new in town, probably very new in town, maybe even a runaway or in some kind of trouble. Yet she was considerate enough to approach Jennifer and offer help.

"That'd be very kind," Jennifer said, "if it wouldn't put you out too much."

The girl shook her head, set her suitcase on the flagstone paving of the floor, and opened it.

"Wouldn't put me out at all," she said, rummaging through her bag. "Here, try this."

It was a large, faded sweatshirt that said TULANE in worn letters. Jennifer slipped it on and smiled at the girl gratefully. "Thanks." She hesitated a moment, then went on. "My name is Jennifer. I've got… some things… to take care of right now, but later, if you need something, a place to sleep or something-"

"I can take care of myself."

"So can I," Jennifer pointed out, hoping it was true, "but it's nice to have someone to rely on, every now and then." The girl nodded, returning Jennifer's smile, and Jennifer gave her her phone number as the young altar boy with tousled blond hair, a cherubic face, and a joker deformity hidden under his distorted cassock approached them with slow and lurching steps.

"Father Squid would like to see you," he told Jennifer. Jennifer nodded, and turned back to the girl. "What's your name?"

"Cordelia."

"Thanks for the sweatshirt, Cordelia. Be sure to give me a call. "

Cordelia nodded and Jennifer followed the boy_ into the private rooms in the back that had been set aside for the priest to prepare fbr mass and conduct church business.

He led her to a small, sparsely furnished, unpretentious little room. Father Squid was sitting in a huge old chair behind a cluttered desk. He watched Jennifer unblinkingly as she entered, as did the man who sat in the plain wooden chair in front of the priest's desk.

"I have discovered from a reliable source that this man has been searching for you for some time. You have something he wants. In return he offers you his protection." Father Squid rose ponderously to his feet. "I have it on good authority that you can trust him explicitly. I don't know his name, but his nom de guerre is Yeoman."

It was the man she had first seen in the stadium, the man who had later, perhaps inadvertently, rescued her from Wyrm. He wore the same clothes and hood. A flat rectangular case was on the floor by his feet. There was speculation in his dark eyes as he gazed steadily at Jennifer.

Father Squid watched them watch each other, then edged around his desk carefully.

"You two doubtless have much of mutual interest to discuss and there is work for me to accomplish as well, so I shall leave you." He gave Jennifer a long, kindly look."Good luck, my child. Perhaps one day you will come to visit us again."

"I shall, Father."

He nodded once at the man he called Yeoman and left the room with ponderous dignity, closing the door behind himself. Jennifer decided that if she didn't have to return the stamps to Kien that the father would find a sizable donation in his poor box. She owed him that much, even if his attempt to help her didn't fully work out.

Jennifer felt Yeoman's eyes on her and she turned and met the weight of their steady gaze.

"Kien's diary," he said. His voice was low and powerful. Jennifer sensed a quivering tenseness about him, as if he was barely holding himself in check. "Do you have it?"

So that's what the third book was. A diary. She opened her mouth, then shut it, wondering if she could afford to tell him the truth.

Yeoman's intensity frightened Jennifer a little, but the fear combined with her hunger and weariness and resentfulness at being pushed around all day made her answer back in a hard voice that surprised even her, "I know what you look like, so you might as well take off that mask. I don't like talking to people who look like they have something to hide."

The man sat back in his chair and scowled. "I'll keep it on for now"

His features, as Jennifer remembered, were sharp and harsh, with frown lines on his forehead and around his mouth, and there was a vibrating tenseness about him that his mask couldn't conceal.

"You're called Wraith?" he asked unexpectedly. Jennifer nodded. "You're a thief. A good one, from what I've heard. You broke into the apartment of a man named Kien early this morning and removed some valuable items from a wall safe."

"How do you know all that?"

"A crystal lady told me," he said, looking a little pleased by Jennifer's look of irritated incomprehension. "A lot of people are looking for you, you know. They want the things you stole."

"Well," Jennifer said noncommittally, "the stamps are very valuable."

Yeoman leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin in the palm of a large, strong-looking hand. He stared at her intently. Jennifer looked back defiantly, until he sighed and spoke again.

"You really don't know, do you?" She shook her head, trying to hide a rising excitement. Yeoman evidently knew the answers to some of her most pressing questions. "To hell with the stamps. No one gives a damn about them. Everyone's after the other book you took, Kien's personal diary. It details all the corruption and rot he's had his filthy hands in since he's come to New York."