Deidre?

At the sound of my name, I knocked my head painfully against the rim of the spare wheel. For heaven's sake, Page. I forgot you were there.

I know. His pout was evident even in the darkness. You really know how to make a boy feel appreciated, you know that?

I shut my eyes and let myself go deeper into the connection with the uniform. Making sure I could still sense my body enough to keep track of how tightly I held on to the latch, I called up the image of the page. Behind my eyes, the page looked battered. His hair was mussed, his usually pristine clothes were stained, and his collar was akimbo. The page even went so far as to bruise his cheek. I chuckled under my breath; only a bodiless AI would think of wounds as an affectation.

Page! I decided to give him what he wanted. You look terrible. Are you okay?

No thanks to you, he said, his bottom lip out, arms crossed across his chest. You take crummy care of your equipment.

I'm sorry, I said, as I adjusted my equipment pressed against my temple. My neck was twisted in an odd angle. Holding on to the thin wire, I tried to get comfortable in the cramped space of the trunk. But I'd be nicer to you if I thought you'd help me fight the LINK-Michael

Mouse's page looked taken aback. You think kindness can be bartered? You're worse than Mouse.

Stop pouting, Page. You know I'm teasing you.

Hmph. He recrossed his arms in front of his chest.

However, I said, time is running out. If Michael is going to be released at midnight Greenwich Mean Time, that's – I did some mental calculation – six o'clock in the evening here. Prime time. A coincidence?

Knowing Mouse, probably not, the page grumbled.

Outside, I could hear the siren joined by another. My stomach lurched in fear; they would be here soon. I tugged on the trunk, gripping it tighter.

I have to get a message to Michael. Can we risk going on-line for a microsecond?

Mouse's page pinched his lips together in disgust. If it were really a microsecond, I'd say yes. But you humans can never process anything that fast.

I smiled. Are you volunteering, Page?

The siren cut off. Someone outside had flipped the switch. That could only mean that the police were on the scene. I held my breath and strained to hear the sounds of approaching footsteps.

Okay, the page said. I'll do it only because I can open up a connection, send the message, and get out before you could even finish flipping the go-ahead.

I lifted the latch a hair and removed the paper Michael had given me with his address. A thin shaft of bright light sliced through the darkness. Squinting at the swirling script of Jibril's handwriting, I read off Michael's address to the page. Then, I added, If everything goes well, tell him to meet me at the impound lot.

The page nodded, and the window closed. Pressing the paper back into the latch, I slowly lowered the lid again. The trunk was plunged into absolute darkness.

I heard more voices outside. The sounds were muffled and strange, but I thought I made out the word "dogs." My heart pounded in my ear, and I risked a short, thin breath.

The paper crinkled as someone leaned against the trunk. I held my breath, hoping the lock wouldn't punch through. Then, a heavy clank shook the car. As the back end lifted up, I banged against the sides of the small space. When I felt the wheels moving, I started to relax. They were towing the police car; I'd be in the impound lot in no time.

The familiar window began to open in the corner of my vision.

Took you long enough. I smiled expectantly at the screen.

Opened all the way, the window was blank. The empty screen glowed a deep blue.

Page?

Like black ink injected into a pool of clear water, the edges of the screen started to swirl and dissolve into the darkness that surrounded me.

FEAR. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. The trunk was too small, too tight. The page's window had gone completely dim, blending with the blackness of the space. Darkness surrounded me; I was trapped. Blind, I could feel the airlessness of the confined area bearing down on me. I took shallow breaths, and, despite the stuffy warmth of the trunk, my muscles shuddered involuntarily. Sweat beaded on my forehead and tickled under my armpits.

A ghost of a form slithered through the window. I leapt back from the vision, banging my head on the backseat. The sudden dull pain brought me to the present, and I realized what was happening. Shutting my eyes, I concentrated on breathing slowly and steadily. "You can't scare me, Phanuel," I whispered hoarsely. "I know this is just one of your LINK parlor tricks."

FEAR. Like a physical blow, the emotion hit me. I curled into a tight fetal ball. A whimper escaped, unbidden, from between clenched teeth, and I started rocking back and forth. Involuntarily, I let go of the latch, the paper slipped out, and the trunk began to open.

I tried to reach for the lid, but fear immobilized me, and spiders scuttled along my nerve endings. I hugged myself tightly as another wave of the shakes racked my body. Part of my brain knew that the LINK-angel was not real, that it was just a sophisticated program searching out my fear center, but that didn't make it any easier to resist. Overcome by a desire to run, my feet kicked out blindly.

A sharp turn shook the frame, and the trunk bounced open wider. Light streamed inward, and dispersed the darkness, waking me. I clamped down hard on my teeth; the pain distracted me from the emotion that gripped me in its icy clutches. I had to gain control before the tow-truck driver noticed that the lid of the trunk had sprung open.

But what could I do? I couldn't run, and Phanuel was too strong for me simply to shut him out. I had to face him. I bit my cheek to give me sharper focus. Then, squeezing my eyes shut, I expanded the page's window until it filled the space behind my eyelids. With all the courage I could muster, I called out into the darkness. Where are you, Phanuel? I'm not afraid of you.

Inside the window, smoke slithered at my feet like snakes. The tendrils grew up from the floor, and wisps of mist crawled along an invisible form. They twined upward until they reached a height of seven feet or more. Growing dense, the skeletal lattice of holes filled, and I saw the murky outline of a winged beast.

The sound of dry autumn leaves shaking in a November wind whispered, Be afraid.

The LINK-angel had completely materialized. Dark robes waved, as if in a soft breeze. Crow black wings extended fully behind him. In his bony hand, he held a scythe, the symbol of his office. A rotting death stench blended with the sickly-sweet smell of funeral incense.

The tingle of fear fluttered in my stomach, but I bit the inside of my cheek until I drew blood. Lights blinked behind Phanuel in the haze, and I knew they represented the open gateway to the LINK. Apparently, the page had left the LINK access open, and that gave me an idea. With deliberate patience, I circled Phanuel cautiously.

You're just a ghost in the machine ... a machine I am master of, I said, moving closer to the blinking lights of the open LINK port. You can't frighten me, construct.

Phanuel raised his cloaked head sharply at my words. His bone white forehead glowed in stark contrast to the murky twilight that surrounded us. Empty eye sockets glared at me.

I felt myself hesitating, wanting to run. Though the metallic taste of blood was already in my mouth, I bit down harder, superseding the fear with pain.

The twinkling lights intensified. The open LINK port was just behind my back. Phanuel stood inside the uniform's space, and I between him and the freedom of the LINK. I stopped my slow circling – ready for the kill.