"She is now," I said. "Knife, over there, on the floor. Cut her down, careful. Like you said, she's hurt bad."

  "I will be – but why the gun? Surely you're not going to...?"

  "Christine? No way," I said. I hefted the Beretta. "You know how to use one...?"

  "Yes, I went to the range a few times, with an old boyfriend. Why?"

  "When you've seen... Sligo, you'll know why. He's a vamp, but... bullets're silver. Get as close as you can stand to get, put two in his head. Make sure."

  Rachel shook her head slowly. "Stan, that can't be the only way to help him."

  "Only help he deserves, the worthless fuck… Look, even if we could keep him alive, or undead, whatever – he'd hate us for it. Christ, I'm almost tempted." I shook my head, which was a mistake. "You'll know, once you've seen what's left of him."

  She was silent, but her face was distressed.

  "Rachel?"

  "What?"

  "You got no idea, how fucking awful… Hate to ask you, but I'm too fucked-up. Guy's been savaged. Everything you could do to somebody, without... killing him, everything – Kulick did it. Major fucking nightmare material, okay? You'll puke, probably. Normal. Then, use the gun. Two rounds... finish him, then help Christine. Will you do that, Rachel?" I swallowed, or tried to. "For me? For… them?"

  I held out the Beretta, with a hand that shook bad. After a brief hesitation that didn't seem to last longer than two hours, she took it.

  "All right, Stan. You know what's been going on, and I don't. I'll rely on your judgment, fucked-up though it may be."

  "Good. My judgment... my responsibility. Mine – not yours. Go on, get it done. Christine needs you."

I must have passed out again, because I suddenly realized I was on my back, squinting against the lights bouncing off the white stucco ceiling, with no memory of how I'd got there. I tried to turn my head toward the altar, but the pain and throbbing started, worse than before. Maybe I'd whacked my skull again when I fell over. Moving just hurt too fucking much, so I lay there, staring at the white – and listening.

  I couldn't have been out for long, because the next thing I heard was Rachel's voice. "Oh, dear fucking God... oh, fuck, noooo..." Then came the soundsf vomiting. I can't say I blamed her.

  After a while, the vomiting noises stopped, to be replaced by the sound of a woman crying. Didn't blame her for that, either. But it didn't last long.

  I heard footsteps, moving fast, as if someone were in a hurry. Then they stopped abruptly.

  Even though I'd been expecting it, the sound of the shots startled me. I guess that adrenaline rush overloaded my stressed circuits, because I found myself fading away again.

  Three. She fired three times. Wanted to be absolutely sure, I guess.

"Stan? Can you hear me? Stan?"

  Rachel's voice brought me up from the depths, like a diver heading for the light and air. I opened my eyes to find her face a few feet above mine.

  "Stan?"

  "Yeah, okay."

  "It's done, Stan. I mean... Sligo. I…"

  "I know. I heard."

  "And I got Christine down and cut her loose. The rope had silver worked into it, and she had burns where she was tied up."

  "Fucker. Maybe you shouldn't have..."

  "She's still bleeding, Stan, from where he cut her. I thought vampires healed quickly, from non-mortal wounds."

  "Not when it's silver... or wood. Sometimes they heal, sometimes don't. Can still die, later. All depends..."

  "On what? Depends on what?"

  I let air out in a long, loud sigh. "Check Karl again, will you, Rachel? Please?"

  She stared down at me for a little, then said, "Sure. Be right back."

  And she was, too. "Stan?"

  Her face was sad, on top of everything else she'd gone through.

  "Dead?" I asked her.

  "No, but his pulse is even weaker. I... don't think he's got long, Stan. I'm so sorry."

  I nodded, which made my head hurt more, but I didn't care. I had to push through the pain and dizziness and nausea. I had something important to do.

  I asked Rachel, "Can you move Christine? Bring her over here?"

  She bit her lip. "She's dead weight, Stan, or very nearly. I can't carry her, and no magic to help. And the bleeding... if I even try to lift her..."

  "I understand." I commanded my brain to work, to think. "Okay, here's what you do. Get one... those big altar cloths. Put it on floor, next to her. Roll her on to it, careful. Then grab the cloth. Drag it. Drag her. Okay?"

  "I understand what you mean. The travois principle. I can probably do it, but, Stan, is it worth it, just to bring her over here? I could hurt her more."

  "Don't bring... over here. Next to Karl."

  Like I said, I wasn't tracking too well. But Rachel's face was close to mine, and I thought I saw it register surprise, then doubt, then what I'm pretty sure what was determination. Then she was gone, without a word.

  I faded away again, but came back when Rachel's voice, very close, said, "Stan? It's done. I've dragged her over to where Karl is. I don't think I hurt her."

  "Good. Thank you." I opened my eyes and looked at her. "Rachel, how many steps you figure it is, from here to there?"

  She looked up, then back. "Five, maybe six."

  "Okay. Help me up."

  Rachel got me to a sitting position again, then I said, "No, all the way. Wanna stand up."

  "Stan, I'm not sure–"

  "Gotta tak to Christine. Quickest way over is walking. Too weak to crawl, anyway."

  "Stan, don't be stupid. If you can't crawl, what makes you think you can walk six steps, even with help?"