"From the running?" I reached out to support her.

She only groaned and bent further over.

Picking her up before she tumbled to the sidewalk, I held her to me as best I could. I'd handled drunks and saps and stiffs in my time but never a sick dame. I wasn't too sure what to do.

"Get to Hollywood," she murmured. "Let's get-" She spasmed in agony.

I lifted her up to carry in my arms. She clung to my neck gratefully. Her legs bounced up and down with each step I took.

We crossed Sunset that way. I doglegged over to Bronson and headed up toward Hollywood Boulevard. That same chill ran up and down my flesh. Ann shuddered.

The hazy L.A. sky dimmed. Dark clouds billowed up overhead, the color of clots and scabs.

Ann's jaw clamped her teeth together with grinding pressure. The pain pulled her into a fetal position. "Dell," she whimpered.

A gash tore across the cloud bank. My skin felt cold and clammy against my clothes as I watched. Ruby droplets fell in bands and sheets like a monochrome borealis. They seemed to drift slowly toward the ground.

I stopped to gape, hypnotized.

With sudden intensity, the blood hit the sidewalk and streets. Thick slapping sounds like spilling porridge drowned out the roar of cars and commerce.

All around us a vermilion haze hung like a curtain. Clothes stuck to skin. Ann's long blond hair fell in fat, dripping ropes to pull her head backward. I draped a handful over my arm. Brakes squealed somewhere in the bloody rain. Metal screamed. Glass shattered.

People cried out.

I ran toward an apartment complex on the left. Heavily overgrown with tropical plants in the finest Southern California tradition, it beckoned with the promise of protection from the storm. I splashed toward the courtyard.

It was as if we'd entered another climate. One with sane weather.

The ground was dry. Overhead, blue sky-as blue as it can get in L.A.-spread from horizon to zenith. The street was dry and clear. Only the people acted strangely. They covered their heads, huddled in doorways, looked fearfully at the sky.

They still saw it. Some of them. Once again the illusion seemed to affect only a portion of the population.

I lowered Ann to the driveway and took a step out onto Bronson. In the space of that step I left clear skies and dryness for buckets of blood drenching the earth from heavy black clouds.

I was soaked to the bone. I took one step back. The day returned to normal L.A. autumn.

Ann stood slowly. "My cramps are gone." She fussed with her hair. Perspiration damped it a bit, but it flowed golden and free as though never touched by the blood outside.

She ventured a step past the property line, grabbed at her waist, and stumbled backwards to safety.

"It's like the corpse grinders out there, yet we're fine here."

I nodded and searched for a cigarette. "They could jack up the rents for that reason alone."

The apartment building possessed its own charm aside from the mysterious protection it offered. Christmas lights hung between the two parallel apartment blocks, imparting a festive mood to the surroundings. It sure looked more cheerful than Old Downtown.

"It's only two blocks to Hollywood," I said. "If we just concentrate on the fact that it's all imaginary, I think we'll make it easily."

Ann looked at me as if I'd asked her to jog up Everest. "Do you know what those cramps felt like?"

I shrugged. "I've been fondled with brass knuckles in the same locale a couple of times." I stepped out onto the sidewalk. "Besides, the rain's gone away. Come on."

Sirens whined somewhere east on Sunset.

She reluctantly followed me, keeping so close to my side that I could smell her perfume as well as when I was carrying her. The mysterious showers of blood had done nothing to wash it away.

We passed a small clump of tenement buildings on Carlton and reached Hollywood Boulevard in a few minutes. Traffic flowed at its normal slow pace. Old hulks and long sleek limos mixed together in automotive democracy. Too late in the day for bums to be sleeping on the sidewalks, yet still too early for most of the hookers, the street boasted a blend of tourists, business people, and shoppers.

Some still watched the sky, shrugging their shoulders and trying to explain what they'd seen to those who hadn't had the pleasure. We passed by a young couple trying to comfort an old woman who sat on the sidewalk tugging at her rosary.

"Sanguinis Virgine," she muttered over and over. Blood of the Virgin.

It was as reasonable an explanation as any.

"Another block," Ann said, walking carefully to avoid stepping barefoot into any of the trash and crud lining the Street of Dreams. We headed east until she nodded to her right.

"In there."

The building was a modest storefront, not connected to any of the other building by shared walls. On the plate glass-in large, ornate script-was the name

Trismegistos and in smaller, less flowery letters

CandlesIncenseOilsSpellsAnd OtherTools

"Oh, no." I grimaced.

"It's all right, Dell. I know the woman who runs the place."

"How?"

She stopped, halfway opening the door, to put her shoes back on.

"Well, if you must know, Bautista Corporation owns the building. I drew up the lease." She went inside.

A bell tinkled merrily to summon a pretty young woman from the back room. She wore a full-length violet peasant dress of a style that might have been popular a generation ago. Black hair trailed down her back in one thick, intricate braid. She smiled at Ann.

Ann smiled back and sashayed over to her. They spoke quietly.

Since I wasn't invited in on the tete a tete, I took the opportunity to nose around.

The store didn't look spooky or witchy. Three aisles of glass display cases sat under two banks of fluorescent lights. They, and the shelves along three walls, composed the entire shopping area.

Candles and vials of colored stuff constituted the majority of the sale goods. The contents were typed on Avery labels. No pretense of the supernatural tainted the place. It was as straightforward and businesslike as a corner pharmacy. More so. It lacked the garish display ads that promised miraculous cures.

One case contained an assortment of knives labeled Athames. They were the only really witchy items in the store. Some of the daggers were plain, in black wooden sheaths. Others bore intricate ornamentation. A bronze dragon formed the hilt of the fanciest. It grasped the blade to its belly, its tail twisting around to form the finger guards.

It was priced out of my reach.

"Dell."

I turned to see Ann swing her arm lightly in my direction. I walked over to the pair.

"Kasmira will take us to see Bridget," she said.

"Who's that?"

"The owner. Kasmira is her granddaughter."

I followed Ann and Kasmira through a bland, ordinary door in the back of the store. That's when things stopped being ordinary forever.