"Pick one."

"I was just wondering because if it was a real stick, it'd likely end up shoved where the sun don't shine, and if it was a metaphorical stick . . . What?" Adam glared around the circle. "Okay, if it was a metaphorical stick, it'd have the same result, only metaphorically."

"I think he just likes saying the word," Tina sighed.

"So," Peter broke into the murmured round of agreement, "if you try this banishing thing on the thing in the bas.e.m.e.nt and it doesn't work because you don't have the particulars, you could end up dead."

"Yes."

"For crying out loud, Tony, why didn't you just say so?"

He shrugged. "I didn't want to give Kate any ideas." It sounded stupid saying it out loud and he braced himself for Kate's reaction. To his surprise, she merely scowled and stomped across the circle to sit on the floor by Mouse, snarling, "I hate ballroom dancing."

Under the circ.u.mstances, he couldn't blame her. "Because I've got to put myself on an elemental plane to do this."

"Put yourself on a jet plane. Just stop talking about it and do it," Mason muttered.

". . .I need someone with me to anchor me and pull me back if I can't get back on my own."

"Yank physically or metaphorically?"

"Adam!"

"Both." He didn't look at Lee, but the rest of them did.

"No." Lee shook his head, dark line of hair arcing across his face. "Not this time. I just. . . I mean . . ." Arms folded across the borrowed T-shirt, he stared down at the polished toes of his shoes. "Between the baby and the music, I can't. .

. That is, I might . . ." The sound he made was far too dark to be called laughter. "I don't f.u.c.king know what I'm likely to do."

And he, in turn, was so very definitively not looking at Tony that every head swiveled around like they were forcing a tennis match between two players who refused to step onto the court.

"What happened in the kitchen?" Peter asked suspiciously.

"Nothing!"

Pavin rolled his eyes. "Tony probably put some kind of f.a.ggot whammy on him."

Zev handed Brianna over to Tina and stood. "Watch who you're calling a f.a.ggot."

"Trust you guys to stick together!" The sound tech rolled his eyes. "You know why f.a.ggots stick together? Not using enough lube."

It could have gone either way.

Tony could feel the darkness outside the circle of lamplight waiting. Waiting for anger. Waiting for pain.

Then Zev laughed. He glanced over at Tony, who had a sudden x-rated memory of a Sunday afternoon, a distinct lack of planning, and the less than adequate contents of his refrigerator.

It was fairly obvious what they were laughing about, at least in a general sense. First Amy, then Adam, then one after another the others joined in. Lee laughed last and when Tony caught a glimpse of his face, the word that came immediately to mind was, "Actor."

The laughter edged toward hysteria but never quite crossed the line.

"G.o.d, no wonder you two broke up," Amy gasped at last. "You're too warped to sustain a relationship."

"I don't get it," Brianna complained.

And that set everyone off again.

At least Tony thought it did. Right about then, the lights came up.

The music from the ballroom didn't seem as loud, but that might have been wishful thinking. Entirely too cliched for laughter to be the solution.

When he got back, Peter had come to a decision.

"Amy's going with you this time. The girls don't want Zev to leave . . ."

Whole conversations Tony was just as glad he wasn't around for in that statement.

". . . and there's no one else . . ."

"Hey!"

". . . except for Ashley, who has any kind of resistance to this place. We don't want to lose you." One corner of Peter's mouth curled up as Kate growled the expected denial into the deliberate pause, then he continued, "Once you find out how we can fight the thing in the bas.e.m.e.nt, get back here as quickly as you can. We're all getting just a little tired of this."

"And bored!" Brianna added, rocking from side to side, arms rolled up in her pinafore. "Bored. Bored. Bored. The walls don't even bleed."

"Hey," Mason glared down at her. "How about you don't give this place any ideas."

"Hey," Zev repeated, glaring up at the actor. "How about you don't give her the idea that she can give this place ideas!"

Amy took hold of Tony's arm with one hand and waggled the second lantern with the other. "Hey, how about we get out of here."

"Sounds good."

They'd gone about five meters when Adam yelled, "Follow the yellow brick road! Ow! What? They're off to see the wizard."

"They're off with the wizard, you moron."

"Don't turn around," Amy sighed as the girls began singing "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead." "You'll only encourage them. Zev's got a good voice, though," she added thoughtfully a moment later when Zev joined the song.

"Yeah, that I knew."

"What?"

"Never mind." The emphasis had tied the comment to a previous conversation with Lee. He'd expected Lee to be at his side. Sure, they'd been thrown together in more than an actor/production a.s.sistant kind of way by a homicidal piece of architecture, but they'd been connecting. Amy was a friend, but he'd still rather have had Lee. . . .

Oh, c.r.a.p.

Maybe all that wanting did put some kind of a f.a.g whammy on him.

Wizards affect the energies around them. That was what Arra always said. Well, she'd said it once anyway. He was a wizard-since he was heading off to do wizardry, it seemed a little pointless to deny it-but he was untrained. Maybe he was affecting the energies around Lee without even realizing it. Warping reality to fit his own desires.

"You're thinking about Lee, aren't you?"

"You can tell?"

"Duh. You're wearing your patented 'thinking about Lee' expression. One part panic, two parts h.o.r.n.y. It's totally obvious."

Great.

"I don't want to leave the bathroom."

"What?" Ca.s.sie stared at her brother in disbelief. "One of the first things you said when Graham called us back to ourselves was that you hated this place."

"That was then, Ca.s.s. That was before it was awake. I don't want it to notice us."

"It can't. . ."

"It might." He took her hands and led her over to the tub, pushing her gently until she sat down on the edge. Then he dropped to his knees and laid his head on her lap. "I know we're dead, but we're not like the rest-we're not just mindlessly haunting the place we died. We're aware. Of things. Of each other. If it found out, it could take that away. I don't Want to risk that. I don't want to stop being."

"Oh, Stephen." She stroked his hair, could almost feel the silky strands under her fingers, could almost feel the heat of his cheek through the thin fabric of her skirt, could almost feel the desire that had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Almost. She thought of telling him that they weren't really being, but since she couldn't have told him what they were, she didn't bother.

Dead, yes. But also together. She didn't want to lose that either.

They'd done everything they could for Tony and his friends. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay in the bathroom for a while.

It was their turn to be murdered again anyway.

"All right. . ." As the lights dimmed, and Karl started crying, Tony shook the sound of the ax impacting out of his head. "I have to get this done before we cycle around to her replay."

"Whose replay?"

"Lucy Lewis. The servant. The one who might know about the journal," he expanded when Amy continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly.

She leaned a little closer. "You know, it's totally weird when you do that."

Okay, not uncomprehending, lost in her own heads.p.a.ce. "Do what?"

"Walk in the ghost world." Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she leaned away again. "I mean, you're here, but you're so not. It's freaky. And not in a good way. It was like following a sleepwalker to the kitchen."

They were standing at the bottom of the back stairs.

"Sorry."

"Why? It's not like you're doing it on purpose." Artificially ebony brows dipped in. "You're not doing it on purpose, right?"

He opened his mouth.

"Good, I didn't think so, but you know. So why do you have to get this done before we hit Lucy's replay? And why her? Why not the dude she pushed down the stairs?"

"Since Lucy did the pushing, she was probably more corrupted by the thing in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

Amy glanced over her shoulder toward the bas.e.m.e.nt door.

"Come on. She's on the second floor. Be careful on the stairs."

"Can you do a wizard light?" Amy asked as they began to climb. "It's called a Wizard's Lamp. And no."

Her snort held several layers of derision. "Why the h.e.l.l not?"

"Okay, Arra said that the energy to control. . . things . . ."

"Things? Is that a technical wizard-type term?"

"Bite me. The energy comes from the wizard. Why would I suck power out of myself to do something a flashlight or a lantern could do just as well?"

"Batteries are dead in the flashlight and what if the lamp blew out?" She waved it just enough to make the shadows dance. "You just suck at being prepared, don't you?"

Yes. No. And second-guessing would get him nowhere. "I should have antic.i.p.ated this?"

"Hey, you're the wizard. You're the one on speaking terms with the great unknown. Besides, a Wizard's Lamp would be enormously . . ."

Wasted. The lights came up-although they weren't as bright on the back stairs as they were in more public areas of the house. I guess there's no point in wasting power on the servants.

"Amy, this is 'old lady chops up the gardener' time. It takes her a while, so we'll just climb to the second floor and wait." He slowed down; hoping Amy would keep pace with him and not go charging on ahead. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could hear the damp thunk crunch of the ax going through bone in time to the music from the ballroom.

Dah dah dah da-dah, da-dah, thunk crunch.

And then again, since he'd never imagined dismemberment in waltz time before, who knew?

The second floor landing consisted of a wall of linen cupboards and an even steeper set of stairs leading up to the third floor and the servants' rooms. The narrow window was as dark and unreflective as every other window in the house and the hanging bulb with the iron shade threw shadows very similar to the lantern.

Dah dah dah da-dah, da-dah, thunk crunch.

No, he wasn't imagining it.

"You know, Amy, I just had a thought." He gave her enough time to make a derogatory comment before continuing.

"It's possible that the extra who went all hysterical this morning did feel fingers. I'm pretty sure I remember the old lady burying the gardener's right arm in that spot. Yeah, I know it's not still physically there-but maybe it was kind of a ghost grope. So it's also possible no one actually rabbited the claw. The gardener just reclaimed it."

Just.