By Wor'ginday morning, everyone in the world knew that the war was over. All the news services, both print and bubblecast, were scrambling to obtain details. There was still a great deal of uncertainty about what it all meant, and whether the peace was official. That evening, Demos himself- having returned to First Village to resume his place on the throne- announced that he supported the decision of General Middlebury and Admiral Portman, pending investigation into certain information that had recently come to light, concerning possible illegal actions by the Cabal. Without going into specifics- for he still knew no specifics, though he didn't say so publicly- he said he found this information compelling enough to rethink his previous pro-Cabal stance. (In fact, he had rethought that stance, but for very different reasons than he claimed.)

Demos arranged a meeting with Commissioner Gothic, to take place at Second Six, on Tuesday afternoon. Gothic had spent much of the past day and a half with Middlebury and Portman, viewing Zeke's recordings, as well as making a recording of his own: the confessions of the general and the admiral. Part of their confession included their involvement in the SST project, in violation of the Prohibition of Off-world Technology. Three super-sonic transports had been constructed, they said, one in each village of the Northern Alliance. Woodman had overseen the project in Near Port, Portman himself in Port, and Major Shirona Monogwrangle in Kimrin. Aside from Woodman and Monogwrangle, there were few soldiers or sailors they divulged as members of the Cabal. In fact, most of the people who had followed their orders had had no idea of the Cabal's existence. They made it very clear that Colonel James Major had not been a member of the Cabal, in spite of his eagerness to take their side in the war. So, once it was certain the war really was over, Major would be released. For the time being, Gothic was unsure what to do about Middlebury and Portman, themselves. Clearly, they had broken a number of laws, but it was also a fair assumption that if they hadn't switched sides, the war would still be ongoing, and the Cabal might very well have won. Arresting them was a decision he didn't want to make on his own. He consulted king-elect Darkstrider (having no interest in discussing the matter with the current king), but all Darkstrider said was that once he became king next year, he intended to issue a declaration of amnesty for anyone who had fought on the side of the Cabal, not wishing to appear less magnanimous than Demos himself had been, after the last war. Of course, such a declaration wouldn't necessarily apply to members of the Cabal themselves, especially not members who were guilty of specific crimes. What Gothic really wanted was to leave the matter of what to do about Middlebury and Portman up to the High Court, and in particular, Thomas Justicar.

It was with all this heavily on his mind that he went to the palace on Tuesday. Aside from the Laser Plot, many unsavory and/or illegal activities had been revealed by Zeke's recordings, though few of the people they saw in the recordings were known to the admiral or the general, and fewer still were called by name. So that all amounted to little, beyond eliminating any doubt that the Cabal was a bad thing. He was rather dreading the investigations that would be necessary to weed out all the Cabalists, and he feared most of them would never be discovered. Worst of all, none of the recordings had involved Demos. Gothic had really hoped to be able to get rid of him right away, but he consoled himself that the man would only be on the throne for another four months. Still, he was not looking forward to today's meeting. He was expecting a mix of false apologies and gloating from Demos, but was pleasantly surprised upon his arrival in the throne room. In addition to his personal bodyguard, Demos had a special guest waiting with him.

"Hello, Mufasa. Good to see you," said the surprise guest.

"Thomas!" exclaimed Gothic. "Great to see you." Looking at Demos, he asked, "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"Yes. I am releasing the Chief Magistrate, and dismissing my earlier charges." Justicar moved to stand beside Gothic. "You both have my sincere apologies. Which is not to say I believe I was unjustified at the time, given what I knew then. But given what I know now... well, I'm still not thrilled by the choices he- the choices both of you made. And I'm certainly not at all sorry I tried to have the street rat killed; rather, I'm sorry that plan failed. I disagree that what he did was self-defense. But considering some of the things we now know the Cabal to have been capable of, I find it understandable that you would think his double homicide to be justified. I release Justicar as a show of good faith, so that you may see I am on the same side as you, despite our differences. Ultimately, we all want what we believe to be best for the world. In the past, I believed that included the Cabal, but now I see that I was wrong. And I join you in wanting to do whatever I can to bring that organization to justice. To that end, I may also be willing to share with you a list of people I believe to be members of the Cabal, though I remind you I cannot prove their involvement. These would be merely guesses, on my part. And I hesitate to share my guesses, unless I have your assurance that they will be treated as speculation, rather than accusations."

"I'm not looking for you to do my job for me," said Gothic. "It will be the responsibility of the police to investigate the Cabal, not to make unfounded arrests. There's been enough panic and paranoia in the public already. I don't want to add to it, let alone damage the reputations of anyone who may not be guilty of anything."

"I'm gratified to hear it. Meanwhile, the one person I am certain to be a Cabalist is the head of the organization himself, and its founder... Congressman Phineas Daily."

Gothic and Justicar exchanged shocked glances. "Are you serious?" asked Justicar.

"Oh, absolutely. I could even provide proof of the claim, at the same time I provide you a list of my guesses about other members. But first... you must understand, the congressman will do everything in his power to discredit me, in order to protect himself. This may mean providing false evidence of my own involvement in... I cannot even think what sorts of crimes. I've been accused of many things, over the years, and especially in the last few months. Not all of those accusations have been entirely baseless, I'm sorry to say. But I am guilty of no actual crimes. If I'm to provide you with my evidence against him, I need an assurance that his evidence against me will not be too readily accepted as fact."

"Naturally," said Gothic, "any claims that either of you make will be investigated without bias."

"I'm glad to hear it. Although, of course, the two of you are not absolute in your power. Other police or magistrates may give his claims more credence than they deserve. I have no illusions about who is more popular, Daily or myself. What I'd really like is your assurance that-"

Before he could finish, a bubble suddenly appeared in the room, and hovered in the air, halfway between the throne and the spot where Gothic and Justicar stood. It expanded into a large, transparent screen, on which a recording suddenly began playing. It showed Demos ordering several murders. When it was finished, it returned to its original size, and fell to the floor. Gothic stooped and picked it up.

"Well... that was rather damning," he said.

"That-" began Demos, rising from his throne, "that doesn't prove... It's a fake! Somehow he had one of his Sorreters manipulate or create a fake recording! Please tell me you don't just believe- I mean, this is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about!"

"Relax, Your Majesty," said Gothic. "Like I said, it will be investigated, and you will get a fair trial. But until then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to place you under arrest."

"No! Guards!"

Demos's royal guards rushed into the room. They were immediately followed by a contingent of police. With a grin, Gothic asked Demos, "You didn't think I'd let you give me the rat's rush twice, did you?" He turned to face the guards, and holding up the bubble, said, "Captain, I have here evidence of King Royal ordering a number of murders. I promise you the matter will be investigated fairly, and if proven innocent, he will be released. But I am taking him into custody. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not if you can find him," said the captain.

"What's that supposed to-"

But Justicar tapped Gothic on the shoulder. "I'm afraid he's gone."

Gothic turned back to look at Demos, and indeed, he was gone. "How?"

"In case you didn't recognize his bodyguard, he was a Sorreter," said Justicar.

"Dammit!"

Now the captain of the guard cleared his throat, and Gothic turned back to him. "His Majesty left you a consolation prize," the captain said, nodding toward a box on the floor beside the throne.

Gothic went to pick it up. Opening it, he found a few bubbles and various documents. Skimming the latter, he said, "Well, at least it looks like he really has given us Daily...."

After listening to Demos's story, René was silent for a centhour. Finally, he said, "You know, I think there are other ways you could survive, without resorting to that."

"Perhaps, but this would be the most fun. Besides, it's not just about survival, in a technical sense. It's about power, and revenge. I've come to believe Mr. Yellow has no intention of remaining friends. No intention of ever helping me. In fact, I'd be surprised if he hasn't devised some way of making me disappear entirely. He threatened to get me arrested, but that wouldn't stop me from naming him. The fact that he couched his threat as a warning only suggests he's biding his time. The good news is, that means I still have time, at least a bit. I must use that time to my advantage. He's obviously hoping I'll hesitate about whether to turn him in. But he's no fool, he knows I will turn him in, so I'm sure he won't wait long to make his move."

"So what are you going to do? I mean, before... what you were just telling me about."

Demos grinned. "I'm going to accelerate his time table."

"What? How? Why?"

"I'll wait a day or two, then arrange a meeting with Gothic. I know Phineas has- oh, by the way, did you know Mr. Yellow is Phineas Daily?"

"I did not."

"Well, it's high time we dispense with these silly color-coded code names. I know they were my idea in the first place, but... it's pointless, now. As I was saying, Phin has someone in InterVil, so it's a sure bet he'll find out about the meeting almost as soon as I arrange it. And he'll have one of his Sorreters eavesdropping on the meeting itself, probably interrupt it when it gets juicy."

"Interrupt it?"

"Yes, to make good on his threat."

"Wouldn't it be too late to save himself, at that point? Once he knows you're planning to talk to Gothic, don't you think he'd make a preemptive move against you?"

"He may try, but I will be far too thorough in my safeguards. I won't allow myself to be vulnerable until the meeting begins, and I'll also take steps to ensure neither he nor any of his agents will be able to reach Gothic before then. And even once the meeting is in progress... he may yet hope that if he can get me arrested then and there, I won't have a chance to give my evidence to Gothic. He knows me well enough to count on my desire to obtain a good trade for my information, before I provide it. But he'll be wrong, and when he discovers he was too late to stop me, he'll go into hiding. But I'll know where to find him."

"How's that? And again I ask, why... is the other thing necessary? If you can find him, you can tell the authorities where to find him. Or you can just kill him. You don't need to-"

"Now, René, really. You forget I always wanted to create a dynasty. That's the whole reason I married Beverly. If I'm no longer in power, I won't be able to do that. However, I may be able to help my children come to power in... less straightforward ways, in the future. But to do so, I'll have to not only remain alive and at liberty, but also have some kind of power, even if it's not political. My fortune, I fear, will soon be gone, and I'll be a fugitive. So what I've asked of you really is the only option I have left, as I said before. And for myself, and my unborn children, survival is meaningless without power. I might as well be dead. As for how I'll find Phineas... well, I know what his options will be, and I know how he thinks."

Deadzone thought about all this, then said, "Fine. I'm in. It's not like I've got much left to live for, myself."

"Excellent! Now then, as part of my plan to force Phin's hand, I'll be making a list of Cabalists. Though I suppose I'll leave a few people off the list. Obviously I won't implicate close friends, like Xander Illustri, or important allies, like Marlowe Gateman. And I should give Dirk Noir a pass... I really do feel bad about having you kill his friend, but she left me no choice. Anyway... is there anyone you'd like me to leave off the list?"

"Um... probably no one you know. Except Zeke and Macen, whom it's too late to worry about. And Noson Turner. Though he went into hiding with his parents, when Durell became a fugitive."

"Hmm. Even so, I'll omit Noson's name. Not that any of this really matters; if all goes to plan, I won't be giving the list to Gothic, anyway."

For the next two days, Demos and Deadzone barely spoke of the plan again, until the moment on Tuesday afternoon when Gothic turned to face the royal guards, and Demos touched Deadzone's elbow. "Looks like rain," he whispered, and they vanished from the throne room....

It was First Seven and Sixteen, local time, when Demos and Deadzone suddenly appeared the main hall of the home of Silas Des'Caina. When he saw them, Des'Caina leapt from his chair- which was practically a throne, Demos was amused to notice- and shouted, "How the hell did you get in here?!"

"Oh good," said Demos, "you're up. I thought you might be, but it is rather early, here in Woodstockade." He consulted his pocket watch, which was set to First Village time, and subtracted seven hours. "Still at least a quarter of an hour til sunrise, I should think." Returning the watch to its pocket and looking at Des'Caina, he said, "Oh, sorry to barge in unannounced. A former associate of mine actually took me to task on that, not too long ago. I'm trying to break the habit, but I'm afraid in this case, I had no choice."

"Demos," seethed Des'Caina.

"Silas," said Demos, in a parody of Des'Caina's tone. In his former nonchalant tone, he said, "And this is my friend, René Deadzone. Now that we all know each other, perhaps we can get down to business. But wait! We don't all know each other." For Des'Caina was not alone; there were two young men with him, who had been standing to either side of his chair. When Demos and Deadzone had first arrived, they had turned away from Des'Caina and cast steely gazes upon the intruders, but had remained silent, waiting for instructions from Des'Caina. Demos said, "I expect these would be Girarg Blackshirt and Brahm Des'Merrick?" The young men's expressions registered the barest hint of surprise, which wasn't lost on Demos. "Yes, it seems so. Well, Silas, if I know their names, you may not find it shocking that I knew the exact coordinates to provide René, for translocation. I do hope that's why you're wondering how we got in, and not that we bypassed your safeguards against unauthorized entry. I'd be offended if you thought someone in my position was incapable of circumventing such things."

Des'Caina glared at him for a few moments, then waved his hand. Blackshirt and Des'Merrick moved toward Demos and Deadzone greater celerity than Demos would have thought possible. He couldn't have avoided them if he'd wanted to, but he didn't really want to. Before he knew it, he and Deadzone had been separated, and each of them was being restrained by one of the young men, on separate sides of the room. Des'Caina resumed his seat, looked at Demos, and smiled. "You said something about getting down to business. I can't imagine why you've come here. If you're so all-knowing, you surely know how I feel about you."

"You don't like me."

"To say the least."

"Well, that's perfectly understandable, given the trouble I caused you, a decade ago. But as to why I've come, it has to do with your secret project... of which these fine fellows are your prototypes."

"They are my sons."

"Of course. I've heard how you like to take in strays and make them part of your own little family." The grip one of these sons had on Demos's arms, behind his back, suddenly tightened. As much as it hurt, Demos couldn't help but grin. "Not to say I consider your family any less real than if they were your sons by birth. But I'm not here to talk about family, I'm here to discuss the project itself. I was just wondering if you're ready for the world to know about it?" Des'Caina stopped smiling, but said nothing. "Not quite yet, I imagine." In a sing-songy voice, he added, "But I know what it i-is." His tone and countenance then turned darkly serious. "And I can tell the world. More to the point, I can tell InterGang. I can't imagine your employers would be pleased to learn what a monumental secret you've been keeping from them, all the while using them to fund the project."

"Oh? And yet, somehow you imagine I'll be letting you out of here alive?"

"Please," sneered Demos, "surely you don't think I'm such a fool as to come here without a plan of egress. I recorded an account of what I know about your project, and it will be sent to every major news service on the Land, if I don't return home to stop it. ...Of course, I could have miscalculated. Perhaps you're closer to being ready for people to learn the truth about your project than I thought. Or perhaps your hatred of me is so great, you're willing to jeopardize everything you've spent the last, what, twenty-seven years working toward? If so, my friend and I are both prepared to die- though I'd like to think he, at least, could translocate away more quickly than your son could kill him. But if I must die, then so be it. In case you hadn't heard, I haven't much left to live for. I've lost the war. My wife has left me. As of a few centhours ago, I am a fugitive wanted for murder. So, if it pleases you, kill me now. Alternatively, if you wish to hold on to your secret a bit longer, perhaps you'll hear me out."

Des'Caina fumed in silence for a while before replying, "Well, what do you want?"

"I want you to turn me into one of them." He inclined his head backwards, indicating his captor. "And my friend, as well. I've heard you have two types. I want to be of the night, and he of the day. After that, we'll leave. I'll destroy the recording, and you'll never see me again."

After some thought, Des'Caina said, "Fine. But be aware you'll never catch me by surprise again. It shouldn't be too much longer before the world knows my secret, and then... if I ever see you again, you will die." He nodded at his sons, and they released their captives. Then they bit Demos and Deadzone on the necks, and began drinking their blood. As they did so, Des'Caina said, "Now you must make a choice, though in coming here, you've already done so. Still, the formality remains. You each must drink the blood of the one who's drained you. In so doing, you consent to a bond between yourself and a demon, who will possess you, and sustain your life. You will still be yourself, but you will also be the demon. And you will need to periodically renew your contract with the demon by feeding on the blood of others... whom you may simply bleed until they die, or offer them the same choice, to become what you will have become."

When Demos was near death, he turned and drank from a cut Girarg made on his own hand; Deadzone drank from Brahm. They both felt a sensation neither could describe, when they were entered by demons. They struggled to adjust to the sudden duality of cognition, though as yet, they couldn't discern any intelligible thoughts that were not their own.

Des'Caina glanced at Deadzone with a wry grin. "Of course, my boys will have to give you a lift home. You'll find that you're no longer capable of using magic. A little safeguard I incorporated into the siring process I created, to prevent the demons who possess anyone from becoming too powerful. The only exceptions are Girarg and Brahm, who've never actually been possessed." Turning to Demos, he said, "There are some advantages to being prototypes."

Suddenly, Deadzone was standing beside Demos, grinning at Des'Caina, whose own smile now vanished. "How did you-"

"I suspect the spell you use to suppress chakra is similar to the one my own master, Durell, created. He also created a counterspell, so that the spell couldn't be used against him. And it seems to be working just fine against your spell, as well. So, I guess we won't be needing a lift."

Demos grinned at Des'Caina. "Sorry to burst your bubble." With a sidelong glance at Deadzone, he said, "I am so glad you're on my side." And to Des'Caina, "Well, any final instructions on how to be what we now are, before we go?"

Des'Caina sighed. "I don't suppose so. Except, just to be clear... I spell the word with a 'Y,' not an 'I.' V-A-M-P-Y-R-E."

Demos chuckled. "I like it. And from what I've heard, I think there are some gryphons who would like it, too."

Des'Caina frowned in confusion. "What's that supposed to-"

Demos, still grinning, shook his head. "Not important. Farewell forever, Silas. ...Or should I call you 'Grandfather,' now?"

"Don't you dare-!"

Demos laughed, threw a friendly arm around René, and they disappeared.

The day before the meeting with Mufasa Gothic, Demos and René had prepared a temporary refuge, in a cave whose existence was known to very few people. They'd need to find more permanent lodgings, eventually, though this would suffice for the immediate future. René had last been there half a year ago, with Zeke. When he returned, this time with Demos, he'd been mildly surprised by the absence of the wagon that had been left there. But mostly he was struck by a certain irony. Last time he was here, he'd stolen an item from the wagon, and now that item was among the possessions he and Demos brought to the cave. The anti-magic spell he'd cast in the vicinity of the cave, last time he was here, was now dormant, having long since exhausted its mana. But it was a simple matter to reactivate it. Of course, this meant they wouldn't be able to translocate directly to or from the cave, but they could get within a centhour's walk of it.

It was to this refuge that they returned when their business in Woodstockade was concluded. When they appeared beneath the open sky, the sun immediately began to burn Demos's skin, and they sprinted for the cave. Once they were safely ensconced in darkness, Demos said, "That was close. In the future, we'll have to be more careful. Perhaps if I wore a cape, I could cover my head with it, when necessary. Or a royal robe might be more apt; it's funny I never thought of wearing such a thing, before now." He looked at René, and was surprised by how clearly he could see him, in the near-complete darkness. "It looks as if my vision has been improved, as part of the deal. How about yours? And what about the sun? It didn't hurt you, did it?"

"My vision seems the same as ever; I can barely see anything. I do wish I could cast an illumination spell. But-"

"One moment," said Demos. He went to fetch a candle, lit it, and handed it to René. "How's that?"

"Better. Thanks. As for the sun, it also seemed the same as ever."

Demos nodded. "As I said the other day, the reports I've heard indicate that some of Des'Caina's vampyres can only venture out at night, and some only by day. I have no idea how that works, but I suppose somehow, night will be as potentially lethal to you as day is to me. Which means, unless we both stay inside all day, we'll only be able to see each other briefly, at first and second twilight. Shame about that, but if we're to be a team, it should come in handy to complement each other. That's the trouble with any Terran vampire stories I've ever read, the creatures were far too limited, too vulnerable. But you and I... well, each can look after the other when he's vulnerable, or else go out to conduct whatever business may be necessary."

"And as I replied, the other day, it's an excellent strategy, Your Majesty."

"You needn't refer to me by that title, any longer. I imagine it will be a while yet before I'm officially impeached, in absentia, but as of now, I'm no longer king. We are equals, you and I. Or, if anything, you are superior, for you're the one with magic. I'm just a plain old run-of-the-mill vampyre."

Demos grinned as he said that, and René did likewise. "Then I'll have to get used to calling you 'Demos.' But you should know Sorreters are rather heavily indoctrinated, as part of our training, never to think of ourselves as superior to those without magic." But then he frowned, as he heard an unfamiliar voice whisper in his mind, That's not true, René. Of course you're superior. But he simply shook his head, and ignored it.

"Well, we should get ready for our next jaunt. That is, if all this translocation hasn't worn you out. Or do you have a mana battery?"

"I do, but now I don't think I'll be needing it. Since my transformation, I seem to have access to- I don't even know, it feels like almost unlimited chakra. And I feel like I can mix it into any kind of mana I want, far more quickly than I ever could before."

"I know what you mean. Not about mana, of course, but... now that I'm undead, I've never felt so alive. Well, then, I suppose we could leave at any time... although perhaps we should wait for second twilight. Since our destination is about two, two and a half hours ahead of First Village, we've got a little more than four hours to kill. My, we certainly have been getting around, today! In fact, I do believe our present location is at roughly the same longitude as our destination, so... I might as well go ahead and reset my watch."

Four hours later, Demos made a private t-mail call, to verify that Phineas had arrived where he was expected. And indeed he had, a few hours earlier. A few centhours after saying goodbye to his informant, he was saying hello again. "Hello again, Marlowe. Have you met René?"

"I think once or twice, perhaps." He rose from his chair, and walked around his desk to shake the Sorreter's hand. "Some trivial Cabal business, or other. Good to see you, Mr. Deadzone."

"And you, Mr. Gateman. Though I must say I'm a bit surprised. Demos told me he knew where Mr. Yellow- I mean, Daily- would be going, but he didn't say where. He just gave me the coordinates a few centhours ago, and it looked like it must be somewhere in Frinn. So I suppose it makes sense that it would be your home. Or office, rather. But why would Daily come here? I mean, why trust you to hide him?"

"He could hardly have chosen anyone outside the Cabal, and of the relatively few Cabalists who are still loyal and at liberty, none are nearly so good at hiding things as am I."

"I'll take your word for that. But still, it's strange that he would choose Demos's father-in-law."

"Oh, Demos and I have worked over the years to ensure certain people, such as Phineas, know how much we hate each other. Publicly we've thrown a bit of support each other's way, but for the most part that was years ago, before and soon after he was elected king. But even the public- those who follow celebrity gossip- are aware that there's no love lost between my daughter and myself. I've seen Demos occasionally, on business, but the last time I saw Beverly was in 903, when Demos took her away from me."

"Then wouldn't Daily expect you to be among the first people Demos names as Cabalists? In which case, the police might look for you, and find Daily."

"There are reasons Demos and I support each other, officially. Phineas is far from knowing all of those reasons, but he knows some of them. Enough to realize Demos wouldn't- I daresay couldn't- betray me to the authorities. You'll just have to take my word for that, too."

"Very well. But I take it you don't really hate each other?"

"Not at all. You might call us co-conspirators, of a sort. But that's too complicated to get into. Now then, shall I show you gentlemen to the hole where I've got our friend stashed?"

"Lead on," said Demos.

They exited his home office, and then his home itself. As they walked, Demos noted, "You know, I've never really appreciated twilight. Somehow I could never shake the feeling that it was unnatural, the sun being entirely below the horizon, yet the sky still having some light. But now that I'm unnatural myself, I think I rather like it."

"It does have a certain je ne sais quoi," agreed René. "Still, I think we'd best hurry and complete our business, because I'm not eager to find out exactly how night affects me."

Marlowe led them to a small but rather luxurious building, one of many on his expansive estate; not the sort of place most people would call a 'hole.' Though Demos supposed that, compared to the mansion they'd just come from, it was rather a hole.

"Well, this is it," said their host. "I trust you can find your own way in, sans key. I can't be here, when what's about to happen, happens. And of course you remember your promise to remove the body to some far-off locale. And try not to make a mess."

"A promise is a promise," said Demos. "Though I happen to know no one employs better cleaners than you."

Marlowe rolled his eyes. "Nevertheless," he said, then turned and walked back to his mansion.

Demos watched him go, and when Marlowe had reentered his home, he turned back to René. "If you'd be so kind as to scry the good congressman's home in First Village?"

The Sorreter did so, and in a few moments reported an absence of police. "There are surveillance spells in place, but I could easily spoof them."

Demos nodded. "And here?"

René scried the interior of the building they now stood outside. "I see him. He's alone; whatever Sorreter must have brought him here is long gone. He looks quite comfortable, enjoying a book and a cup of tea."

Demos said, "Now that you mention it, I don't think I've felt any hunger or thirst since leaving Silas's place. I do hope I'll still be able to drink tea. I'd quite miss it." After a pause, "Ah, well, a question for another time. Let's get to it." René placed a hand on his shoulder, and a moment later they were inside.

Phineas suddenly leapt up and shouted, "Demos! How'd you find me? Deadzone... surely you couldn't have broken through my anti-divination spell?"

Neither intruder said a word, at first. Demos merely smiled, noting that in spite of his agitation, Phineas hadn't dropped his book. He still held it open to the page he'd been reading, and after a few moments, he sat back down, placed his bookmark in the book, and set it down on the end table, beside his teacup. Having regained his composure, he continued, "I suppose it's silly of me to expect an answer to that. I also suppose you're here to kill me. Clearly I've given you far too long a leash, for far too long a time. So it's my own lookout, if my monog turns around and bites me."

Demos's smile widened. "So I'm your monog, am I? Funny, there have been others I might have thought you saw that way, but me? Tch, I always thought you had a soupçon more respect for me than that."

"Did you really? How remarkable," he said sardonically.

"Piquant to the last, eh? I'd expect nothing less. Good show!"

Phineas turned to René. "I'm not quite sure why you're helping him, Mr. Deadzone. After all, you don't really work for him, you've just been on loan. You work for me, and I expect you to behave as such."

"Actually, I worked for Colonel Woodman. No one worked for the Cabal, and certainly not for you personally. But the colonel and I were both loyal members of the Cabal, serving its higher purpose. Therefore, at least in theory, we served you. But look where that got Woodman. You've always seen him as disposable, as you no doubt see everyone. I can't imagine why I'd ever want to work for someone like you."

"And I can't imagine what options you have. By now, Mr. Cyan has surely given your name to InterVil. And I believe the new powers that be have gotten chummy with the Chaos, one of whom you spent three months torturing. I can offer you protection, but what can Demos offer you? He's a wanted man, himself. And his personal fortunes are virtually depleted, sunk into a pair of vanity projects, at least one of which is certain to fail. Even if the other succeeds, he's sure to be disowned by his business partners. Side with him, and you'll be perpetually on the run and penniless."

"Actually," said Demos, "I don't think money's going to be much of an issue for us, from now on."

Phineas frowned at him and asked, "What on the Land are you talking-"

Demos demonstrated a trick he and René had practiced during their time in the cave, waiting for this hour to arrive. He bared his teeth, and two of them suddenly grew into fangs. René followed suit.

Phineas's face blanched. "You didn't. You couldn't!"

"Oh, but we did. And while it's true that I can no longer offer gainful employment to anyone, my friend and I plan to have some fun together. In fact, I'm reminded of something Durell said, the last time I saw him. Something about living without the constraints of civilization. I've come to believe he had the right idea."

"So that's it, then. Somehow you convinced Des'Caina to turn you into monsters, and now you're just going to... bite me?"

Demos retracted his fangs. "Nah, that'd be too messy. But I am going to kill you. It's rather a shame, because I always did sort of like you. At the very least, I respected you. But I put too much faith in you, and that's my lookout. I suppose it was foolish of me to believe you were both capable and inclined to keep me on the throne, though I must admit, you were useful, more often than not. But now that things have turned out the way they have... I'm afraid you've outlived your usefulness, old friend. But try to look at it this way: It beats the hell out of underliving your usefulness."

"My usefulness? You damned fool, the Cabal was around before you even knew it existed. It was never meant to be a tool for your personal gain, so I haven't failed at anything, despite what you might think. You were right, the other day: I didn't ever intend to go along with your plan. But my plan is right on schedule."

"Really? How remarkable. Tell me, is this a part of your schedule?" In less than a heartbeat, Demos crossed the room and snapped Phineas's neck. A moment later, he was back where'd been standing a moment earlier. "No? Then let me make this plain: I choose 'enemies.' Good night, Mr. Yellow."

Demos turned to René with a loopy grin on his face. René stared blankly back at him, so Demos frowned and said, "You had to be there. Anyway... if you'd be so kind, drop him in his bed at home, then come back and give me a lift to our humble abode."

A few centhours later, Demos and René appeared beneath the open sky. René's skin didn't burn, but he did suddenly feel weak, and fell to his knees. Demos helped him up, and supported him as they started walking to the cave, but the same small voice from before whispered to René, No. You must have sunlight.

René said, "Demos, wait. Let me go." Demos obeyed, and René stumbled back a few steps. "I'll be back... next twilight." With that, he vanished, to reappear somewhere on the other side of the world.

Demos sighed, and returned to the cave alone. "Well, it's still early, but it's been a long day, anyway. From now on, this'll be the time I should get used to rising, but just this one last time, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to sleep at night...."

But as he started toward the pallet he'd prepared yesterday, a voice in his head stopped him. No. Tomorrow you may sleep. Tonight, we have much to discuss....

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