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Mungojerrie, to all appearances unaffected by this surfeit of death and decor, was standing in the hallway, in the inconstant light that pulsed through the open door of the final roo intently past that last threshold Then suddenly he became way too intent: His back was arched and his hackles were raised, as if he were a witch’s fa fro to let Sasha go through another doorway first, because I believed that whoever entered this next room in the point position would be bloay or chopped like a celery stalk in a Cuisinart Unless the last four bodies had been , we had not encountered another refugee from The Island of Dr Moreau since the woman slumped in the Morris chair downstairs, and we see kind I was teojerrie and pitch him into the room ahead of me, to draw fire, but I reminded myself that if any of us survived, ould need the h Wyvern, and even if he landed on his feet unscathed, in the great tradition of felines since time immemorial, he was likely thereafter to be uncooperative

I moved past the cat and crossed the threshold with absolutely no cunning, ad-libbing and adrenaline-driven, hurtling headlong into a deluge of Victoriana Sasha was close behind h it really ticked her off to lose her last best opportunity to be killed in this sentiree and potpourri

Amidst a visual cacophony of chintz, in a blizzard of bric-a-brac, a television screen presented the cuddly cartoon creatures of the veld capering through The Lion King The ht to turn this into a bonanza, produce a special edition of the filht, for rejected lovers and ainst the advent of another Black Monday, package the videotape or DVD with a square of black silk, a pad and pencil for the suicide note, and a lyrics sheet to allow the self-conde with the major musical numbers until the toxins kick in

Two bodies, numbers ten and lucky eleven, lay on the quilted chintz spread, but they were less interesting than the robed figure of Death, who stood beside the bed The Reaper, traveling without his custoing squares of black silk to conceal their faces, plucking at specks of lint, sly fussy for Hell’s grih those who rise to the top of their professions know that attention to detail is essential

He was also shorter than I had iht He was reh his apparent weight probleht be illusory, the fault of the second-rate haberdasher who had put hiure

When he realized that there were intruders behind him, he slowly turned to confront us, and he proved not to be Death, the lord of all worms, after all He was merely Father Tom Eliot, the rector of St Bernadette’s Catholic Church, which explained why he wasn’t wearing a hood; the robe was actually a cassock

Since ht of how Robert Browning had described Death--"the pale priest of the mute people"--which seemed to fit this lowercase reaper Even here in the aniht, Father Tom’s face appeared to be as pale and round as the Eucharistic wafer placed upon the tongue during communion

"I couldn’t convince them to leave their mortal fate in God’s hands," Father To with tears He didn’t bother to remark upon our sudden appearance, as if he had known that someone would catch him at this forbidden work "It’s a terrible sin, an affront to God, this turning away froer, they’ve chosen damnation, yes, I’m afraid that’s what they’ve done, and all I could do was coh I tried I tried Coive Comfort Do you understand?"

"Yes, we do, we understand," Sasha said with both compassion and wariness

In ordinary times, before we had entered The End of Days, Father To stuffy, sincere about his concern for others With his expressive and rubbery face, with his merry eyes and quick sedy he served as a reliable source of strength for others I wasn’t aadored hione well for Father Tom, and he himself hadn’t been well His sister, Laura, had been ue and friend Tom is devoted to her--and has not seen her for more than a year There is reason to believe that Laura is far along in her beco held in The Hole, at Wyvern, where she is an object of intense study

"Four of those here are Catholic," he said "Members of my flock Their souls were in my hands My hands The others are Lutheran, Methodist One is Jewish Tere atheists until…recently All their soulsrapidly, nervously, as if he were aware of a boer to confess before being obliterated "Two of thements of the spiritual beliefs of half a dozen A in ways the Indians would never have understood These two, they believed in such a s, such a jumble, they worshipped the buffalo, river spirits, earth spirits, the corn plant Do I belong in an age where people worship buffalo and corn? I’m lost here Do you understand? Do you?"

"Yes," Bobby said, having followed us into the room "Don’t worry, Father Eliot, we understand"

The priest earing a loose cloth gardening glove on his left hand As he continued to speak, he worried ceaselessly at the glove with his right hand, plucking at the cuff, tugging at the fingers, as if the fit was not coive theive the toward a hysterical pitch and pace, "because they were suicides, but iven unction, maybe I should have, compassion over doctrine, because all I did for theive co but empty words, so I don’t knohether their souls were lost because of htencounter with Father Tom Eliot, of which I’ve written in a previous volume of this journal He’d been even less in control of his eht than he was here in the Stanwyk h by the end of our encounter, he had see uncanny but rather by a heart-crushing anguish for hissister and by his own spiritual despair

Now, as then, I searched for unnatural yellow radiance in his eyes, but saw none

The cartoon colors fro at hi distorted animal shapes rather than saints This inadequate and peculiar light flickered in his eyes, as well, but it couldn’t have concealed lilove, his voice as tight with stress as power lines taut and singing in a stor on his face, Father To way, even if it was the worst sin, but I can’t take their way, I’m too scared, because there’s the soul to think about, there’s always the immortal soul, and I believe in the soul , so there’s no way out for hts Drea hearts, chew at the throats of women, and rape…rape small children, and then I wake up sickened but also, but also, also I wake up thrilled, and there’s no way out for love off his left hand The thing that slid out of the glove, however, wasn’t a hu else, still exhibiting evidence of humanity in the tone and the texture of the skin, and in the placeer-size talons, yet not talons precisely, because each appeared to be split--or at least to have begun to split--into appendages rese the serrated pincers of baby lobster claws

"I can only trust in Jesus," the priest said