Rupert Giles stood in the hallway staring at the door to his best friend's London flat and nursed his second thoughts. The rest of them would be in there already, probably looking at their watches wondering where he was. Or worse yet, staring at Ethan's god-awful devil clock. Rupert couldn't see why Ethan had gotten the thing, much less why he'd hung it on his wall and plugged it in. The plastic red devil held a pitchfork. Its pointed tail swung as the pendulum and its eyes shifted left to right, suspiciously counting off the seconds. Each hour, its mouth would fall open and it would laugh maniacally. Ethan said he wanted to display it because he "paid handsomely" for it, but in Rupert's opinion five bob would have been too much. He knew he was late, though, and should knock, or just go in -- it wasn't like he wasn't expected --, but he hesitated, remembering.

The previous night, he'd come here on Ethan's request, dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He hadn't hesitated then. He'd gone right in without so much as knocking, calling, "Ethan, you wanted to show me something?" Ethan's living room was sparsely decorated with a secondhand couch, two mismatched end tables, one twice repaired table lamp, and a nearly microscopic television on a chrome handcart. On the lampless end table stood a hefty bust of a two-faced man with an unfriendly smile on one side and a frightening frown on the other. On the wall above the telly he had mounted the devil clock. There was a small kitchen and bath mostly hidden behind the wall with the clock, and his bedroom through a door opposite the entry door.

Ethan bounced out of the bedroom, looking absolutely giddy. "Rupert! Rupert, I've found it!" Several pages, torn from some oversized book, flopped about in his hand.

"Found what?" Rupert turned and watched as Ethan closed the door and then, to his surprise, locked them in. With his tongue, he loosened the gum he had plastered to a rear molar and began chewing it.

Ethan came up close and whispered in Rupert's ear. "Eyghon."

"I know you're gone. You've been gone ever since I've known you," Rupert said.

"No, you twit. Eyghon. The demon I told you about. I know how to summon him!" Ethan practically sang the last sentence. "But," he added, "he'll only come if you're asleep. So lie down and pass out already."

He pulled Rupert by the hand into the bedroom, but instead of lying down, Rupert merely sat on the edge of the bed. The twin size bed had a spindled headboard and footboard and was made up with a white fitted sheet and a blue top sheet, then covered with a tattered thermal blanket. There was a bedside table on one side and a closet, and a dresser on the other side with one broken drawer. "He'll only come if I'm asleep? Aren't you confusing him with Father Christmas?"

Ethan was studying the pages in his hand. "Oh, you've got the easy part. I have to say this bloody chant in Latin."

"You flunked Latin," Rupert remarked. "How do you know you won't accidentally say something like, 'Thank you for the lovely devil clock. In exchange, here is my best friend. Bon Appetit.'"

"I don't know how to say 'Bon Appetit' in Latin."

Rupert harrumphed. "You don't know how to say it in French, either."

Ethan glared at Rupert. "You promised to help me. Eyghon can make us really powerful, you know. Do you want in on it or don't you?"

"Sure." Rupert kicked off his loafers and lay down on the bed. "I only promised to help you so you wouldn't call a bobby while I lifted that bracelet for Charlotte last week." He stretched his arms behind his head and tucked his hands under the pillow.

"You shouldn't be lifting things, Rupert," Ethan said paternally, then he wiggled his eyebrows and added, "unless they're for me. You'd better spit out that gum, mate. Wouldn't want you to swallow it and choke." Rupert took offense. He hated taking out his gum. Ethan had a palm out to take it, but Rupert took it out of his mouth and put his hand back under the pillow with a smirk. "You'll pay for that," Ethan muttered. "Now, close your eyes."

"I'm not tired."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not sure anything will happen, anyway. This is just practice. A dry run. There really should be six people, but I want to practice the chant."

Rupert sat up. "Won't Eyghon be mad if there aren't enough people? I don't want to make him mad." Rupert feigned worry, not really believing this Eyghon would show.

With one hand, Ethan pushed his friend back down. "There will be six tomorrow. Tom, Philip and Deidre are coming with Deidre's new beau."

Rupert sat up again. "Deidre's got a new beau?"

"Chap named ... Randall, I think it was. Lie down."

He didn't. "So, if Eyghon shows up you're just going to tell him you're practicing? Maybe we should wait --" That's the ticket, Rupert thought. Annoy the demon.

"I don't want to wait. This chant is complicated."

"Can't you practice it by yourself?"

"I already have, but how will I know if I've got it right, then? C'mon, Rupie, lie down. I don't want to embarrass myself tomorrow if nothing happens."

This time Rupert did as he was told. "You'll wake me when he comes, though, right? I don't want to miss it."

"Yeah, sure."

Rupert closed his eyes and Ethan began to chant. At first, the Latin was wooden and stilted. Parts of it began to repeat, but it wasn't long before Rupert stopped trying to translate the words. The chant became monotonous and droning and, tired or not, Rupert felt himself dozing off.

Seeing his friend relax, Ethan began to concentrate more on the chant. The words did not roll trippingly off the tongue and, if his own limited translation skills were any indication, made very little sense. "Oh," he said suddenly remembering something. He pulled out his cigarette lighter and used it to light a votive candle he had placed on the bedside table. Then he continued the chant, turning to the next page.

In the other room, the devil clock cackled 12 midnight.

He finished a section of the chant just as the devil closed his mouth, and for a few moments there was complete silence. He was about to begin chanting again when he heard a gasp. Rupert's mouth had popped open and his muscles had tightened and his back arched. Then he noticed that Rupert's pants were bulging at the crotch. "Oh for Pete's sake, Rupert, this is no time for a wet dream."

Rupert relaxed onto the mattress, but the bulge at his crotch throbbed. "Who summoned me?" The voice was not Rupert's but it had come from his mouth.

Ethan dropped the pages from his hand and they scattered.

"Who summoned me?" This time the voice was stronger and insistent.

"I ... I did. Ethan Rayne." Without taking his eyes off the form on the bed, he bent to retrieve the pages, putting them in haphazard order, and then folded them in half so they would stay together. "Jesus, Rupert, you're going to owe me big for this one," he muttered, eyeing the bulge.

Rupert's eyes opened and looked around. The pupils glowed yellow. "There are not six." He sat up, his back rigid. "I require six."

"No. For - Forgive me, Eyghon. I was practicing the chant to make sure it worked. The six will be here tomorrow." Suddenly, the excuse sounded too lame for words and fear rumbled through his stomach as Rupert's newly yellow eyes turned on him.

"There will be six?"

"Yes."

The mouth smiled. "Ah, it will be the third six at last. The third six of three. Do this, and you will be greatly rewarded." Rupert/Eyghon lay back down on the bed. Ethan saw the yellow glow vanish from Rupert's eyes, replaced by shock and wonder. Rupert's breath came in short gasps and his hands grasped blindly at the bedcovers. Then, as if in slow motion, stitches began to break, the closed zipper pulled apart, and then Rupert's member burst forth and fountained like a geyser. A long, low moan escaped from his throat.

"Oh, Bloody Christ!" Ethan yelled as the semen hit the ceiling and slowly dripped onto the rumpled blanket. "Rupert, how the hell am I going to get that off the ceiling?"

Rupert's voice was low and breathless. "I hope you don't expect me to walk home now." He lay there, catching what little breath he could, and waited for his erect penis to subside. It did, slowly, with sudden, unexpected little throbs that made Rupert roll his eyes back in his head. It took at least fifteen minutes, during which Ethan grabbed a damp cloth and began blotting the bedspread around him. Rupert took measured breaths, coming down from the sexual high. "That was ... incredible, Ethan. You can't possibly imagine." He was still trying to sort through all the sensations he'd felt during Eyghon's visit. It had just been too sudden and too intense to comprehend just now. "You didn't mention that he was going to ... come through me."

"I wasn't sure how it worked, Rupert." Ethan admitted.

Then Rupert twisted on the bed, getting ready to swing his legs over the edge to sit up. Instead, he curled into a fetal position, holding his middle. "Ethan!"

"What is it?"

"I don't know." Rupert was in obvious pain, clutching and massaging his abdomen. "Good God."

"You're faking it," Ethan said. He'd gotten a kitchen chair and was standing on it, swinging the rag at the ceiling. He got down now and bent toward Rupert's head. "You're trying to make me feel guilty for involving you in this. You should be thanking me, you ponce. You probably haven't seen this kind of action in your whole life." The last word was cut short as Rupert grabbed Ethan by the shirt and pulled him close.

"I think it's gas. I think -- I hope it's gas." The cramps were so bad Rupert was imagining that he was about to give birth to some sort of demon baby, who would devour the both of them as sustenance. Days from now, police would break down the door to find a bloody mess and also fall victim. An entire demon baby film played out in his mind in the few moments he held Ethan's face within an inch of his own. Then he felt and heard himself break wind loudly and long. The relief was nearly as intense as the erection had been. "Ethan," he said when it was finished, "did that --?"

Still caught in Rupert's grasp, he pushed his head forward to peer at the damage, wincing at the foul odor. "You didn't bring a change of trousers with you, did you?"

Rupert had been at Oxford, studying according to his father's wishes. He'd known since the age of ten that he was destined to be a Watcher, like his father, and his grandmother before him, and blah, blah, blah. He'd grown up hearing constantly about how bloody important it was to be well-rounded. There was just no predicting what information a Slayer would need and he had to have as much as possible in his head because there wouldn't always be time to look it up. So he'd felt perfectly justified in joining the Occult Club. Knowledge of the it would no doubt be necessary to his future Slayer, he rationalized.

It was there that he'd met Ethan. It wasn't long, though, before Ethan had grown bored with the Club and their Ouija board games and pop quizzes about scented candles and rare herbs, and oohing and aahing as they sat in the dark listening to the wind blow through cracks in the windowpanes. Ethan wanted to do spells. Ethan wanted to see results, get something he could touch. He'd made it sound so appealing that Rupert was somehow talked into dropping out of Oxford with him and moving to London. London was where all the action was, Ethan told him. And he had contacts there that would help him get involved. Ethan always shared everything he learned from those contacts, but had never told Rupert who they were.

It was the mystery that made it so exciting for him. He never knew what Ethan would find. Once he'd found an old alchemy spell for changing things to gold, but it hadn't worked. Most things didn't work, but it was fun to try. But this latest spell, this Eyghon, something was happening with it. That first night, the trial, had set the hook in Rupert's belly. Sure, he was a little afraid. But he was also intrigued and excited. How far could it go? That's why he stood outside his friend's door again, even though he still felt embarrassment over the previous night's outcome.

After helping Ethan clean, including putting fresh linens on the bed, he'd borrowed a pair of pants from Ethan in which to get home, then thrown his ruined pair down the incinerator. But for some reason that he couldn't fathom at the time, he'd promised to return the following night. Now, he remembered what Eyghon had said. If he didn't go in, there wouldn't be six. Would that make Eyghon angry enough to hurt them? But if he did go in....what did the last six of three mean? Ethan hadn't any idea, but he didn't really care. He just wanted the power of summoning his very own demon. Maybe he expected Eyghon to give him three wishes. Or even just one. But Rupert was pretty sure that Eyghon wasn't that kind of demon. Not from what he'd felt -- he wished that Ethan had warned him that Eyghon would be coming through him -- the power that had surged. It had been more than just the erection of a lifetime. That had been nothing more than a fringe benefit, the visible evidence of something Ethan could not witness.

Standing outside the door now, Rupert could also remember the energy. He'd had a full day to sort through it in his mind, but there was nothing in his memory to which to compare it. Could be what it felt like to be electrocuted if you took away the pain, and the death thing. Just energy. Power. Poured through you like water on a mill wheel. He hadn't told Ethan about all of that. It had both frightened and excited him. Could Eyghon really give them that kind of power all the time? Was that what it meant to be one of the six? If so, could Rupert actually turn his back on that?

Inside, he could hear the devil clock begin to laugh. It was eleven o'clock. All right, then, he thought. We'll do this. And he opened the door.

Thomas Sutcliffe, a smallish thin man with glasses, was cross-legged on the floor in front of the telly. Philip Henry, Dierdre Page and a man Rupert didn't recognize sat on the couch. Ethan was standing, again holding the pages from the unknown book. The other four each held a copy as well. As Rupert expected, all eyes turned to him. "You're late, Ripper," Ethan said.

"Rip--?" Rupert suddenly realized that Ethan was referring to the previous night. He noticed the others smothering giggles. "You told them?" he asked Ethan.

"Of course, I told them. I couldn't pay for better PR." He sorted through the papers in his hand and pulled out four pages, thrusting them at Rupert. "Here's a copy for you. And you ARE late."

Rupert barely glanced at the papers as he took them. From the couch, Deidre, dressed in a flowered shift and sandals, pointed to the gentleman on her left, "I want you to meet someone, Love. This is Randall Pepper. I've been seeing him for several months now and I so wanted him to meet all my friends."

"Good to meet you, Randy," said Rupert, nodding in the man's direction. Randall was tall and on the husky side. His knees stuck up inches higher than the sofa cushion, looking like they would burst out of his tight jeans any minute. His hair was dark and cut short, and his upper lip sported a small moustache.

"Randall, please. If you don't mind," the man said nervously.

Deidre giggled and nuzzled him with her shoulder. "I'm the only one allowed to call 'im Randy." Everyone laughed at that. From her other side, Philip, who was rapidly going bald, winked at Randall to help him feel at ease.

Rupert, seeing the limited seating filled, lowered himself to the floor near Thomas. His leather jacket creaked and his pages fluttered as he settled down. He'd worn one of his larger pair of jeans tonight, though he hoped he wouldn't be the subject this evening. "What can you tell us about Eyghon, Ethan?"

Leaning against the arm of the couch next to Philip, Ethan shrugged, smiling like a proud father. "He's a demon. A real demon. What else do you need to know? Besides, you're probably the resident expert on Eyghon now."

Again, Rupert felt everyone looking at him and his face burned at the thought that they all knew about his experience. "I was asleep for most of it," he fibbed. In fact, he'd become conscious from the second Eyghon entered him, but had been rolling in the energy and power he'd felt like a drowning man rolling in stormy waves, mentally separated from the physical reaction Eyghon had been building. He'd only become aware of that after Eyghon had left him and, in a way, it was even more mind blowing. It seemed too ... Rupert wasn't sure how to describe it. Too good? That hackneyed phrase didn't really cover it. He almost felt that Eyghon had been bribing them, making sure they would come through for him with this last six of three thing. He hoped he wasn't falling victim to some demonic shell game, but if Eyghon could do what he'd done last night, who could say what he was capable of? He had to admit that there was a chance Ethan had something here. He'd read stories about demons helping people become rich or successful, and who wouldn't want to be part of that?

"Oh, could I be the sleeper?" Deidre asked. "I'm certainly tired enough."

"No, he's my demon and it's my turn," Ethan objected.

"But, Darling, you have to lead the chant. You're the only one who knows it." Deidre pointed out.

"Bollocks," muttered Ethan under his breath. She had a point.

Rupert put his pages face down on the floor. "De, if you want to sleep so you can have some huge orgasm," he said bluntly, "I think you should know that I got the strong impression that wasn't Eyghon's normal greeting. Anything could happen tonight."

"Oh, pooh. I still want to. Ladies first and all that." She took Randall's hand in hers and let their fingers intertwine. "Randall wouldn't mind, would you, love?"

Before Randall could answer, Thomas shifted so he was sitting on his knees. "We should draw lots. Or ... something. Ethan, what have you got?"

Deidre was pouting that her attempt to volunteer was being thwarted, but Ethan ignored her. "I know just the thing." He went into the bedroom and came out a moment later carrying an empty blue pillowcase and his Checkers game. He sat the game box on the end table in front of the two-faced statue and opened it with one hand. "Let's see, how many do we need? Rupert, are you in for another go?" Rupert shook his head, deferring with a careless wave of his hand. Immediately, he regretted not taking the chance to do it again. "All right, then. Three red checkers," and he plucked three from the box and dropped them into the empty pillowcase, "and one black one." He bunched up the neck of the pillowcase and shook it a bit. "Black one sleeps. You'll each pick one and hold it in your hand. We'll all show them together. Agreed?" Everyone nodded.

Ethan took the pillowcase to Deidre first. "As she said, ladies first." The rest waited as she closed her eyes and reached in, bringing out a closed fist. Then Ethan offered the makeshift bag to Philip, then Randall, before turning and offering it to Thomas.

"Don't know why you did me last," Thomas muttered, disappointed, but he obediently reached in to take the remaining checker.

Tossing the empty pillowcase aside, Ethan backed to where he could see all of them. "Hold out your fists," he directed. The four eligible parties held their fists in midair. "On the count of three. One. Two," and here he paused a bit longer out of spite because he would be doing the bloody chant again. "Three."

All the fists opened. The black checker lay crown side up in Randall's palm. The others, who had red checkers, were quick to show their disappointment and jealousy. "Beginner's luck, I expect," Deidre said, tossing her red checker back into the box with the others.

Randall held the black checker as if he expected it to speak. "I just need to go to sleep? That's all?"

"Just listen to Ethan chant," Rupert quipped. "You'll have no trouble at all." He got a high five from Thomas behind Ethan's back.

"Git," Ethan said. "Now, against my better judgment," he motioned for them all to rise and follow him into the bedroom, "and for lack of anything else suitable, I'm volunteering the use of my bed again. Mind, Randall, if you do what Rupert did I'll be keeping you after school."

Randall saluted and climbed onto the bed, wriggling himself into a comfortable spot and clasping his hands over his stomach. "Should I loosen my trousers?"

"Or take them off?" Philip suggested. The others hooted and sang an awkward bar of stripper music.

Deidre stopped Randall's hand at his fly. "Keep your trousers on, Love. If it looks like you're in danger, I'll take care of it meself." She seemed especially thrilled at the idea of sexual intercourse with a man who was possessed by a demon.

"Does everyone have their pages?" Ethan asked. He was answered by a flurry of pages flapping through the air as everyone, Randall excepted, raised their copy of the chant and shook it. "All right. Quiet, then. This is it." He watched as Randall closed his eyes. On nearly every available shelf, Ethan had placed a votive candle. Although one candle had worked well enough the previous night, he felt that more candles helped the mood. He hadn't been able to find enough in one scent so there were actually several different colors, but he had tried to coordinate them as best he could with dark colors on one side of the room gradually giving way to lighter colors on the other side. Glancing at the first page, he began to say the words as he walked around, lighting each candle in turn with his cigarette lighter.

The others joined in. At first their voices were uneven as some of them stumbled over the awkward Latin, but some phrases repeated and they paced each other until the five voices overlapped almost perfectly. As Ethan finished lighting the last candle, one of Randall's hands fell off his stomach onto the bed. Everyone paused for a beat, but Ethan motioned for them to continue. He turned off the overhead light, leaving the room lit only by the flickering candlelight, and kept chanting parts he'd memorized. The others did their best to keep up with him, but their timing was just a bit slower than his.

It seemed to Ethan to take longer this time. What could he have gotten wrong? Maybe he really was supposed to do the chant himself and the others were just witnesses? But that just didn't seem right, either. One witness maybe, even two, but four seemed extreme. From what he'd heard, demonology was not a spectator sport.

Then Randall's eyes popped open.

The chanting came to an abrupt end. Like Rupert's the night before, the irises now surrounded a glowing yellow light. Deidre, Thomas, and Philip self-consciously eyed Randall's crotch, but so far nothing was happening there. "Who summoned me?" The voice was deep, much deeper than Randall's own.

At Ethan's direction, they answered together, "We summon thee, Eyghon."

The eyes moved and the mouth smiled. "There are six." The eyes looked down at the body Eyghon now occupied and it began moving as well, experimentally. Hands flexed, elbows bent and straightened. "It has been a long time."

Randall's body sat up, his legs still straight out in front of him. His hands reached out. "Come forward and take my mark."

Philip, Thomas, Rupert and Deidre all looked at Ethan questioningly. He hadn't said anything about a mark. Ethan shrugged and moved forward. This was his demon. He was robbed of the chance to be its voice, but he'd be damned if he was robbed of taking its mark. Randall's hands closed over Ethan's arm just above the elbow. Ethan grimaced, straining not to pull away. "Gaaaa!" When Randall's hands opened, a tattoo had appeared on Ethan's arm. He flexed his arm, admiring it, apparently forgetting about the pain he'd been in a moment ago.

Philip stepped up next, pushing the hesitant Rupert aside, and rolling up his shirtsleeve. He offered his arm. Rupert thought he could see thin curls of smoke as Philip gritted his teeth, and noticed the muscles in Philip's arm contract tightly. When it was over, he walked over to Ethan to compare tattoos, beginning an unconscious division in the room between marked and unmarked.

Thomas took his tattoo next. "Bloody hell!" he gasped as the mark was burned into his arm.

Deidre and Rupert exchanged looks. "I guess we have to," he told her. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing a tight black muscle shirt, and tossed it in the corner, then stepped forward, keeping his eyes on Deidre as Randall's hands closed around his arm. His jaw worked, but he didn't cry out or even stop to look at it, but quietly took his place on the other side of the room, leaving Deidre standing there.

"Do not fear," Eyghon said with Randall's mouth. His glowing yellow eyes locked on hers and his expression became gentle. She held out her arm and he took it, holding her gaze all the while.

"Oh, right, he makes it easy on HER," Ethan complained. The other three men glared at him, but Ethan didn't appear to notice.

Eyghon released Deidre's arm, and smiled. "It begins now."

Deidre, being the nearest, asked curiously, "What begins now?"

Instantly, Eyghon was standing on the bed, looking down on all of them. They were shocked to see that his face had changed, growing spotted and pockmarked. "Did that happen to me?" Rupert whispered to Ethan. Ethan shook his head, watching Randall curiously.

Eyghon laughed low in Randall's throat. "So you say words you do not know? Fools! For the last six of three I get fools?"

"Bugger this," Thomas said and quickly left the bedroom, heading for the front door. Eyghon was off the bed and after him before the others even had a chance to stop him. They followed, watching now in fear instead of curiosity. Except for Ethan. Ethan looked like the gent in the cafeteria who announces food fights.

Eyghon crouched at the near end of the sofa and the next thing they knew the entire sofa was flying end over end across the room, narrowly missing the ceiling. It crashed into the door milliseconds before Thomas would have reached for the door handle. The sofa braces cracked and the furniture landed legs up and bent, creating an effective blockade. "No one leaves."

There was a stunned silence after the destruction of the couch. Thomas still held his hand out as if to grasp the topmost leg of the upturned sofa. He turned toward the others, absolute terror on his face. Eyghon took two steps toward him and Thomas backed up against the wall, already wincing. "When I finish with this one, I will take you next. I can see you will be an irritant if I wait."

"This wasn't in the brochure," Rupert said to Ethan in the bedroom doorway.

From the rear of the four huddled in the doorway, Deidre burst forth, screaming hysterically, "You bastard! Let go of my Randall! Get out!" She attacked Eyghon, pounding on Randall's chest with clenched fists. Rupert tried to grab her arm and pull her back, but missed.

Cocking his head slightly, Eyghon grabbed one of Deidre's wrists from the flurry hitting his chest. Deidre gasped, the hysterical burst gone instantly. The others saw Eyghon lift her by the wrist until his arm was straight up over his head. Her feet pointed down at the floor helplessly, her toes not quite touching. "Randall?" She asked in a quiet, meek voice, as if hoping some part of her beau could hear.

"No. You shall be next. Randall wants it that way."

"I don't believe you." She couldn't look at his eyes any more. She looked down at the floor. "You're hurting me, Randall." She used his name on purpose, trying to pretend Eyghon wasn't there. Hoping Randall could fight against the demon in him.

In the doorway, watching, Rupert shook his head. He knew there was no fighting Eyghon. Not from the inside.

"He knows there is no escape," Eyghon told her. "He wants it over for you. I will consume you quickly to honor the first of the final six." He put her down, shoving her back toward the three men in the bedroom doorway. "Prepare."

Rupert caught Deidre and helped her get her balance. "He can only take you if you sleep," he assured her. "What does that mean?" he whispered to Ethan. "What's the big deal about the final six?"

"I don't know!" Ethan hissed back.

There it was. The phrase Rupert's father had taught him to avoid. The only thing worse than saying 'I don't know' was saying it and not knowing where to look for the answer.

Thomas was inching back toward them like a man suddenly caught in a lion's cage while Eyghon followed his movement with amusement. Philip tapped on Ethan's shoulder, "We're going to have to tie him up or something until we can figure out what to do. What do you have?"

"To hold HIM?" Ethan shot back. "Did you see him flip the couch?"

The empty pillowcase was still where Ethan had dropped it. It was within Rupert's reach and he grabbed it up, holding each end and spinning it into a rope. "Do you have more of these?"

Deidre was already heading back to the bed and stripping the one off the pillow there. "We can tie him to the bed," she said quietly, pointing to the spindled head and footboards.

"There are more pillowcases in the linen closet behind you, De," Ethan offered. Then he turned to the men as she opened the closet door, yanking the chain to turn on the light, and reached up, "How do you suggest we get him back on the bed?"

"By force," Rupert suggested, dropping the pillowcase and moving forward to grab Randall's arm. Effortlessly, Eyghon threw him through the air to land on the overturned couch. The cambric tore when he landed, and Rupert inadvertently tore it further as he pulled himself upright, undaunted. "Together, mates!" he called out.

"Oh, together!" Ethan said, as if he simply hadn't understood Rupert's intention before. Although he didn't expect to succeed, he moved forward and joined Rupert, Thomas and Philip in the capture effort. Deidre turned off the closet light out of habit, then turned back to the room, noticing the flickering candles as if for the first time. Quickly, she turned on the overhead light, and then hurried around the room, blowing out all the candles. All we need is to burn the place down, she thought. And she was back at the bed standing ready. Well, Eyghon had said 'prepare'. She was prepared.

Eyghon called them all fools again and pushed Thomas off toward the television. It rocked backwards and bumped the wall, then Thomas used it to regain his footing. There was plenty of fighting room without the couch in the middle of the living room. Philip let the others distract Eyghon and came at him sideways, kicking at his legs to make him fall, but it was like kicking an iron lamp post. Thomas, getting an idea, ducked into the bedroom and took one of the loose pillowcases, "Excuse me, love."

Billowing the pillowcase out, Thomas came directly behind Eyghon and slipped it over his head. Eyghon roared and pulled at the case, but Thomas held it down, keeping the open end snug around Eyghon's neck. Deidre called from the doorway where she was observing the fight, "Dear, you'll choke him!"

"That's it," Rupert said as Eyghon threw him to the floor, knocking over the end table and sending the checkers and the odd statue flying. Righting himself, he explained, "Choke him. Make him pass out!" There was no time to assure Deidre that Randall wouldn't suffocate.

Hearing Rupert, Philip leaped up and wrapped his hands around the edge of the pillowcase as well, pulling it even tighter around Randall's throat. Rupert and Ethan kept pulling Randall's hands down, preventing him from freeing himself. Every time Philip felt any slack in the pillowcase he pulled tighter. Eyghon began to stumble. His arms flailed weakly up and down, then swung at his sides as he stopped moving, balancing on his feet for only a moment before tumbling to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

Philip and Thomas quickly freed themselves and then Ethan and Rupert helped drag Randall back to the bed. Deidre handed Philip a twisted pillowcase and Philip tied one of Randall's arms to the headboard, yanking the material tightly. While he did this, Deidre twisted another pillowcase, handing that one off as well to whoever was ready for it. As Rupert waited by Randall's left leg, she slipped the pillowcase off of Randall's head and spun it, looking at the unconscious form worriedly. With his eyes closed, even with the facial distortions, it simply looked like Randall was ill. Soon, Randall was bound spread-eagled to the bed. The men were breathing heavily. "It won't hold him for long," Thomas said. "We'll have to do better."

In a moment, Ethan returned from the kitchen with a partial roll of duct tape and they added several layers of that around each binding.

When they finished, Rupert spoke up. "Well, time for tea!"

"Tea?!" the rest of them questioned incredulously.

He grew grim and serious. "He takes you when you sleep," he said, stressing the last word.

"Time for tea!" They all agreed.

"Philip," Rupert said, "you and Thomas stay here and watch him." The two men exchanged mutually sympathetic glances but didn't object.

"I'm staying also," Deidre said. "It's Randall," she explained when Rupert stared at her. He nodded slightly, understanding, but not liking it.

In the kitchen, Rupert found a tray and gathered cups and saucers while Ethan filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. "While we're alone, I have something to say to you, Ethan," Rupert began, glancing at the kitchen doorway to make sure Deidre hadn't changed her mind and followed them. He waited for Ethan to turn, then said, "Our friendship is over."

"Rupert, calm down," his ex-friend objected.

Instead of calming down, Rupert let his anger rise. Leaving the tray on the kitchen table, he confronted Ethan. "You don't really give a damn about the rest of us, Ethan. Even now, if Eyghon offered you a gold doubloon in exchange for our souls you'd do it to save your own worthless skin. Your whole life is nothing but a quest for personal gain. You don't know anything about Eyghon. He's not some black genie who's going to grant your every wish. He's not going to make you powerful. He's going to make you dead. And me. And Deidre. All of us, unless we stop him. He's been playing with you. He played both of us last night. Look at Randall and tell me I'm wrong." He paused, out of breath, but Ethan said nothing. His voice grew louder. "Why I ever left Oxford -- Oxford! -- to follow you around I'll never know. Now, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure all of us, even you, make it out of this alive, and when it's over I'm going back to Oxford to continue my studies. Normal studies. We're finished."

"Ripper --"

Whatever Ethan had been planning to say never left his mouth. But a few teeth did. Rupert pulled back and punched Ethan as hard as he could. Ethan dropped, huddling to the floor in front of the refrigerator in defeat.

At that moment, the devil clock began to strike midnight. Without a word, Rupert, taking giant strides, stormed into the living room. At the same time, Deidre emerged from the bedroom to see what the noise was about. She saw Rupert, his face as stolid as she'd ever seen it, grasp the devil clock and tear it from the wall, ripping the cord from the outlet. He hurled it overhand, hard, at the front door. Red plastic shards flew and it fell, its largest surviving pieces held together by nothing but wires, into the ruins of the couch.

Ethan, spitting blood, came out of the kitchen. "Rupert!"

Ready for more, Rupert turned to meet Ethan.

"Gents!" Deidre came into the wreck of a living room and stood between them, one hand on Rupert's chest to hold him back. "This is no time for arguing. Ethan," she said, pointing at him, "you've made a mistake. A big one. But if we all stay calm and put our heads together, maybe we can figure out a way to UNsummon Eyghon before things get any worse." Looking apologetically at Rupert, she lowered her restraining hand. "Now, we're going to have to translate that chant and find out exactly what we did. Rupert, you're the best of us at Latin, and Ethan, it's your bloody chant. The rest of us will stand guard on Randall. Make sure he can't hurt anyone, including himself."

"You're right. I'm sorry, De," Rupert admitted, feeling ashamed of himself. He would have plenty of time to revile Ethan later.

"Well I'm not," Ethan said. "I've accomplished something here!"

"Are you bleeding daft?" Rupert shouted, trying to approach Ethan. Again, Deidre stopped him. "Didn't you understand one word I just said in there?" Rupert was feeling the need to punch him again, but his hand still hurt from the last one and the stern look from Deidre held him back.

Trusting in Rupert to control himself, she turned on Ethan again. "This is all your fault, Ethan. If anything happens to Randall, I'll never forgive you."

Hoping to redeem himself in Deidre's eyes, Ethan suggested, "Maybe Eyghon left when we knocked him out."

Philip, standing at the doorway looking quite impressed by Deidre's commanding tone, shook his head. "His face is still all ugly. He's in there all right. He had nowhere to go with everyone awake." They could see Thomas standing near the bed, but not getting within an arm's reach, listening. Philip took a step toward them. "De, we're all at fault here. Every one of us. None of us cared what the chant actually said; we just wanted a chance to say it. We're in this group because we love ritual, but it's not supposed to be like this. It's supposed to be like the séances we held when we were kids. Like horror stories around a campfire. Harmless fun."

Rupert looked at Ethan and cocked his head. "Fun. That's it. Ethan, despite everything, you're still having fun!"

"Do you think it's fun watching my flat get demolished?" Ethan pointed out. "And it's not done yet. He hasn't smashed the telly!"

"You sound like you want him to. Like ... like whatever he does, it's partly you doing it, too. Because you summoned him. Like ... like he's your son." Rupert felt ill and turned away from Ethan. How could he have followed this man? More than anything, he wished he had never met Ethan. Instead, he was quite possibly going to die here in this pathetic little London flat, and his father would never even know what had happened. He took deep breaths to calm himself, noticing that Ethan hadn't denied his accusation. He steeled himself to deal with the problem at hand and remembered what Deidre had said about translating the chant. He couldn't look Ethan in the eye as he asked, "Ethan, Do you happen to have a Latin/English dictionary anywhere about?"

The teakettle began to whistle. "I'll get that," Deidre said and stepped into the kitchen. By the time she came out with the tea tray, Ethan and Rupert were sitting next to each other in the middle of the living room, huddled under the circle of light from the table lamp. Ethan was holding a copy of the chant and Rupert would flip through the language dictionary and reach over to mark Ethan's pages with a pencil every now and then. She poured and handed out cups.

"See," Ethan was saying to Rupert. "I tried to translate it from the beginning, but the words don't make any sense."

Thomas came to the bedroom doorway. "He's awake."

Philip planted himself in the doorway, facing Eyghon, blocking the view of the other three who craned their necks trying to see. Deidre used the tea as an excuse to investigate, "Keep translating." She took a cup and passed it around the unmoving Philip to Thomas, who took it with a nod. The body on the bed didn't stir. Either Eyghon was under control, or he was waiting patiently for an opportunity.

Eyghon stayed quiet while they sipped their tea. Deidre almost wished the clock were back on the wall. She hadn't liked the hourly chime any more than Rupert had, but in between there had been a nice steady ticking that assured her that time was indeed passing. Instead, there was silence broken only by the rustling of Ethan's pages, the soft flip of the dictionary, and the sounds of them breathing and sipping. There was nothing to say. She supposed they could wrestle the couch away from the door now -- she saw Philip pass weighing glances at it --, but she didn't suggest it. There was nowhere to go, either. They had Eyghon's mark.

Thomas and Philip shared Deidre's thought. They all realized that they were in this, like it or not, until the proverbial bitter end. If Eyghon got them all, they knew he wouldn't stop there. It would only make things worse. How much worse was what Rupert and Ethan were trying to figure out. It was up to them to make sure it didn't happen. Down to the last man. Or woman. No one tried to move the couch. No one tried to open a window. They counted their heartbeats, and wondered who would be next.

Except for Ethan and Rupert, who were fortunate enough to have a task to perform to distract them from the slow inexorable passage of time. They huddled, both alternately pointing at a word in the chant or at a line in the dictionary. "Vessel, not vase," Rupert said suddenly. "The sleeper is the vessel. Look, these three paragraphs here purposely don't make sense. It's meant as a meditation, putting the sleeper into an altered state of consciousness that allows Eyghon to take hold." He was about to pull the top page out of Ethan's grasp when they heard the sound of a teacup shattering.

In the bedroom, the bed thumped against the floor. "Mates," Thomas called in a wavering voice from his post, "I think he's getting tired of waiting for his dinner." They couldn't see Thomas, who had moved nearly into the closet.

Philip hurried into the bedroom. He turned back to Rupert and Ethan who had looked up from their task on hearing the commotion. "Skip ahead, gents." Deidre rose to her feet and tried to enter the bedroom as well, but Philip closed the door on her. Looking sad, she didn't try to follow. She slowly began to gather empty tea cups onto the tray as the three of them listened to the bed thump in the other room.

Before carrying the tray into the kitchen she cast a withering look at the two men on the floor. She wanted to say something, but it would only have been pointless pleading. She knew they were trying to translate as quickly as they could, and it certainly wasn't up to them whether or not it would help Randall. She went into the kitchen and slid the tray onto the table, then lowered her tired body into a chair and put her head in her hands.

In the living room, Rupert and Ethan bent to their task again, moving on to passages further on in the chant. "This one," Rupert said. "That's the word for six three times. Maybe it'll explain about the last six of three." Obediently, Ethan folded the page to make it easier to read only that portion.

There was the sound of something shattering and the bed stopped thumping. After a moment, Thomas came out, closing the door again behind him. "We knocked him out again. Sorry about the lamp, mate. Where's De?"

"Kitchen," Ethan replied. "Hated that lamp anyway."

Thomas walked slowly into the kitchen, then hurried forward when he saw Deidre with her head down. "Hey, hey, De. Wake up."

Deidre jumped, startled by the hand on her shoulder. "Thomas? Oh, Thomas, I had the most awful --" She stopped herself, knowing that it wasn't a dream at all. "Oh."

He pulled a chair out and sat with her. "It'll be all right, love."

"We're all going to die."

He chucked her under the chin playfully. "Cheer up. We got the jump on 'im now. He can't get out of the bed. Believe me, he's been trying. As long as we keep watch. Some of the duct tape started to rip, but Philip put some more on. And we just keep knocking him out until we know what to do."

"What if the chant doesn't have the answers? What if we never find out what to do? What if there's nothing we CAN do?" She shook her head. "I can't stay awake much longer, I can't. Time is on his side." She could tell that Thomas didn't really have an answer for her, and felt mean to have expected one from him. "I need to be with Randall." She pushed herself to her feet.

"Are you sure, De?" He didn't say it, but they both knew. If she couldn't stay awake, was that the place for her?

"I need to be with Randall," she repeated and walked out of the kitchen. The chair scraped against the floor as Thomas got up and followed.

As they entered the living room, Rupert looked up. "I think we have something." Knowing that Deidre and Thomas were not fans of Latin, he didn't bother pointing out the passage but just explained as they knelt in front of him. "It seems Eyghon had to ... consume three groups of six souls. Six Six Six. The number of the beast. Apparently, he's succeeded twice in the past. The last six, us, would ... bring him fully to human form. He wouldn't need a host anymore. He'd simply keep the last one, and it would become..." he didn't want to say it, "immortal."

"Immortal," Ethan said admiringly.

Rupert glared. "I'll feed you to him myself if you don't stop that, Ethan."

Ethan looked offended. "Now, I wouldn't go that far."

Deidre stood. "I would." She looked down determinedly at Rupert. "Have you found out how to stop him?"

He turned back to the dictionary, as if searching for the answer. "No. I'm sorry, De. De?" he asked as she turned from him and headed to the bedroom. Dropping everything, he followed her. "Don't," he told her.

Her hand was already on the doorknob. "It's still Randall." She opened the door and went in.

With a look, he told Thomas to follow her, then rejoined Ethan on the floor. "Skip to the end."







His face had gotten worse. And the yellow lights in his eyes disturbed her now. She walked around the bed, giving it a wide berth. Philip, who hadn't heard the conversation in the living room, reached to pull her back away from the bed, but Thomas gently blocked his arm. He could see that Deidre wasn't getting close, and the bindings seemed tight enough. She needed to see, she would see. The yellow eyes followed her until she stopped on the opposite side. "Hello, lover." The deep voice wasn't Randall's, but it was hard for Deidre to imagine that Randall wasn't still there.

"Eyghon," Deidre said, ignoring the other men in the room, "let Randall go. Go back where you came from. There will be another six."

The low, throaty laugh would haunt Deidre. "Not possible. I've given my marks. This is the six."

She glanced at her own tattoo. If she had a knife, she would slice it off. With nothing better at hand, she began scratching at it with her fingernails, leaving raw red trails. "This is what I think of your mark!"

Thomas, closest to her, jumped forward and grabbed her, restraining her arms. "Stop, De."

She struggled. "Let me go."

"Not if you're going to hurt yourself."

Emotionally as well as physically spent, she slumped, no fight left in her, and he let go of her but stayed close. She looked at the man on the bed. The thing in the bed. But she didn't have the energy to scratch those yellow eyes out of Randall's head. She knew she couldn't do it. She still saw Randall there and always would.

She moved closer to the bed, knowing both men were watching her. "I don't suppose you'd let me be alone with him, so I could say goodbye, because I don't think we're going to make it."

"Not a chance, love," Philip whispered.

She started to cry. "I can't take this anymore. I ... just..." she collapsed to the floor at the bedside and folded her arms under her head. Again, Thomas came forward to pull her away, but she shooed him, crying so hard she couldn't speak.

Thomas looked at Philip, who shrugged. Let her cry. They watched, and waited, and let her cry.

It only took a second. Although Thomas and Philip were both poised to pull her away when her sobs ceased, neither one was fast enough. When Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder, it was Eyghon who flung him off. Her eyes flashed an angry shade of yellow.

"Bloody hell!" shouted Philip.

The shout was loud enough to be heard in the living room and brought both Rupert and Ethan running. The door burst open. "What happened?" Rupert asked when he saw Deidre.

"She was just crying. For a long time, she was crying, and then she just...she just..."
Philip explained hurriedly.

This time, the low throaty laugh came from Deidre. "Dinner time," Eyghon said and leaped at Ethan, who cringed and threw up his hands to guard his face. Thomas tried to pull Deidre off and was thrown backward into the closet door, which hung open. He struck it at an odd angle and everyone heard a bone snap. Thomas curled up, clutching his lower ribs. "Everyone wants to be first," Eyghon said, giving up on Ethan and turning to Thomas.

"Rupert," came a small, weak voice from the bed.

Letting Philip join the fray, Rupert moved to the bed and leaned close. Randall panted, gathering breath to speak. "Not Deidre. Please. Whatever you have to do, but not Deidre."

Rupert raised his head, not knowing what to do. He still didn't understand why or how Eyghon had traveled. All he knew was that you had to be asleep. He glanced again at Randall's weak, pleading eyes, then took action. Just outside the open door, he saw the two-faced statue that had fallen from the end table. He retrieved it and returned to the bed. "I'm sorry, Randall." Then he lifted Randall's head, turned it, and brought the statue forcefully on his temple. When he let go of Randall's head it fell to the bed. His eyes were closed.

Turning to briefly observe the struggle going on behind him, he waited for an opening, then wrapped one hand around Deidre's neck and pulled her toward Randall. In the instant before he struck her, Rupert looked for it; for the smallest hint of Deidre in that face, but he saw only Eyghon. And it occurred to him that Randall's plea might not have been made out of love, but only disguised by it. Did he want it out of her, or did he want it back in him? Rupert remembered what it had felt like last night, and Eyghon had not even taken him fully. Well, he determined, whichever it was, Randall was going to get what he wanted. He bent Deidre backward over the bed as if he could physically push Eyghon from one body to the next, and, as he had with Ethan in the kitchen, he punched her as hard as he could. Her head bounced back and she smiled at him.

Her hands reached up and closed over his fist at her neck, but before she could make any further moves, he struck her again, then, without pause, again. And again.

"Rupert?" Philip and Thomas asked together. They saw the facial marks reappear on Randall's face and they reached to pull Deidre away and into the safety of the living room, edging her unconscious form past Ethan who had never moved from the doorway.

Ethan's eyes were locked on Randall. Had he just seen the demon move? Had he just seen his friend beat it out of one person and into another? How interesting.

"You stand guard," Rupert said, also stepping past him and pulling the door after.

"What? Me? Alone?" Ethan whimpered.

"You'll be all right. Just say awake." And he closed the bedroom door firmly.

The other two were bending over Deidre, trying to revive her with gentle slaps on the cheek that wasn't already bruised. Finally, her eyelids fluttered, then she sat bolt upright in a panic, crossing her legs in front of her. "Oh my God," she said, her hands over her face. "God, that was awful! Where did he --?" Quickly taking stock of the occupants of the room she guessed, "Ethan?"

"Eyghon is back in Randall. Ethan is standing guard," Thomas told her, taking her hand to help her to her feet.

Rupert retrieved a kitchen chair and placed it behind her so she could sit. "Thank you, Rupert." Half of her jaw had erupted in a black and blue bruise and had to hurt like hell. She touched it tenderly, checking for bleeding, but didn't complain.

He crouched down to speak to her. He wanted to say something else, ask her about her experience and compare it with his own, but personal research was a low priority right now. "De, I think I know how to destroy Eyghon, but no one's going to like it. You least of all."

"Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"No. Because you're in love with him." He didn't have to say whom. He didn't even have to explain the answer because she knew exactly what he meant. And just in case someone present didn't, Rupert explained anyway. "We have to kill Randall."

Deidre's eyes welled with tears. "There has to be another way. He left you last night, Rupert."

"Last night was ... a game. He couldn't do anything without six of us there, and now he's got us. He's not going to give up." Rupert lowered himself onto his bum. "If there's no one asleep when we kill Randall, he..." Did it show that he was theorizing? "...He'll be destroyed."

"Does it say that? In the chant?"

Rupert lowered his eyes and admitted, "No." Then he raised his head and looked at all four of them who were turning to him for answers. "But where could he go? If Randall's dead and we're all awake? At least he'll have to go back where he came from and wait for another summoning. We'd be safe, at least." A small glimmer of hope mixed with the despair of losing her lover moved across Deidre's face.

Thomas pointed to his tattoo. He held that arm tight against his rib. "Until someone does summon him. You heard him. We are the last six and there's no changing that."

The glimmer of hope died and Rupert felt annoyed that Thomas would point that out. "That's not likely to happen in our lifetimes," Rupert said, theorizing again. "He'll have to find another six a few hundred years from now. Our lives are extremely short compared to his. He's probably been around for thousands of years and only been summoned twice before."

And, just to influence the others against Ethan, he added, "Most people translate a chant before they try it and decide it's just too dangerous." He regretted trapping Ethan in the bedroom now. He would have enjoyed seeing the annoyed look on his face.

"How will you...?" Deidre asked, her voice trembling. Philip, standing behind Deidre's chair, put his hands on her shoulders, and she reached up without looking to touch one of the comforting hands in thanks.

"I'm open to ideas on that," Rupert said. It wouldn't be easy, and his back hurt from his fall onto the upended couch. His arms and legs were achy and tired from the struggle to get Randall back onto the bed. And the adrenaline surge from the battle to send Eyghon out of Deidre was dissipating, bringing exhaustion and drowsiness. He was sure the others felt the same way.

There was a noise from the bedroom and an unnaturally high-pitched scream. "Help!" Ethan was shouting as he opened the bedroom door and scurried out, yanking it closed behind him and holding the knob with two hands.

"Ethan!" Thomas said as Rupert got to his feet and spun around.

"He broke the bloody tape!"

Philip tried to pry Ethan's hands off the knob. "Then you put more on, you twat!" And he tried to open the door, but Ethan was still pulling it closed. "That's one of the things you were supposed to watch for!"

They could hear more sounds of ripping and thumping. Rupert questioned Deidre with a look -- permission to murder your boyfriend, dear? -- and she nodded, teary. "Into the kitchen, De. Under the table. Don't come out until I get you." Crying, she took the chair with her. "And stay awake!" he called after her.

There was a sudden moment of silence from the bedroom, then, with both men still holding onto the knob, the entire door was pulled from the frame. Ethan and Philip let go when they felt the door move and backed away. Eyghon tossed the door toward the dresser like it was an orphaned shoe. They heard it crash and the sound of wood cracking.

Thomas moved closer to Ethan and whispered, "We have to kill him," to fill him in on the plan.

Tearing his eyes away from the monster in his bedroom doorway, Ethan turned to Thomas, "Right, sure. No problem. Get my Howitzer, will you?" Then he immediately gave his attention back to Eyghon.

Eyghon's glowing yellow eyes moved to each of the men as if he were playing a mental game of eeny meeny miney moe. "Fools," he said. "You can't kill me."

Scanning the room, Rupert looked for something to use as a weapon. There was the lamp, but using it would plunge the room into darkness and he really didn't like their odds if that happened. The statue, which may have been useful, lay behind Eyghon on the floor next to the bed. There was no retrieving it now. Eyghon took steps forward, and they took steps back, passing glances at each other like an invisible football.

Suddenly, Rupert saw Deidre crossing in front of them as they backed past the kitchen doorway. She raised her arm and they all saw a large butcher knife in her hand. Moving forward quickly, she plunged the knife into Randall's chest, then let the others pull her back toward them. "I told you to stay in the kitchen," Rupert whispered.

"I got lonely, Love."

Eyghon looked down at the knife handle protruding from his chest. "Well, that will speed things along," he said. He grasped the handle and pulled it out, sprinkling droplets of blood along the carpet. The front of his shirt darkened with blood down to his waist. "I only need one of you alive, really," he said wiggling the knife in the air.

"He can take us if we're dead," Rupert surmised. He hadn't meant to say it aloud, hadn't meant to dash everyone's hope that their plan would be relatively simple to carry out.

Eyghon laughed.

Philip stepped around the edge of the couch to get nearer to Rupert. "Does that mean killing Randall won't solve our problem?"

"I don't know." There was that phrase again. Rupert felt ashamed to have to say it. Someday, it was going to be his job to know. People would come to him for answers and he'd better know them. They were rapidly running out of options, and all of them were showing signs of their ordeal. It was difficult to think. Too much was happening and they didn't have enough information. He noticed dark circles forming under everyone's eyes and even though he felt adrenaline flowing again because their lives were now in immediate danger, he had an urge to curl up in a corner and escape into sleep. He was sure the others felt the same. Even Ethan. But he didn't want to think about Ethan right now. They had to get that knife away from Eyghon.

Eyghon twirled the knife in his fingers. "Which shall it be? I guess I shall have to choose." Then he spun once around rapidly and threw the knife. It flew past Thomas, grazing his cheek, but stuck in the wall behind him. "Oops."

Thomas put a hand to his cheek, and Deidre pulled him aside to help. He touched it tenderly, looking at the blood on his fingertips. "It's all right, Thomas. The cut isn't deep." Deidre told him as she applied pressure to the wound with her own hand. "Hold still."

She looked up at Eyghon. His cut was deep, and still bleeding. Maybe they'd done enough, if they could just hold out until he fell.

But Philip wasn't waiting. He was on the knife in the wall before it stopped vibrating, rocking it up and down until it came loose. He hefted it, testing his grip.

"Philip," Thomas whispered, taking Deidre's hand from his cheek.

Philip said nothing. He looked at Thomas and Deidre. And at Rupert and Ethan. Then turned with a battle yell and jumped at Eyghon, sending the blade low into his stomach. Eyghon stumbled backward, grabbing blindly. His hand brushed at the handle of the television cart, then came back and grasped it firmly, pulling it down with him. The monster fell to the floor with Philip on top, still holding the knife, twisting the knife with a sneer on his face, and the telly came down on Philip's back, then rolled to the floor. A jagged crack appeared on the screen.

Eyghon reached up and his hands closed around Philip's throat, but Philip kept pushing and twisting the knife, carving up the body under him like a Thanksgiving turkey. Philip's face was turning color, but he wouldn't let go of the knife, not even to free himself. Finally, the hands around his throat fell away. The thing under Philip jerked twice, then lay still. Philip rolled off, coughing, landing awkwardly on the corner of the telly before pushing it out of the way. He was visibly shaken, and didn't try to stand.

The others came over, looking down at Randall's scarred face. They couldn't tell if the eyes still glowed yellow. They were closed. The skin around the marks on his face had gone pale, and he wasn't breathing. One quick sob escaped from Deidre before she turned and buried her face in the nearest shoulder, which was Rupert's. His arm came around her. "Is he dead?" she asked, unable to look.

By then, Philip was pushing himself to his feet. Gently, he kicked the body in the ribs, then kicked again, harder. "He's dead."

Rupert found himself stroking Deidre's hair. "It's over, De. It's over." He wasn't sure if he was telling her or himself.

From behind Rupert, Ethan emerged and righted the handcart. He lifted the telly with the cracked screen and placed it on top. "Of course, it's over. He's smashed the telly."

There was a sucking noise as Philip pulled the butcher knife from Eyghon's ... no, Randall's ... stomach wound. He stared at the blood on the blade, then at the man on the floor, and everything they'd gone through seemed like a bad dream. "Blimey, what do we tell the cops?"

The five stared at each other. There was no denying the dead body in the middle of the living room. Authorities would have to be called. And police would probably not take kindly to being told that the victim had been possessed by a demon and they had killed him in self-defense. Although Rupert's mouth had suddenly gone dry, he said, bending his head slightly to direct his words to the ear currently under his chin, "Deidre, does anyone else know that Randall came here?"

She blinked away tears, then straightened and wiped them away with the palm of her hand. "He told his parents we were going to a midnight movie."

Rupert stared straight ahead as he invented the lie. "You came here to meet us. We were all going to the cinema. We stopped for tea. After drinking the tea, Randall suddenly got violent and attacked us with a kitchen knife," Philip dropped the knife to the floor, conscious of his fingerprints on the handle. "We wrestled the knife away from him, but he didn't stop. We only meant to injure him. But he began to choke Philip, and you," his nearly vacant eyes drifted, "you were forced to kill him." Philip shook his head and Rupert added, "the closer we stick to the truth, the easier it will be. He choked you. You killed him. But we were all in danger." Now his eyes began to focus again as he included everyone in his gaze.

"His face is still..." Thomas noted. "Is that supposed to go away? How do we explain that?"

Ethan tugged on Rupert's shirt. "Go see if his eyes are still yellow."

"Me?" Rupert objected, turning to Ethan incredulously. "You go see."

Deidre screamed.

The four men looked at her and then where she was pointing. The question about the eyes had been answered. Stiffly, Eyghon rose from the floor and stood before them. "One down, five to go." He reached, ready to choke his next victim into unconsciousness.

They were already backed into the front wall. Eyghon stepped forward, his dead legs slow and rubbery. "Scatter!" Rupert shouted, pushing Ethan toward the kitchen.

Thomas pulled Deidre the other way, trying to get around Eyghon, but Eyghon took hold of Deidre's arm and pulled her close. Thomas lost his grip, but made it around Eyghon only to turn back again when he realized what had happened. "De!"

Eyghon's hands were already wrapped around her neck. He held her up off the floor and she kicked helplessly. Her eyes went big as terror swept through her. She grasped and clawed at the hands holding her. Blood from his chest and stomach smeared against her dress. A small squeak was the only sound she could produce.

Rupert realized he was closest to the knife that Philip had dropped on the floor. He stepped toward it swiftly, ducking down to pick it up and in one swift move swung it like a baseball bat at the back of Eyghon's neck. It stuck in the bone, but Rupert pulled it out, ready to swing again.

The force of the first strike was enough to make Eyghon drop Deidre, who fell to the floor, gasping. Both Thomas and Philip rushed to her side, although it forced Thomas to pass right under Eyghon's arm. But Eyghon was more concerned with the attack from the rear and ignored Thomas, turning instead to face Rupert.

Deidre sat on one hip, where Eyghon had dropped her, coughing. Suddenly, she cupped a hand over her mouth and her words came through muffled but clear. "Oh my God, I think I'm going to --". Quickly, she pushed herself up and rushed into the kitchen, heading for the loo. Thomas, after receiving a nod from Philip, followed. From the sounds, Ethan and Philip guessed that she hadn't quite made it.

"Hold him! Hold him down, damn it!"

Distracted by Deidre, no one had seen how, but Rupert had Eyghon on the floor and was straddling his chest, trying to bury the knife lengthwise in his throat. But Eyghon kept pushing the knife away. Philip moved first, hurrying to the far side to grab Eyghon's arm. He knelt on the elbow, but still had a hard time keeping his place. Ethan, observing Philip first, copied him and put a knee on Eyghon's other elbow.

Rupert felt out of himself. Strange thoughts ran through his head. He'd been instructed time and again by his father that to kill a demon you decapitated it. Now there was no Randall, only demon, and he knew that's what he had to do. But it would be his job someday to know when to do it; he'd never expected to kill anyone or anything. That would be his Slayer's job. He looked down at his hands, already coated with blood, as he bore down on the knife to cut through the thick muscle and sinewy tendons. It seemed he was watching someone else. At first, Eyghon had roared at him, but now no sound came from the demon's mutilated throat.

Philip watched both Rupert and his progress, seeing a determination in his friend that had never been there before. Ethan, sickened, turned his head away.

Cutting through the spinal column, Rupert mused, felt exactly the same as cutting through a chicken leg quarter at the joint. He had to manipulate the blade a bit, push away gore with it to see where the vertebrae were connected. Then, with a grunt of effort, he pushed down on the blade with both hands, severing Eyghon's head completely.

The body stopped moving, then began to wriggle oddly beneath him as if he were sitting on Jell-O. He got up and backed away, as did his friends, Ethan to his left, Philip across the room. As they watched, Eyghon's body mutated into a large puddle of blue slime. Then his head collapsed into a smaller puddle. The two puddles flowed outward toward each other, merging. They backed further away. "Don't touch it!" Philip said.

The puddle thinned as it spread, then dissipated and vanished.

The three men stood staring at the spot where Eyghon had died. Deidre came out of the kitchen, walking slowly, with support from Thomas who now had an impressive wound on his cheek. "What happened?" she asked, looking for the monster that had tried to kill her.

"We killed it," Ethan said. "We won. It's really over. Eyghon's gone."

Deidre sniffed. "And so is Randall."

Together, the five of them waited for the better part of an hour but no sign of Eyghon appeared. It was nearly 4 a.m. when Rupert offered to take Deidre home, thankful that she'd been spared the sight of the decapitated corpse of her lover. As for himself, the up close and personal view he had would be something he would never forget. It took all four men to right the sofa and get it away from the door. Deidre had used cold water to blot most of the blood off her dress. The print had red in it, so the stain was barely visible. The damp area could be attributed to almost anything. When Rupert opened the door to leave, it almost seemed like a door to another world. "Ethan, dear," Deidre said, turning to her host, "you'll be all right?"

Ethan waved her out. "Philip and Thomas are crashing here. Don't worry."

Rupert opened the car door for her and helped her in, then went around to the driver side and climbed behind the wheel. "De, there's something I wanted to ask you."

"Go ahead, Love. After tonight, what is there to be afraid of?" Deidre tried to smile.

Ordinary activities like starting a car still had an air of unfamiliarity to them and it took him two tries to get the engine running. "Back there," Rupert started, "after Eyghon left you, you said it was awful."

"Yes, I did," she said, shying away from his look.

He let the engine idle. "It wasn't awful, was it?"

"Rupert, what are you --?" she stopped herself, but couldn't come right out and say it.

"You were lying back there. You liked it."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Rupert turned in the seat, making it clear that the car would not be moving until this topic was resolved. "De, it was in me, too. I felt it. And as sick as it sounds, part of me wants to feel it again. Don't tell me you don't feel the same way." Damn, he was making her cry. He didn't want to make her cry.

"How can you even think that, after what just happened?"

He faced forward again. "I promise you, De, I will NEVER say that demon's name again. I just want ... I need to..." he didn't know how to explain it. That he needed to know he wasn't the only one? "Tell me I'm not crazy. Tell me that this ... ache ... he left me with will go away someday. Tell me that leaving Ethan is the right thing to do. Tell me ... " he ran out of words, then waited for Deidre's response.

There was silence for a long while. Then, very softly, "Rupert, take me home."

After a long, quiet, awkward ride, he parked outside Deidre's apartment building, then unbuckled and prepared to get out and open her door. She held out a hand to stop him and opened her own door. "Rupert," she said, sitting there with the door wide open, and one foot on the sidewalk, "God help me. I did like it." Then she got out, pushed the car door closed, and ran up her walk.



THE END

GRRRR ARRRGH