Whitman scarcely had time to register shock. He had come to grips with Lucy. Her dead, staring eyes confirmed what he already knew. She was no longer the Lucy Flix had known, no longer simply Flix’s niece. She was wholly Preach’s creature now. Preach had started the process when he had called her to him years ago; today he had completed it. There was nothing left inside her—no blood, no beating heart. She was hollow, and that emptiness, that lack of life, the death that was no death, that imprisonment, cruel beyond measure, engendered a rage she could not control.

She struck him a blow with her entire body; he wasn’t certain she even remembered that she held a knife. In any event, it was of no interest to her. Preach had turned her entire being into a weapon, an arrow aimed at his supposed son and heir’s heart and soul. Her jaws gaped open and she snapped them together. He saw how her teeth had changed, become elongated and pointed. They had a silvery sheen, as if coated with toxic saliva.

Her arms, hands, and feet beat an infernal tattoo, striking, slashing, battering at his body and legs, while her jaws snapped at his face, threatening to bite through his nose, lips, and cheeks. The blows he landed had no effect whatsoever, and just as he was about to be plowed under by this nonhuman pile driver, he placed his palm between her breasts, finding the vagus nerve, the tenth cranial nerve, as it was sometimes called, and slapped it very hard, once, twice. The third time he struck it, she collapsed—or rather her body did. Her eyes kept their unwavering predator’s stare at him, her jaws kept working, her teeth clashing together like a sword striking armor.

Whitman struggled her down to the ground, then called out to Charlie: “I need two strips of material. Use Preach’s shirt.”

She did as he asked, brought them to him. He wadded up one strip, but Lucy’s clashing jaws, the movement of her head from side to side, defeated his purpose. Divining it, Charlie knelt on the grass behind Lucy’s head. She grabbed Lucy’s jaw, clamped her thumbs against the hinges on either side. The moment Lucy’s mouth opened, Whitman stuffed the ball of fabric into it. Quickly now, he used the second strip over Lucy’s mouth, pulling it tight and tying it behind her head.

“Whit,” Charlie said, “what the hell is this? What did Preach do to her? Was it the same thing you did to Flix?”

“You know it isn’t,” Whitman said, “but, unfortunately, it’s related.” He glanced over at Preach’s body. “He’s dead.”

She nodded.

“How did you manage it?”