“All right. What did you have in mind, Eddie?”

“Well . . . what was all that business with Heaven and Hell, and I’ve been around ?”

“Ah,” said Molly. “Yes . . . I suppose that had to come out eventually. You’ve been very good, Eddie, really you have; not asking too many questions about what I did, and what I promised, to gain my magical powers. Possibly because you were afraid of what the answers might be. Well, relax, sweetie, I haven’t sold my soul to anyone. I made a series of pacts and deals down the years, with various Powers. Some Infernal, some Heavenly, a few alien . . . And I paid for my magic with years off my life. Don’t look like that, Eddie; I never wanted to grow old anyway. Now, of course, it would appear the whole question has become irrelevant. My various debtors were paid with years from my putative old age, and now it seems more than likely I won’t get that far. The thing growing inside me will take me long before my allotted time.”

“Not while I’m here,” I said. “I’ll never give up on you, Molly. There must be something we can do. This is Drood Hall; we work miracles for the world every day. I have the right to expect one small miracle, just for you. You know . . . I could get you a torc. Strictly speaking, it’s forbidden for anyone not of Drood blood, but I’m sure Strange would help. I probably wouldn’t even have to explain why. He’s very understanding, for an inexplicable other-dimensional being.”

“It’s a nice thought, Eddie, but I don’t think it would work. The torc didn’t help Sebastian, except to help him hide his condition.”

“Okay, scratch that idea. How about the Armourer? He’s created enough wonders for the family; he can create one more for me. For you.”

“But then we’d have to tell him everything. How much can we trust him? I don’t want to end up in a cage, like the others. Not while there’s still work to be done.”

“Do you feel up to fighting in the field?” I said.

“When I don’t, then you’ll know there’s something seriously wrong. Physically, I feel fine. No different at all. My magic is insulating me from whatever changes are beginning. Mentally . . .” Molly cocked her head slightly on one side, as though listening. “It’s like there’s another voice in my head, me but not me, distant but distinct, faint but insistent.”

“What’s it saying?” I said, as casually as I could.

“Smoke crack and worship Satan. No, I can’t tell. It’s too far away. It doesn’t sound like anything . . . bad.”