He stopped. His face worked. Mina was so afraid, she could not move. He lifted his hands and clasped them tight around her neck. “Shall I kill you, Mina?” he said, his voice steadier now, and the blue-black eyes looking directly into hers. “I could. I could snap your spine, just like that. Break your neck—then I could leave you here in the church. I could put your body on the altar. Lay you out, Mina, with candles at your head and candles at your feet…” He paused and drew in one long, slow breath. “So, shall I kill you? Maybe I’ll kiss you, Mina? What do you think?”

Mina could not speak. She tried to move her lips, and he increased the pressure on her neck, just for an instant, then he moved, bent, kissed her very hard on her closed lips.

“You’re safe,” he said. “I’m merciful. Anyway, I need you. I need you more than ever now. I’ll have to change my plans. Adjust. I can do that. I’m resourceful. I’m quick.”

He took her by the arm as if nothing had happened, led her out into the street, and took her back to the attic room. All the way there, Mina could sense his mood was changing yet again. She could feel a new electricity in the pace with which he walked, in the light in his eyes; he looked—bright, she thought, as if he gave off rays of invincibility.

“Sweet,” he said. He had been laying out the tarot as soon as they entered; he was still in his long overcoat, and Mina was crouching on the bed.

“The cards are sweet. I knew they would be. It’s okay—I can do it now. I have the means—look.”

Then he took out the gun. Mina knew very little about guns except what she had learned from his catalogue games. This was small, a nickel color; he tossed it down onto the patchwork quilt between her legs.

“It’s not loaded. Don’t be afraid. Pick it up. Isn’t it beautiful? That’s what I had to collect tonight.”

Mina touched the gun, then withdrew her hand. Star picked it up. He caressed it. He held its muzzle against his temple. “Bang,” he said, smiling now. “One bullet in the heart. Another in the head. Au revoir, Jean Lazare. Simple. This fires fifteen rounds a second. Nasty ammunition. It rotates, after impact, inside the body, inside the brain. You don’t survive. You get lacerated—and that’s not nice, Mina, I know all about that. My life’s been one long laceration, they took my heart and they tore it into little, little strips. One day, I’ll tell you about that…”

He talked on, and Mina watched him and the gun. She was afraid, but she was thinking hard. Star needed help, she could really see that now; he needed help from doctors, but he’d never agree to see one, she knew that.

“Wednesday morning. Two more days—less,” he was saying, and Mina lay beside him, as still as a mouse. She was trying to work out how and when she could escape from this room, this house. The door was not locked, but there was a problem she could not see around. As far as she knew, as far as she had been able to judge in the three days they had been together, Star never slept.