"I don't know!" Butters said. "There were too many and I only saw them for a sec—"

Another blow fell, this time with the dull, heavy sound of a closed fist hitting flesh.

I clenched my teeth, rage filling me.

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know…" Butters said. It sounded like he was crying.

"Look at me," Grevane said. " Look."

I closed my eyes and turned my face a little from the window. I could imagine what was happening. Butters, probably on his knees, being held by a pair of zombies, Grevane standing over him in his trench coat, pinching Butters's chin between his thumb and forefinger. I could imagine him forcing Butters's eyes up to meet his, to begin a soulgaze. Grevane wanted to see the inside of Butters's head, in a swift and harsh attempt to assess the truth.

And Butters would be exposed to the corruption of a soul steeped in dark magic and a lifetime of murder.

I heard a high-pitched little sound that rose rapidly, growing louder and louder until it was a wail of terror and madness. There was no dignity in the sound. No self-control. I would never have recognized it as Butters's voice if I hadn't known he was out there. But it was him. Butters screamed, and he kept screaming without pausing to take a breath until it wound down to a frozen, gurgling sound and died away.

"Well?" asked another voice, one I did not recognize. It rasped harshly, as if the man speaking had spent a lifetime imbibing cheap Scotch and cheaper cigars.

"He doesn't know," Grevane reported quietly, disgust in his voice.

"You're sure?" said the second voice. I moved a bit to one side and stood up on tiptoe to peer out the window. I could see the second speaker. It was Liver Spots.

"Yes," Grevane said. "He doesn't have any strength to him. If he knew, he'd answer."

"If you kill the mortician, you'll have to kill me," I called. "Of course, I'm the only one with the information, other than Corpsetaker.

I'm sure that you psychotic necro-wannabes with delusions of godhood are all about sharing with your fellow maniacs."

There was silence from outside.

"So you should go ahead and take me out," I said. "Of course, when I lay down my death curse on you, it's going to make it that much harder for you to beat out Corpsetaker for the Darkhallow, but what's life without a few challenges to liven things up?" I paused and then said, "Don't be an idiot, Grevane. If you don't deal with me you'll be cutting your own throat."

"Is that what you think?" Grevane said. "Perhaps I will simply walk away."

"No, you won't," I said. "Because when Corpsetaker gets his membership to the Mount Olympus Country Club, the first thing he's going to do is find his nearest rival—you—and rip your pancreas out through your nose."