Where was Slade? Oh, God, could he please show up and bring the damned cavalry with him? Or would she have to face the killer alone, perhaps shoot a priest?

Down a narrow set of steps where the walls felt as if they were closing in on her, she followed the dim blue light. Cobwebs hung from the lowering ceiling, clinging to her hair, brushing against her face. The air smelled as if it hadn’t been fresh in decades, with dust and rot combining to form a dank odor that caused her skin to crawl. It was all she could do not to cough as they opened a final door.

“Why are we here?” Charity asked, her voice quavering with fear as it ricocheted hollowly back through the tunnels to Val.

The light had stopped moving, shining thinly against the stone walls.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Oh, God, Val thought worriedly, the killer has an accomplice! She glanced over her shoulder and strained to hear, listening for any sound of another person. . . . Were there footsteps following her? Did she hear the sound of labored breathing? Had she walked into a trap? She whirled quickly, the .38 pointed into the dark, her finger sweating on the trigger.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the demon from her nightmares, the rat-eyed monster with the silvery chain. That was only Sister Ignatia. You know it. Don’t let your imagination get the better of you!

Her heart felt as if it might explode.

But no one, no thing, leaped out at her.

Swallowing her fear, Val turned back to the light and edged closer, staying in the shadows, her eyes adjusting to the weird light. She realized with sickening disgust that they’d made their way down to a tomb of sorts, where coffins were tucked into pockets cut into the stony walls, a few, old and rotting, standing on their narrow ends, propped against the dusty wall. Charity was standing in front of a single casket, the lid of which gaped, as if it had never been sealed. As if it were waiting.

It was still too dark to see the killer’s face, but she caught a glimpse of a knife, a long, sharp blade that glinted in the half-light. There was a pool of white at the madman’s feet—the once-white lace of a bridal gown.

Oh, God, no!

This psycho was going to kill Sister Charity, strangle her with a sharp garrote and squeeze the life from her as soon as he forced the nun into the damned dress.

Val had to stop this madness. She had to!

“What do you want from me?” Charity asked, glancing nervously at her captor.