"Just listen." In terse terms, I outlined what I'd learned about the Nightmare, and how it was getting to its victims.

Michael stared at me for a minute. Then he said, "Let me get this straight. The ghost of a demon I killed two months ago is rampaging around Chicago, getting into people's dreams, and eating their minds from the inside."

"Yeah," I said.

"And now it's taken a part of you, manifested a body that looks like you, and you think it's coming here."

"Yes," I said. "Exactly."

Michael pursed his lips for a moment. "Then how do I know that you aren't this Nightmare, trying to get me to invite you in?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Then said, "Either way, it's better if I stay out here. Charity would probably gouge out my eyes for showing up at this hour."

Michael nodded. "Come on in, Harry. Let me put the baby to bed."

I stepped inside, into a small entry hall with a polished hardwood floor. Michael nodded toward his living room, to the right, and said, "Sit down. I'll be back in a second."

"Michael," I said. "You should wake your family up."

"You said this thing is in a solid body, right?"

"It was a few minutes ago."

"Then it's not in the Nevernever. It's here, in Chicago. It can't get into people's dreams from here."

"I don't think so, but-"

"And it's going to be after the people who were near it when it died. It's going to come after me."

I chewed on my lip for a second. Then I said, "It's got a part of me in it, too."

Michael frowned at me.

"If I was going to come after you, Michael," I said. "I wouldn't start with you."

He looked down at the child he carried. His face hardened, and he said, in a very soft voice, "Harry. Sit. I'll be down in a moment."

"But it might-"

"I'll see to it," he said in that same soft, gentle voice. It scared me. I sat down. He took the child, walking softly, and vanished up a stairway.

I sat for a moment in a big, comfortable easy chair, the kind that rocks back and forth. There was a towel and a half-emptied bottle off to my left, on the lamp table. Michael must have been rocking the little girl to sleep.

Beside the bottle was a note. I leaned forward and picked it up, reading:

Michael. Didn't want to wake you and the baby. The little one is demanding pizza and ice cream. I'll be back in a few minutes-probably before you wake up and read this. Love, Charity.

I stood up, and started toward the stairs. Michael appeared at the top of them, his face pale. "Charity," he said. "She's gone."

I held up the note. "She went to the store for pizza and ice cream. Pregnant cravings, I guess."