What neither of them realized was that this very tall girl with the Pekingese tucked under one arm and the flawless face and figure was in fact a fashion model, one who was already famous for impersonating a Viking princess standing at the prow of a ship coming up the Hudson in a television ad for Erik cigars, and that she posed a greater threat to Millbrook than all the cops in the county combined. Within minutes she would latch onto Tim, the verified celebrity among them who’d had his picture in the papers even more than she had, and within the hour they’d be doing the sacrament together, privately, in his bedroom, while Peggy pretended to be absorbed in the band and the party went on without them, and two weeks later would announce their engagement with plans for a December wedding and a six-month honeymoon in India, which left the inner circle . . . where?

But that was the future. That was a set of circumstances he didn’t know of and couldn’t imagine as he stood there on the steps in Nena von Schlebrügge’s wake, momentarily distracted from the fact that Lori was missing and he wanted her more than all the blond fashion models in the world stacked up one atop the other till they reached the troposphere. He needed another drink. He needed the drug to come on. He needed Lori and he needed the Light—even the merest glimpse of it, because he’d settle for that if he could have Lori just for the afternoon. And the evening. And the night, especially the night.