She leaned forward and her black hair tented them in. She kissed his throat. He slipped his hands about her ribs. At once she was dizzy and weak, her yearning blossoming into the thorns and roses of desire.

"I wish I'd always been with you," she said.

"You always were."

"Don't lie—"

"You were with me," he said, "in black places and bright."

"Where are we now?"

"Between two devils," he said.

He was hard against her. "Please—" she said.

Malach lifted her, drew her down onto his body, filling her.

He held her inexorably, moving her body, helpless, toward the abyss.

She stared at him. She wanted to die for him. She wanted death at his hands. Death that burned—

Ruth wrapped her arms about herself and arched her back, her throat, becoming a white icon on a veil of black hair. Her scream was silent and for a moment all her body flushed as if in the light of flames, as if her blood snowed through her crystal, like the light in the window.

CHAPTER 41

SOMETHING WAS WRONG.

Everything was. And that bloody noise, waking him.

Nobbi tried to sit up, but he was sitting up. He was in the cold Jag and a cold glare came in, except where the figure impeded it, banging on the window.

It was a traffic warden in the irritant wasp uniform, a woman though, with a sad pinched face.

Nobbi rolled down the window.

"I'm afraid you can't park here, sir."

"Can't I?"

"No, sir."

"Restricted zone? Didn't see no notice."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Something warned him now, not to argue or question.

"Just got tired, needed a kip."

"That's all right, sir. But if you could move on now."

"Right you are," said Nobbi. He smiled at her. "Dull old day."

"Yes, it is," she said.

She stepped back and stood on the pavement milita-ristically, under the big dripping trees, as he started up the cold reluctant car, and drove off busily downhill.

The terrible thing was, he had overslept, cramped there in the car. It was nearly nine-thirty, and he had not called Star, as he had promised. (Had he promised?) God knew what she would think. He would have to call her tonight. He could never remember the library number. Look it up, maybe, if he could find a box with directories in it.

There was a posh cafe open in among the shops down the hill.

Nobbi went in and had a breakfast of strange herbal green scrambled egg and crumbly French roll-things. The coffee was a cup of froth.

He had left the Jag in a side street among a lot of other cars, all probably there for the day.

He went back to it, and sat in it.

He had to think what to do.

Then again, he had to be honest. He was a bit scared.