Of course. It was only her hair, the makeup, the dress.

And if they had got her on to something, well, he would get her the best treatment. She would be okay.

But he must keep cool.

"Sorry," said Nobbi. "Het up. Didn't mean to come on so strong."

"She's your daughter," said Eric. He glanced back, and said, "Miranda, she must come down."

And then another figure came on to the other side of the stairs.

Something… Something dark.

No. Only the girl. The one he had seen before. The film-star girl.

She poised, above them all, looking down at him.

She wore a green dress and a green belt knuckled with silver.

"Didn't mean to cause no bother," said Nobbi. He was trying to be jovial.

The faces were all set, still. And Tray's face was set, but with a kind of human embarrassment now.

Only that other face, the highest one, was odd.

Yes, that girl was on drugs. Her eyes were blank and black as quags. Pools of paint. Nothing in them.

She started down the stairs.

"I've come a long way," said Nobbi. "I worry. You got to understand."

"You are her father," said Eric.

It struck Nobbi Eric was agreeing, backing him up.

"Too right," Nobbi said.

He had broken out in sweat.

The girl in green was still descending, but Tray was just standing there with the other woman.

"Come on, love."

"Oh, Dad," said Tray.

He felt himself breathe again. It was the usual voice, the whine of protest and self-justification.

"Come on, love. Your mom's worried."

The girl in green came down the stairs, all the way. She walked toward Nobbi with a sheer paralyzing grace, so he had to look at her.

God, her eyes—

"What is it, love?" Nobbi said to Ruth, concerned for her, bewildered.

He had always liked women.

Her left hand flicked out and there was a flash, like the sun again through the windows.

A spurt of scarlet burst upward and hit the pillars. It splashed over Ruth, into her hair and onto her white face. Beads of blood on her lashes, blinked away. Red tears.

"Oh!" exclaimed the old woman with Tray. "Oh! Oh!"

Nobbi was confused. He tried to look around. A violent hiccup tore out of him, and there was a terrific itching in his head. He scratched, and then the hall turned over.

Nobbi lay on the floor with the blood gusting from the severed vein in his short, short neck. His eyes were open. He could say nothing.

"Michael," Eric said.

Michael ran to Nobbi and kneeled down. He pressed a wad of something white against the blood, but the white changed to red.

"Daddy," said Tray.

Ruth stood over Nobbi, the gold razor in her fingers.

"Scarabae," said Ruth.