The school bus was still parked across the middle of the bridge, but now, even brighter than the arc lamps from either side of the creek, it was shimmering with a white, unearthly light of its own, and producing a constant high-pitched whine that set Harry’s teeth on edge.

Neil said, “What’s happening?”

Singing Rock set down his suitcase. “They are almost finished preparing the gateway. As soon as the moon goddess appears, they will emerge in their real form.”

“What’s the time?” asked Harry. “I think my watch died of claustrophobia in that tunnel.”

“There’s about a half-hour to go,” said Neil.

Singing Rock opened his case and took out a small spherical cage made of curved bones bound together with human hair. He set it carefully on top of one of the uprights of the fence, and then hung strings of beads and ribbons around it.

“Is it rude to ask what that is?” said Neil.

“Not at all,” smiled Singing Rock. “It’s a caged spirit that’s particularly sensitive to the presence of other spirits. Rather like a canary that miners take down the mine shaft to detect the presence of methane. When that cage starts rattling, we’ll know that the first demons are drawing near to the bridge.”

Neil peered at the cage worriedly. “A spirit? What kind of a spirit? A human spirit?”

Singing Rock laughed. “No. It’s the spirit of a wolf. I borrowed it from one of the elders.”

Harry said, “What about a medicine circle? Can you do something to hold those medicine men inside that bus? The way you did the first time Misquamacus appeared?”

“I don’t think there’s a chance,” said Singing Rock. “Apart from the fact that it’s physically difficult to get out there and draw one, your policemen will try to stop me, and so will Misquamacus. I think I prefer to conserve my energy for the battle itself.”

There were now only ten minutes to moonrise. A little way away, just beyond a cluster of NBC television reporters and cameramen, Captain Myers of the Highway Patrol had set up a radio link post. He had obviously been outranked by the arrival of two police inspectors and a colonel from the National Guard, but he was tenaciously keeping in touch with the siege, and sending his men here and there to bring him news of what the military and the FBI were doing.

In the tense, warm night, under the unnatural brilliance of the floodlights, a burble of military voices came over the radio as the National Guardsmen were deployed along the hills overlooking the bridge, punctuated with occasional terse comments about the state of the school bus.

“She’s still glowing. No brighter now. But still glowing.”

“I don’t know why the goddamn gas tank doesn’t blow, the way that’s shining.”