Sally knelt beside the body of Rich Poore, pushed aside the weeds and looked at the sleeping face with the acne and the scraggly goatee.

With surprise, she realized that he was handsome in an awkward teen way. His lean face was fox-like, framed by wavy, messy brown hair. But he smelled of old sweat, like he didn’t bathe often, and of campfire smoke.

His eyes popped open!

She jerked back, then came closer again. The brown eyes were glassy and looked unseeingly up.

Well. She was on.

In the most natural voice she could manage, she said, “Hi. My name is Sally.”

As clearly as if Lavinia was standing behind her, Sally heard her say, “Jeez, tiger, what the fuck you doing?”

Don’t make this any harder, she begged.

What do you say to a dead man (who disgusts you) after “hi my name is?” She almost said, too brightly, “What’s yours?” But she decided to admit she knew his story.

“Rich, I don’t know if you know what’s been going on in the world since your….”

Your death? Your prompt and total surrender to evil? She raged at him kneeling before the vampire, ready to suck its cock – and suddenly the reek of the smiler who took a dump on her belly nearly made her puke. How hard she had come and how she’d hated herself! Is he like me?

His face didn’t move.

Fuck, babe… Lavinia’s voice was clearer than ever; was she walking toward the grove? Sally picked up a tangle of her thoughts: the knife slipped in easy, even for a woman drunk off her ass, goddam grateful you weren’t scared off when I killed Bunt, whack the kid, just whack him Tiger.

And something about … lemon oil?

Please, please, she begged. Support me, just support me! Lavinia’s thoughts ran on. In San Francisco Charla Thorpe woke from raving delirium in a hospital bed, knowing Tomie was dead. Charity Clair woke from happy sleep to find that it was after noon and she was in the arms of a vampire, while little Tommy in the next room said to the Grandmother, “What shall we, hmm?” And Sister Amanda Malreaux, in terrible pain, raised her tear-filled eyes to the noonday sky and dragged in a ragged breath.

Around the cacophony of Lavinia’s urgings and the screams in her head (not laughter, was that a good sign?), Sally heard a faint thought.

She’s so pretty, she’d never be interested in me.

She had reached him! “I, um, look, eh, you’re a good looking guy and I’d like to get to know you.” She blushed and cringed at Lavinia’s sudden silence.

But there was an answering thought. Thanks a lot, God, it’s so loving and kind of you to get me hoping but of course she’s talking to someone else and even if she really means me, I’ll just mess it up…

What the hell could she do with that?

But he instantly picked up her disgust. I know how I amuse you when I dare to grasp at the hope you dangle for even a second but I’m put back in my place now…

Jesus, she wanted to shake him.

But she spoke carefully, using the waves of his answering thoughts to shape each next sentence like a surfer angling in response to each surge. “I know we’ve just met, but I like you (if only she was talking to me) and you’re really handsome (is she so shallow that good looks are all she cares about) um and also brave to go out hiking in such a scary place all by yourself, that takes a lot of guts (where am I actually, out in a scary place, there’s something terrible out there, something, something, SOMETHING!)

Holy shit, he was reliving the vampire’s attack! She shifted gears immediately.

“But shit, that was sure a scary movie we just saw, huh? Let’s ignore it. I don’t want to think about it, let’s talk about us.” She cringed but he followed her lead. Scary movie, yeah, let’s not even think about it, I’ll have a torture night for sure, I’ll be up until all hours. I wish I was brave enough to say, “if you let me hold you, we don’t have to be scared.” But I’d never dare to say something offensive and sexist like that…

“Could you, um, kind of, hold me?” she made herself say. “I’d like to feel your big, strong arms…” But she heard instantly, Big strong arms, who is she kidding, I try to be sensitive but women always go for the men they say they don’t want…

She felt a twinge of sympathy: in his mess of conflicting impulses was the wish to be sensitive and not to treat women like objects. She was painfully aware that she had spurned sensitive lovers in her past, finding them unexciting.

She shifted quickly again. “Sorry, I know you’re not a strong he-man, but I like sensitive men and you’re that in spades.” She heard Lavinia’s decided snort but felt a wave of sympathy from Jesse and Walter.

Oh God, came his thought, this time seemingly not addressed to the demon god he believed in but just an exclamation, how I wish men didn’t have to take all the risks, women are so lucky, I wish I was a woman so I could just be seduced.

Sally squashed her instant thought I could tell him some facts about how easy women have it. She had his attention, she had to keep it.

Tentatively, she reached out and stroked his cheek. It was smooth except for a few straggling black hairs. He would never have a beard. “I’m going to, like, lie down here with you, okay? You don’t mind, do you? I, I’ve never done this before, but I trust you…”

Oops, back off. He was responding but with heavy reluctance. Oh no, a virgin again, I only ever get virgins, she’ll expect me to take the lead and do everything…

“Actually,” and she boldly put her arms around the body, “I lied, I’m sorry, I like to be on top and you’re just the kind of man I like to do it with.”

At his blinding surge of excitement, she suddenly had him pegged.

He was so much like her that it was humiliating.

She understood now what he wanted. But could she give it?

She looked at that fox-like face, felt the despair that had caused so much misery and destruction to the world. Her hand started to move.

She yanked him over her lap and though he came like a sack of mashed potatoes, he was panting with excitement.