might at any moment drop to the ground and imitate some animal or other— that distressed him. He didn't want her near him, even with her tight skin, her lovely nubs of nipples, her pouty lips. There was too much hunger in her eyes, and even if he wasn't the focus of that appetite, he didn't want to be caught between such a mindless hunger and its object of desire, whatever it might be.
And then there were the others, still lurking close to the tree behind her. Wait, there were more than two. There was a host of others, whose gaze he now felt on him. They were everywhere out here, in this uncertain dawn. He could see the foliage moving where some of them had slunk, their naked bellies flat on the ground. And they were up in the branches too; rotted blossoms came down to add to the muck that slickened the Mexican pavers underfoot.
Eppstadt took a tentative backward step, regretting that he'd ever stepped out of the house. No, not just that. At that moment he was regretting the whole process of events that had brought him to this damned house in the first place. Going to Maxine's asinine party; having that witless argument with Pickett; then the interrogation of Jerry Brahms and the choice to come up here. Stupid, all of it.
He took a second backward step. As he did so, the eyes of the exhibitionist girl who'd first appeared became exceptionally bright, as though something in her head had caught fire. Then, without warning, she broke into a sudden run, racing at Eppstadt. He turned back toward the door, and in the instant that he did so he saw a dozen —no, two dozen—figures who'd been standing camouflaged in the murk break their cover and join her in her dash for the door.
He was a step from reaching the threshold when the young bitch caught hold of his arm.
'Please—' she said. Her fingers dug deep into the fat where healthier men had biceps.
'Don't go in,' she said.
She pulled him back toward her, her strength uncanny. He reached out and grabbed the doorjamb, thinking as he did so that he'd got through the last twenty-five years of his life without anyone laying an inappropriate hand upon him, and here he was in the midst of his second such indignity in the space of twenty-four hours.
The woman still had fierce hold of him, and she wasn't about to let him go.
'Stay out here,' she implored.
He flailed away from her. His Armani shirt tore, and he seized the moment to wriggle free. From the corner of his eye he saw a lot of faces, eyes incandescent, converging on the spot.
Terror made him swifter than he'd been in three decades. He leapt over the threshold, and once he got inside, he turned on a quarter, throwing all his weight against the door. It slammed closed. He fumbled with the lock, expecting to feel instant pressure exerted from the other side.
But there was none. Despite the fact that the trespassers could have pushed the door open (smashed it open, lock and all, if they'd so chosen) they didn't. The girl simply called to him through the door, her voice well- modulated, like that of someone who'd been to a high-grade finishing school:
'You should be careful,' she said, in an eerie sing-song. 'This house is going to come down. Do you hear me, mister?
He heard; he heard loud and clear. But he didn't reply. He simply bolted the door, still mystified as to why they hadn't attempted to break in, and ran up the passageway back to the kitchen. Before he reached the door Joe rounded the corner, coming from the opposite direction, gun in hand.
'Where the hell were you?' Eppstadt demanded.
'I was just about to ask you the same—'
'We're under siege.'
'From what?'
'There are crazy people out there. A lot of crazy, fucking people.'
'Where?'
'Right outside that door!'
He pointed back down the passageway. There was nothing visible through the glass panel. They'd retreated in four or five seconds, taking refuge in the murk.
'Trust me,' Eppstadt said, 'there's twenty or thirty people waiting on the other side of that door. One of them tried to drag me out there with them.' He proffered his torn shirt and bloodied arm as proof. 'She was probably rabid. I should get shots.'
'I don't hear anybody,' Joe said.
'They're out there. Trust me.'
He went back to the kitchen, with Joe on his heels.
Jerry was running water into the sink, and splashing it on his temple.
Joe went straight to the window to see if he could verify Eppstadt's story, while Eppstadt snatched a handful of water to douse his own wound.
'The line's down, by the way,' Jerry said.
'I've got my portable,' Eppstadt said.
'They're not working either,' Joe said. 'The earthquake's taken out the whole system.'
'Did you see Maxine or Sawyer out there?' Jerry said.
'I never got
'Yes I know.'
'Wait. Turn off the water.'
'I haven't finished washing.'
'I said:
Brahms reluctantly obeyed. As the last of the water ran off down the pipes, another cluster of noises became audible, rising from the bowels of the house.
'It sounds like somebody left a television on down there,' Joe said, splendidly simple-minded.
Eppstadt went to the door that led into the turret. 'That's no television,' he said.
'Well what the hell else would it be?' Joe said. 'I can hear horses, and wind. There's no wind today.'
It was true. There was no wind. But somewhere it was howling like the soundtrack on
'You'll find this place gets crowded after a while,' Jerry said matter-of-factly. He patted dry the wound on his face. 'We shouldn't be here,' he reiterated.
'Who are they out there?' Eppstadt said.
'Old movie stars mainly. A few of Katya's lovers.'
Eppstadt shook his head. 'These weren't old. And several of them were women.'
'She liked women,' Jerry said, 'on occasion. Especially if she could play her little games with them.'
'What the fuck are you talking about?' Joe said.
'Katya Lupi, who built this house—'
'Once and for all,' Eppstadt said, 'these were not Katya Lupi's lovers. They were young. One of them, at least, looked no more than sixteen or seventeen.'
'She liked them very young. And they liked her. Especially when she'd taken them down
'I don't get it,' Joe said.
'Better you don't,' Jerry replied. 'Just leave now, while you still can. The earthquake threw the door open down there. That's why you can hear all the noise.'
'You said it was coming from some other place?' Joe said.
'Yes. The Devil's Country.'
'What?'
'That's what Katya used to call it. The Devil's Country.'
Joe glanced at Eppstadt, looking for some confirmation that all this was nonsense. But Eppstadt was staring out of the window, still haunted by the hungry faces he'd met on the threshold. Much as he would have liked to laugh off what Jerry Brahms was saying, his instincts were telling him to be more cautious.
'Suppose there