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55

           ItwascoatedwithpeelingscalesandasLouiswatchedoneoftheseflippedupandoverlikeamanholecoverandawhitewormoozedout.Thetongue’stipskitteredlazilyontheairsomewherebelowwhereitsadam’sappleshouldhavebeen...itwaslaughing.

           HeclutchedGageclosertohim,hugginghim,asiftoprotecthim,andhisfeetfalteredandbegantosliponthegrassytussockswheretheyheldslimpurchase.

           YoumightseeSt.Elmo’sfire,whatthesailorscallfoolights.Itcanmakefunnyshapes,butit’snothing.Ifyoushouldseesomeofthoseshapesandtheybotheryou,justlooktheotherway...

           Jud’svoiceinhisheadgavehimameasureofresolve.Hebegantomovesteadilyforwardagain,lurchingatfirst,thenfindinghisbalance.Hedidn’tlookawaybutnoticedthatthefaceifthatwaswhatitwasandnotjustashapemadebythemistandhisownmindseemedtoalwaysremainthesamedistanceawayfromhim.Andsecondsorminuteslater,itsimplydissolvedintodriftingmist.

           ThatwasnotSt.Elmo’sfire.

           No,ofcourseitwasn’t.Thisplacewasthickwithspirits;itwastenebrouswiththem.Youcouldlookaroundandseesomethingthatwouldsendyouravingmad.Hewouldnotthinkaboutit.Therewasnoneedtothinkaboutit.Therewasnoneedto

           Somethingwascoming.

           Louiscametoatotalhalt,listeningtothatsound...thatinexorable,approachingsound.

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