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Dupre started. He'd been lying in a daze, rapt in his new-found sense of power, dreaming strange, forbidden dreams. Now he was being stared down at by a tall, lean man with cynical eyes and a dispiritingly pedestrian dress sense. To make matters worse, the man was holding out a police ID.

'This is all legal,' Dupre spurted.

'Oh, I'm sure it is.' The man's gaze roved noncommittally over the walls. 'I'm in Homicide, not Vice, anyway. Jonas Rust.'

'Vice?' Dupre sneered. 'What a puritan and parochial - Wait a minute.

Homicide?' He'd been about to stand up, but suddenly felt a little unsteady. 'What do you - what's - Is someone dead?'

'Relax,' said Rust. 'I'm not here to arrest you.' He strolled over to the magic circle. 'You have a fire here?'

Remembering his dignity, Dupre began to regard Rust with amusement.

This inconsequential upholder of what, in his pitiful intellectual shallowness, he probably thought of as 'the law'. Dupre might have laughed, except that he was always careful never to insult people to their faces. Behind-the-back gossip was so much more effective - not to mention safer. 'If this is not an official visit, you have no right to be in my home.'

'Door was open,' said Rust, picking up a bowl of teeth and rattling it slightly. 'Heard reports of a wild party. Who knew what might have happened? It was my duty as a police officer to investigate.'

'Who reported "a wild party"?' Dupre said, piqued. What a typically bourgeois interpretation of his dark Sabbath. If those complaining fools but knew

'A friend of mine told me a friend of hers was coming here tonight.' Rust set the bowl down, eyed a jarred foetus briefly, and turned to Dupre. 'He's one of those fellows who're always a little spaced out, know what I mean? Sort of attracts trouble or falls into it or something. I'd heard about your little to-dos and I didn't want him getting into something he couldn't handle.'

'I don't know what kind of rumours you've been listening to, but this is my private residence and anything I do here is -'

Dupre stopped because Rust had crossed to him, leaned down, and slipped his index finger into the side of his mouth. Pinching Dupre's cheek with his thumb he pulled, bringing him stumbling to his feet. 'Jack, you pervert,' Rust said, right in his face, 'I don't give a good goddamn what kind of sick nonsense you jack off to. I just don't want any of it spattering people I know.' He let Dupre go and wiped his fingers on the velvet robe. "Sides, I needed to talk to you anyway'

Dupre had been opening and closing his mouth, like a fish. Now he whispered, 'What about?'

Rust looked around the room again. 'You were a big customer of Chic's.'

'If you think I had anything to do with his murder -'

'What are you doing up here anyway?' Rust returned to the circle. 'Raising the devil, or some such?'

'That's none of your business.'

'Oh, sure it is,' said Rust casually. 'Sure it is. Stop me if I'm wrong, but doesn't this conjuring business sometimes need fresh blood? All this stuff -'

he cocked his head at the walls - 'has been dead a long time. What if you needed something that wasn't past its expiration date? Say you had a beef with Chic anyway, maybe over some purchase '

'What you're suggesting is insulting!'

'Jack,' said Rust patiently, 'you can't be insulted. I'd be ready for my pension by the time I thought up the epithet that could possibly insult you.

What was the last thing you purchased from Chic?'

'I don't recall. It could have been a number of things.'

'Like maybe a bone charm?'

Dupre looked at him blankly. Damn, Rust thought. He pushed on anyway, just to be sure: 'Little bitty thing with carvings on it?'

'I No.'

Rust could tell he was genuinely puzzled. He swore inwardly. There was something going on here, he knew it. 'So, what did you say you were raising?'

'I think it's time you left,' Dupre said coolly. 'I think I may sue you for manhandling -'

Rust stepped up to him. 'You haven't been manhandled yet. Don't