And then it was left to her only to dismiss the snakes, drink the water in thebowl, and settle down spread-legged in the middle of her summoning room floor,awaiting the Devils of Demonic Deals, the Negotiators of Necromancy, theUnderworld's Underwriters, to appear, to take the bait a witch could offer andthen, when sated, be tricked into giving Roxane back immortality in exchange forthe deaths of a pair of children who might be gods if ever they grew up, andthat of Nikodemos, who deserved no better if he'd thought to spurn the witch wholoved him and survive it. Of course, she'd throw in Tempus, too, for fun. He'dmake an undead of choice to send raping and pillaging up and down the streets ofSanctuary of an evening, streets so thick with hatred and slick with blood noone would even think to worry about what kind of death they got.

For Sanctuarites cared only for this life, not the next. They were ignorant ofchoices made beyond the grave, or given up today for trifles. They didn't knowor care that an eternity of hell could be had for cheap, or that the godsoffered out another way. • -

This was why she liked it here, did Roxane. Even once she'd sacrificed Niko andhis ilk-the entire Sacred Band and unpaired Stepsons, if she got lucky-she'dstay around. Once there was no more Ischade to interfere, no silly priests likethe Torchholder to try to resurrect a dead god's cult, the place would let herhave her way.

And so, decided, she crooked a finger and, from nowhere visible, a sound likehellish hinges squeaking reverberated through her chamber, a non-door swungdown, and a Globe of Power could be glimpsed, spinning gently on its axis ofgolden glyphs, its stones beginning to glow as its song of sorcery spun louderaild, from hells Sanctuary wasn't used to accommodating, a demon choir began to