Bye, Earl, he thought. Take care, now.

He cocked his arm back and fired. The glider whirred as it rose into the atrium, rising forever until it was lost to sight.

Gregg could feel the hunger.

It had nothing to do with politics or the expectation that by the end of this week he could well be the Democratic nominee.

Coming down in the Marriott elevator for his breakfast meeting with Jack Braun and Hiram Worchester, the hunger burned in his gut like glowing phosphorus-a pulsing violence that a few croissants and coffee would never touch.

The hunger was Puppetman's, and it demanded pain. His face must have reflected some of the inner struggle. His aide, Amy Sorenson, leaned toward him and touched his shoulder hesitantly. "Sir…?"

Billy Ray, assigned to Hartmann's personal security for the convention, glanced over the shoulder of his spotless white Carnifex uniform from the front of the elevator. Gregg forced a yawn and a professional smile. "Just tired, Amy. That's all. It's been a long campaign and, by god, it'll be a longer week. Give me a few cups of coffee and I'll be fine. Ready to face the hordes." Amy grinned; Billy Ray returned his solemn attention to the door, ignoring the view of the Marriott Marquis's immense and surreal lobby.

"Ellen wasn't having trouble, was she?"

"No, no." Gregg watched the lobby floor rise toward them. A large foam glider spiraled lazily past them toward the crowded restaurant below. As the elevator passed it in midflight, Gregg could see that the body was that of a woman with bird-shaped wings. The features looked suspiciously like Peregrine's. Now that he'd noticed the first one, Gregg saw that there were several more of the gliders performing acrobatics above the lobby. "She hasn't had morning sickness since the first trimester. We're both fine. Just tired."

"You've never told me-do you want a boy or a girl?"

"It doesn't matter. As long as it's healthy."