Swann howled in his fury and delivered a vicious kickto Harry's hand. It was an error. The casket tipped overentirely and pitched the man out. Harry had time toglimpse Swann's appalled face as the illusionist fell pasthim. Then he too lost his grip and tumbled after him.

The dark air whined past his ears. Beneath him, theGulfs spread their empty arms. And then, behind therushing in his head, another sound: a human voice.

'Is he dead?' it inquired.

'No,' another voice replied, 'no, I don't think so.What's his name, Dorothea?'

'D'Amour.'

'Mr D'Amour? Mr D'Amour?'

Harry's descent slowed somewhat. Beneath him, theGulfs roared their rage.

The voice came again, cultivated but unmelodious.'Mr D'Amour.'

'Harry,' said Dorothea.

At that word, from that voice, he stopped falling; felthimself borne up. He opened his eyes. He was lying ona solid floor, his head inches from the blank televisionscreen. The flowers were all in place around the room,Swann in his casket, and God - if the rumours were tobe believed - in his Heaven.

'I'm alive,' he said.

He had quite an audience for his resurrection.Dorothea of course, and two strangers. One, theowner of the voice he'd first heard, stood close tothe door. His features were unremarkable, except forhis brows and lashes, which were pale to the point ofinvisibility. His female companion stood nearby. Sheshared with him this distressing banality, stripped bareof any feature that offered a clue to their natures.

'Help him up, angel,' the man said, and the womanbent to comply. She was stronger than she looked,readily hauling Harry to his feet. He had vomited inhis strange sleep. He felt dirty and ridiculous.

'What the hell happened?' he asked, as the womanescorted him to the chair. He sat down.

'He tried to poison you,' the man said.