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Blood said, “Musk and Bass were supposed to have found every woman in the place and made them come to this ceremony of yours. If they missed any of them, I want to know about it.” He turned to Orchid. “You know your girls. Are they all here?”

She nodded, her face set. “All but Orpine.”

Musk was staring at Silk as though he wanted to murder him; Silk met his eyes, then turned away. Speaking loudly to the group at large, he said, “We’ve never completed our third circuit. It is necessary that we do so. Return to your places, please.” He tapped Blood’s shoulder. “Go back to your place in the procession.”

Orchid had kept the Writings for him, her finger at the point at which he had stopped reading. He opened the heavy volume there and began to pace and read again, a step for each word, as the ritual prescribed: “Man, himself, creates the conditions necessary for advance by struggling with and yielding to his animal desires; yet nature, the experiences of the spirit, and materiality need never be. His torment depends upon himself, yet the effects of that torment are always sufficient. You must consider this.”

The words signified nothing; the preternaturally lovely face of Kypris interposed itself. She had seemed completely different from the Outsider, and yet he felt that they were one, that the Outsider, who had spoken in so many voices, had now spoken in another. The Outsider had cautioned him to expect no help, Silk reminded himself as he had so many times since that infinite instant in the ball court; he felt that he had received it nevertheless, and was about to receive more. His hands shook, and his voice broke like a boy’s.

“… has of all merely whorlly intellectual ambition and aspiration.”

Here was the door of the derelict manteion, with Pas’s voided cross fresh and bright above it in black paint that had not yet dried. He closed the Writings with a bang and opened the door, led the way in and limped up the steps to the stage that had once been a sanctuary.

“Sit down, please. It doesn’t matter whom you sit with, because we won’t be long. We’re almost finished.”

Leaning on Blood’s walking stick, he waited for them to get settled.

“I am about to order the devil forth. I see that the last person in our procession—Bass, I suppose—shut the door behind him. For this part of the ceremony it should be open.” Providentially, he remembered the thin woman’s name. “Crassula, you’re sitting closest. Will you open it for us, please?

“Thank you. Since you were one of the possessed, it might be well to begin this final act of exorcism with you. Do you have a good memory?”

Crassula shook her head emphatically.

“All right. Who does?”

Chenille stood up. “I do, Patera. Pretty good, and I haven’t had a drop since last night.”

Silk hesitated.

“Please?”

Slowly, Silk nodded. This was to be a meritorious act, of course; he could only hope that she was capable. “Here’s the formula all of us will use: ‘Go, in the names of these gods, never to return.’ Perhaps you’d better repeat it.”

“Go, in the names of these gods, never to return.”

“Very good. I hope that everyone heard you. When I’ve finished, I’ll point to you. Pronounce your own name loudly, then recite the formula—‘Go in the names of these gods, never to return.’ Then I’ll point out the next person, the woman beside you, and she is to say her own name and repeat the formula she’ll have just heard you use. Is there anyone who doesn’t understand?”

He scanned their faces as he had earlier, but found no trace of Mucor. “Very well.”

Silk forced himself to stand very straight. “If there is anything in this house that does not come in the name of the gods, may it be gone. I speak here for Great Pas, for Strong Sphigx, for Scalding Scylla…” The sounding names seemed mere words, empty and futile as the sighings of the hot wind that had blown intermittently since spring; and he had not been able to make himself pronounce that of Echidna. “For the Outsider, and for Gentle Kypris. I, Silk, say it! Go, in the names of these gods, never to return.”

He pointed toward the woman with the raspberry-colored hair, and she said loudly, “Chenille! Go, in the names of these gods, never to return!”

“Mezereon. Go, in the names of these gods, never to return.”

Orchid spoke after the younger women, in a firm, clear voice. After her, Blood positively thundered—there was, Silk decided, a broad streak of actor in the man. Musk was inaudible; Silk could not help but feel that he was calling to devils, rather than casting them out.

Silk waited on the uppermost of the three steps as he pointed to Bass, who stammered as he pronounced his own name and rumbled out the formula.

Silk started down the steps, hurrying despite his pain.

Doctor Crane, the final speaker, said, “Crane. Go, in the names of these gods, never to return. And now—”

Silk slammed shut the door to Music Street and shot the bolt.