"That would make an interesting spectacle," Marc commented acidly. "If I'm not comfortable to sit on it's probably because you landed on me so hard you're on my spine. Get off." "A pleasure," Toffee said and slid to the floor beside him. "Here's that silly book of yours." Without thinking, except to express her contempt for Marc's central region as a seating arrangement, she tossed the book in his direction. The book described a small arc toward Marc, then promptly swooped upward in rapid ascent. "Oh, my gosh!" Marc said. He sat up and grabbed just in time. "Let's not...!" Suddenly he stopped as a series of footsteps sounded on the floor above. "Julie!" he hissed in a stage whisper. "My wife!" "Marc!" Julie's voice called distinctly. "Marc! Where are you? What was all that noise?" Marc turned to Toffee. "Go!" he said. "Vanish!" Toffee gazed blandly on his distress. "I can't," she said, "unless you go to sleep, of course. I couldn't if I wanted to. Which I don't." "Oh, Lord!" Marc groaned. He stood for a moment, torn. "Marc!" Julie was approaching the basement doorway now. "I've got to go," Marc rasped. "You stay here. Promise?" Toffee smiled and nodded. "Sure," she said. "But you'll come back, won't you? Because if you don't I'll stir up enough hell down here to raise the dead." "I'll come back," Marc promised desperately, and started rapidly toward the steps. "Just a minute," Toffee said. She held her arms out to him. "Kiss me goodbye." "No," Marc said. "I'll scream," Toffee said coolly. "I'll yowl like a banshee." Marc went quickly back to her. "It's not as though I won't be right back. Just a little while...." "That's all right," Toffee murmured. She slid her arms smoothly around his neck. "This is just so you won't forget." "Marc!" Julie called from upstairs. "Where are you? What are you doing? Answer me!" CHAPTER III Marc stepped into his room and closed the door, but gently, leaving it still open just a crack. He listened. Across the hall, Julie went into her room, closed the door. There was an interval of silence, then the sound of restless movement inside. Julie's manner downstairs had been tentative, apprehensive and almost frighteningly gentle. She had seemed to believe Marc's story about investigating noises but she had asked once too often if he was feeling well, if the explosion hadn't left him with a terrible headache. Marc closed the door all the way, went over to the bed, and sat down to wait; she'd settle down in time and then he could return to the basement. He looked around absently and as his gaze passed the window he noticed that the first faint wash of day had come into the sky outside. He reached to the nightstand, picked up a cigarette and lit it. He took a deep draft and blew the smoke out thinly, thoughtfully. With worried bewilderment he considered the fading night's absurdities.