By the time they reached the graveyard, Shadow felt light-headed from smoke inhalation and winded from his burden. There was no sign of Skyflower's vehicle; apparently she'd bailed without regard for her petitioners, by the most direct route possible. At the moment, Shadow bitterly hoped the woman's lungs imploded for her desertion. He leaned the still-unconscious Corso against the side of the car as he fumbled with the handle. Tired, senses fogged by the long trek through the smoke-hazed field, the blow to his head took him by surprise, and knocked him unconscious.

When Shadow's awareness returned, his hands were bound behind him, and the edge of a gravestone dug into his ribs. The Bone Orchard, he thought woozily, remembering the image that had once given him nightmares. His head pounded. Somewhere not far away, he heard Dean half-screaming, half-choking, and laughter rippling through the air. Her again.

Think, Shadow told himself. Or we're both dead. He remembered his bold words earlier, that The Blonde would have to go through him to get to Corso--and she had. She'd picked him off while his back was turned--what did you expect, honor among demons? Corso's voice in his head asked sardonically.

The side of the stone was too worn and weathered for him to saw his bonds against. Raising his head, he could see them near the car. He lay at least thirty feet away from them, but his night vision showed The Blonde bending over Corso's prone form. It looked like she was taking his clothes off. A distraction would be good, but how could he create a diversion while he was tied up? Misdirection. It was the basic rule for every magician. Make her concentrate on something else. Like what--?

--Isn't being the son of a god good for anything?--

The weather, thought Shadow. I don't think a blizzard in May is gonna work, but rain? It might help wash away all this smoke too, before Dean loses a lung. He sounds really bad.... The time he'd called the snowstorm had been a game for him; he hadn't honestly believed anything would happen. Now, he was in deadly earnest, but he had the advantage of knowing it could be done.

Breathing slowly and deeply, trying to tune out the cries of his friend, Shadow went to the quiet place inside his head. Spring rain. Moisture. Call it forth from every plume of mist, the evaporation from lakes, ponds and rivers, form it into thick, juicy gray clouds, saturated with rain. Guide the brimming cloud cover here, spattering the countryside with its liquid contents, dowsing the evil smoke in the air and hiding the moon's light.

Fat raindrops pelted Shadow as he lay there, straining at his bonds, thinking that at the moment, it would've been a lot handier to specialize in rope escapes than coin tricks. Damn, where was Harry Houdini when you needed him?

"Oh, I've been dead for a quite while now, or so I understand," said a nearby voice, and Shadow turned his head to see a hazy image that looked familiar from an old photograph--the frontspiece of his book. "Fortunately, she only tied your hands. It's a pity you weren't awake when she tied you; if you'd been able to flex your muscles properly, you'd be free by now."

"Thanks," muttered Shadow. Maybe it was a reflection, an illusion--no, the dimness was no more of an annoyance to him than it would've been to a cat. Even now, with the lunar face veiled by weeping clouds, he could see The Blonde bending over Corso, smiling and speaking teasingly to him as her touch made him scream.

"Nice trick with the rain, by the way. Even I couldn't do that one."

"It's not a trick. Can you give me a hand here?"

"That's what makes it such a good one." It was odd; Shadow could see the raindrops all around him; not going through him as if he wasn't there, but not rolling down him as if he was there. Harry Houdini sighed. "I'd help if I could, but alas, physically we're not on the same plane."

"Any helpful hints?" Shadow gritted his teeth at the sounds Dean was making. "My friend needs help."

"Breathe deeply. Oxygenate your lungs and relax." Houdini's voice was low and compelling. "The way you're tied...your captor has made mistakes we can exploit." Listening to those velvety tones, Shadow could detach himself from the urgency of the situation. "It will make a difference as to whether you're left- or right-handed, you won't want to do this with your dominant side." Shadow concentrated on the magician's words, trying to focus on individual muscle groups. When he got stuck, Houdini talked him through the process. The pain made him gasp. Houdini was calm. "You've never dislocated a shoulder before? It gets easier with practice. You're doing very well. Now, roll onto your other side...."

When the bonds slipped away, Shadow would've risen up to do battle then and there, shoulder or no shoulder, but Houdini counseled patience. "Breathe. Deeply. Be calm. Can you intensify this storm? That vehicle is a large metal object, you know."

The feeling was starting to come back to Shadow's hands; he rubbed his wrists, trying to encourage circulation. Intensify the storm? Who do I look like, Thor? Shadow wanted to retort.

Why not? If he'd created it--and he knew he had--he should be able to make it stronger. Go back into that quiet place at the center. Think of thunder. Rumbling. Shaking the earth. Static, all the friction produced by the movement of crops and trees and every ant and insect in the fields....building....growing....

"If your skills permit, you might attempt to time the strike so that you can realign your shoulder," Houdini advised him. "That way, the noise will offer misdirection in case you should cry out. It's going to be quite painful."

Great. Create lightning, aim it, try not to hit the guy who's life I'm trying to save, and perform an orthopedic procedure on myself at the same time. No problem. Want to go first and show me how it's done? Shadow dragged himself over to be able to use the side of an upright tombstone to pull his shoulder back in place. "Are you a ghost?"

"Close enough." Houdini smiled secretively. "The things I didn't know when I was alive!"

The back of his neck prickled. The lightning was ready to spill over. As the cascading plasmic energy forked down from the heavens, Shadow took a deep breath and slammed his shoulder against the hard marble. He wasn't sure which was brighter, the lightning in the sky or the lightning in his shoulder. Getting it back in hurt more than popping it in the first place, which was saying something.

"I believe you can handle it from here, Shadow." The apparition was gone then. Shadow blinked and wondered if he'd hallucinated the whole thing. He couldn't hear Corso anymore; that worried him enough to get him to his feet, reeling.

The Blonde hadn't been hit, he was sorry to see, but she stood surveying the lightning damage to a tree just yards from where she stood, its fallen branches a tumble of old bones. Her back was to him, and Shadow had no intention of fighting fair. He charged, throwing himself at her, enraged by the glimpse he'd caught of Corso, lying spread-eagled, naked and muddy and ominously still.

Her reflexes were good; she went down, but rolled away before he could land atop her. A fresh bolt of pain went through Shadow's shoulder as he sprawled full-length in the muck, but now it only served to enrage him more. He grabbed her ankle as she tried to squirm away from him. The Blonde twisted around and threw a punch that caught him on the same side of the head she'd hit to knock him out. The world spun dizzily around him. He let go of her ankle, but before she could move, backhanded her.

Shadow's blow rocked her head back. While she was recovering, he got his feet under him and lunged. He caught one of her wrists and held it above her head. With her free hand, she kept trying to smash his windpipe, but he managed to deflect her jabs. After a struggle, he grabbed her other hand and yanked it up so he could pin down both wrists with one of his hand. Which, unfortunately, was attached to his bad shoulder, but Shadow managed to lock his muscles into a solid column with all his weight above it.

He got a fistful of blonde hair and glared at her. "Bitch, you are so dead." He wasn't sure if he said it aloud or not, but at that instant, it was the sole purpose of his existance.

Thunder rumbled around them. He could feel the rage welling up, the adrenalin crackling through him. Light seemed to be coming off of his forearms and he felt an incandescent surge of power. The lightning was coming again. Good! Let it fry him to a pork rind if that would take her with him!

A rusted wrought-iron border less than a foot from The Blonde's imprisoned wrists was slagged by the blast. As the energy grounded to earth, the shock knocked them away from each other. Shadow was catapulted against the side of the car, hit it and bounced, landing on his hands and knees, stunned.

The Blonde was writhing, trying to get up. If she was alive, she was still a danger. "I'm not through with you!" This time there was no doubt in his mind that she heard him. He was pleased to see true fear in her green eyes. She struggled wildly, regaining her feet and limping, staggering, fleeing from him, from her victim....

Corso. Shadow got up, limped over to the fallen man. Dean's chest made faint, shallow flutterings of breath. His eyes rolled back in his head. His body trembled spastically. He looked worse than he had on the plane, worse than Shadow thought a human being could look and still live.

As carefully as he could, Shadow lifted the other man. His much-abused shoulder screamed a protest, but he clenched his jaw and got Dean into the back seat, covering him with that ratty old coat of his. He got behind the wheel, said a prayer that the lightning hadn't discharged the battery, and turned the key.

Although the events of this chapter occur in May, Harry Houdini died on October 31st, 1926. Happy Halloween!

Blessed Be.