The day after their escapade in the graveyard, Shadow slept much later than he'd intended. It was nearly noon, and when he saw how weak Dean was, decided they might be better off resting through the remainder of the day and driving by night. Corso was sensitive to light under the best of circumstances, which these certainly weren't. There was a coffee shop attached to the motel; getting soup for Corso and a burger for himself, Shadow fed them both, then crawled under the covers and went back to sleep.

Shadow woke to a thud and groaning. He found Corso struggling on the floor. He hurried over to his fallen friend, sore shoulder protesting the effort.

"Don't fuss," muttered Corso, who seemed more embarrassed than anything else. He'd apparently been awake long enough to make an attempt at shaving, and his clothes lay heaped around his prone body.

"Maybe you should save your strength," Shadow suggested, helping him to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Florida--?"

"Florida," agreed Shadow, appraising Corso's condition as the other man struggled to tug on his pants. There were a lot of things you could say about Dean Corso, but you couldn't call him a quitter. That's it, Shadow thought. He remembered how, on the plane, his first impression of the guy had been to admire his guts. "How are you feeling?"

Dean thought about it. "On a scale from one to ten, with ten being, my head explodes, the headache is a 6.5. I hurt all over where she touched me." The red welts looked even worse when Shadow half-opened the curtains, and made obvious the extent to which she'd tormented his friend. The welts of The Blonde's handprints were bad enough; the ones that looked like she'd drawn little hearts and daisies on him were sickening. "You know, all things considered, I don't feel as rotten as I would've thought. I can hardly move...but I think that ritual helped some--my aura looks better."

"Your--for gods' sake, Dean--get a grip! I'm sick of this aura bullshit! It didn't help us last night with Little Miss Sunflower!"

"Skyflower."

"Whatever!" Shadow snarled. "That New Age broad who almost got us killed!"

"That was my fault, not hers. Most of her clients probably don't have demons trying to kill them. You must have a pretty good headache yourself, if that bump on your skull is any indication."

Shadow wanted to growl, but it was true. The Blonde had been thorough when she'd conked him; his carefully exploring fingers met a lump the size of his palm, with a three-inch long gash slightly above and behind his left ear. He was lucky she'd been so eager to get her hands on Corso, otherwise, she might have fractured his skull outright. No, she'd probably thought tying him up was enough to stop him, had had plans for him too....

"Look," said Shadow. "It's about three now. I was thinking we'd try driving after dark, see if that's any better for you." He pulled the curtains closed again.

"Good idea. I hurt enough as it is." Corso lay back down with his eyes closed. Shadow watched him, troubled. He'd done the math; Dean was only four or five years older than he was, but right now, he sure didn't look it. He looked like he was in his sixties, easy, with his almost completely silvered hair and lined face.

They got on the road just after sundown. The traffic was light, and by driving through the night, made good progress. Neither of them felt like talking. There were long stretches of silence as Corso catnapped in the backseat. By mid-morning of the following day, they were cruising down a two-lane highway just over the Florida state line, when Corso stirred.

"Stop the car," Dean said suddenly.

Shadow slowed and pulled onto the shoulder with a concerned look in the rearview mirror at his passenger. "What's wrong?"

"We need to give that guy a lift," Corso answered, pointing out the rear window at the large pedestrian who was ambling toward their vehicle.

"Why?" Shadow demanded. If he says one word about auras, I'm gonna gag him.

"It's a warm day," said Corso, smiling. "We've got an air-conditioned car. It's a nice thing to do."

"Uh-huh." The man trudging up to the car looked like a sumo wrestler with garish taste in clothes. He wore a (mostly) blue plaid shirt and screaming orange shorts. He was bald except for a curly forelock, but despite his size and the heat of the day, he was beaming as he opened the passenger door and climbed in.

Shadow felt the springs list as the fat man sat down. "My sincere thanks, gentlemen, for your conveyance." There was a lilt to his voice--English was not his native tongue--and he spoke with a formal linguistic precision.

"Any time," replied Dean, who looked as happy as Shadow had ever seen him. "It's warm out there."

There was more of that aura shit going on...nice thing to do, his ass! "Where can we drop you?" Shadow asked.

"It is a short distance along this road, on the right hand side. There is a red mailbox on a white post." He smiled at Shadow, who pulled back onto the road.

"I'm Dean Corso, and that's Shadow, driving."

"You may call me Sid." He extended a hand over the back seat and Corso shook it carefully.

Shadow caught Dean looking at him. Probably trying to figure out how to avoid using the "A" word. "Nice to meet you, Sid," he said, with a sideways glance at their passenger.

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Shadow. A curious appellation, to be sure."

Shadow shrugged. "My friend isn't going to say anything because I've chewed his ear about it, but he's eyeing your aura."

"The mailbox is just around this next curve. If you would be so kind as to venture down the driveway, I would be most grateful. Now, I must ask, why would you discourage your friend from using such a gift?"

"Because," said Shadow, turning in at a mailbox labelled "Dakini" and guiding the car down a narrow, rutted trail, "his so-called gift bit us on the ass last night and almost got us both killed."

"I see. Does it have something to do with the taint that you are dealing with?"

"Everything to do with it," Dean answered as the vehicle bottomed out on the sloping track, apparently not surprised that Sid had discerned his problem.

Shadow hoped that Corso's aura sense--or whatever you called it--was working better this morning--he could almost hear the backwoods banjo music. He slowed down even more, creeping down the shady lane as his companion explained that they'd tried several avenues for a cure and were now headed to Florida.

"Ah, yes, very good!" exclaimed Sid. "Ruben will have you to rights in no time!"

"Who?" "Who's Ruben?" Shadow and Corso spoke at the same time.

"You were going elsewhere?"

"A guy I know, Mr. Nancy," said Shadow.

"I am not familiar with such an individual," said Sid politely, "but were I to have such a problem, I would seek out Ruben. He is the caretaker of the spring."

"Spring?" Dean Corso smiled. "Don't tell me--there really is a Fountain of Youth in Florida."

"Would such a thing surprise you?"

"Not anymore," replied Corso, chuckling. "I'll believe seven impossible things before breakfast--or in this case, lunch."

"A place of power," Shadow thought out loud, remembering his travels with Wednesday. "Some little attraction by the side of the road that doesn't look like much," he explained at Dean's questioning look, "but there are forces at work there."

"Okay, I'm game," Corso gave a little wave. "I'll try it. Where do we go?"

"Christmas."

Shadow stomped on the brakes, the car halting with a bounce. "Mister," he said to the man beside him, an edge in his voice. "No bullshit. My friend doesn't have until Christmas."

"Shadow!" Dean wore an embarrassed expression. "I'm sorry, Sid--"

"You are a fortunate man, to have a friend who is so concerned for you," was Sid's placid reply. "The name of the town is Christmas. It is a small town in the middle of the state with a post office that is very busy during the month of December."

Corso struggled with the spiral-bound travel atlas in his shaking hands. "Here it is, near Orlando. There are a couple major highways; I don't think it'll be hard to get to. And if that doesn't work, there's still your friend Mr. Nancy. Fort Pierce is farther south; it isn't that much of a detour."

"It's your call," Shadow said to Dean. "I'm just driving." Neither Ibis and Jacquel or Cerridwyn had mentioned this spring. If it really was the kind of place of power that Sid claimed, it could hold the answer. If. A big if.

It was rough, seeing Dean get excited about another possible cure. From Cerridwyn to Cairo to Sage, he'd kept going, getting weaker and weaker, still determined to find a way to cleanse himself of the taint that was killing him. It wasn't like he had a choice, Shadow reminded himself. It was either find a cure, or die trying--because the only alternative was pure Hell.

Corso nodded, his eyes meeting Shadow's in the mirror. "I'm willing to try."

"Okay, then," Shadow muttered, taking his foot off the brake and allowing the car to continue down the hill at an idle.

At the end of the track was a weathered farmhouse with a pond or marsh visible beyond it and a dark-haired young woman vigorously splitting wood near the driveway.

"Gentlemen, it would be delightful if you would join me for luncheon," Sid invited them as he extricated slowly his bulk from their car. "It would be a pleasure to talk more with you about your perceptions, Dean, and perhaps you, Shadow, could rest before our meal. My friends are most obliging in their hospitality."

Since Dean was already opening his door, Shadow figured the deciding vote had been cast.

"Thanks, Sid. Don't mind if we do." As long as we're not on the menu, thought Shadow wryly as he got out of the car.