By the light of the moon

quality familiar from radio, and was instantly
recognizable. Parish Lantern said, 'Jillian, Dylan, Shepherd, I've
been expecting you. Please come in. My house is your house.'
    Apparently as stunned as Jilly, Dylan said, 'You? I mean...
really? You? '
    'I am certainly me, yes, at least the last time I looked in the
mirror. Come in, come in. We've much to talk about, much to
do.'
    The spacious reception hall had a limestone floor, honey-tone
wood paneling, a pair of rosewood Chinese chairs with emerald-green
cushions, and a central table holding a large red-bronze jardiniere
filled with dozens of fresh yellow, red, and orange tulips.
    Jilly felt surprisingly welcome, almost as if she had found her
way as sometimes a dog, lost during its family's move from one city
to another, can travel by instinct across great distances to a new
home it has never seen.
    Closing the front door, Parish Lantern said, 'Later, you can
freshen up, change clothes. When I knew you'd be coming and in what
condition, without luggage, I took the liberty of having my
houseboy, Ling, purchase fresh clothes for all of you, of the style
I believe you prefer. Finding Wile E. Coyote T-shirts on such short
notice proved to be something of a challenge. Ling had to catch a
flight to Los Angeles on Wednesday, where he obtained a dozen in
Shepherd's size at the souvenir shop on the Warner Brothers Studio
lot.'
    'Wednesday?' Dylan asked, with a trowel's worth of bewilderment
plastered on his face.
    'I didn't even meet Dylan and Shepherd until last night,' Jilly
said. 'Friday night. Less than eighteen hours ago.'
    Smiling, nodding, Lantern said, 'And it's been quite a thrilling
eighteen hours, hasn't it? I'll want to hear all about it. But
first things first.'
    'Cake,' said Shep.
    'Yes,' Lantern assured him, 'I've got cake for you, Shepherd.
But first things first.'
    'Cake.'
    'You're a determined young man, aren't you?' Lantern said.
'Good. I approve of determination.'
    'Cake.'
    'Good heavens, lad, one might suspect that you're possessed by a
cake-loving brain leech from an alternate reality. If there were
such things as brain leeches from an alternate reality, of
course.'
    'I never believed there were,' Jilly assured him.
    'Millions do, my dear,' said Lantern.
    'Cake.'
    'We'll get you a big square of cake,' Lantern promised Shep, 'in
just a little while. But first things first. Please come with
me.'
    As the three of them followed the talk-show host out of the
reception hall and through a library that contained more books than
did the libraries of most small cities, Dylan said to Jilly, 'Did
you know about all this?'
    Amazed by the question, she said, 'How would I know about
this?'
    'Well, you're the Parish Lantern fan. Big Foot, extraterrestrial
conspiracy theories, all that stuff.'
    'I doubt that Big Foot has anything to do with this. And I'm not
an extraterrestrial conspirator.'
    'That's exactly what an extraterrestrial conspirator would
say.'
    'For God's sake, I'm not an extraterrestrial conspirator. I'm a
standup comedian.'
    'Extraterrestrial conspirators and standup comedians aren't
mutually exclusive,' he said.
    'Cake,' Shep insisted.
    At the end of the library, Lantern halted, turned to them, and
said, 'You've no reason to be afraid here.'
    'No, no,' Dylan explained, 'we were just goofing, a private joke
sort of thing that goes back a long way with us.'
    'Almost eighteen hours,' Jilly said.
    'Just remember at all times,' Lantern said cryptically yet with
the warmth of a loving uncle, 'regardless of what happens, you've
no reason to be afraid here.'
    'Cake.'
    'In due time, lad.'
    Lantern led them out of the library into an enormous living room
furnished with contemporary sofas and armchairs upholstered in
pale-gold silks, enlivened by an eclectic but pleasing mix of Art
Deco decorative objects and Chinese antiquities.
    Formed almost entirely of six enormous windows, the south wall
provided a magnificent panoramic view of the colorful lake between
the graceful framing branches of two giant sugar pines.
    The vista was so spectacular that Jilly spontaneously exclaimed
– 'Gorgeous!' – before she realized that Lincoln
Proctor stood in the room, awaiting them, holding a pistol in his
right hand.

47
    This Lincoln Proctor wasn't a charred slab of meat
and shattered bones, although Dylan hoped to reduce him to that or
worse if given a chance. Not one singed patch of hair, not the
smallest smudge of ash remained to suggest that he had burned to
death in