When she and Alex had driven up to Glen Ellyn in his car that morning, she had been prepared for the worst. Not that she had spent too much time in community college theater departments over the years, but she had mentally braced herself for a tiny stage with old, splintery seats and the most primitive of lighting and sound equipment.

Instead, she had found that the McAnich Arts Center was a quite pleasant little theater. Not one which would ever contend with the

Globe or Carnegie Hall, but still more than adequate. The stage itself was raised a good dozen feet off the surrounding floor, and there was seating for several hundred people. There was even a balcony in the rear which provided additional seating in the event of a rare overflow crowd.

She wandered about aimlessly, listening to the rehearsal with half an ear, while she scouted out places of ambush, and the best places from which to enter and escape.

If I were Kincaid, how would I attack?

Definitely not from the balcony, she decided quickly, discarding the notion. Kincaid, being a demon-spawn, was almost incapable of self-restraint, and would want to be as close to the action as possible. For a moment she entertained the idea of placing the family in the balcony, the better to protect them from harm. With only one entrance and exit, it could be more easily defended.

But if Kincaid fools me and attacks them, then he would be able to slaughter them all while I made my way up there. Damn it. It's practically impossible to protect Alex on stage and the family in the audience at the same time. I should leave them all at the house. But

Rachel would never even consider it. She wouldn't dream of staying home safe when her son is in danger. And neither would Josh, Sarah, or

Maria.

Shit.

First things first, Althea. Where will Kincaid attack from? If you can figure that out, then you can plan your defense of Alex and put the family as far from danger as you can at the same time.

“*Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on your gown;

Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;

Even now, now, very now, an old black ram

Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise;

Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,

Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:

Arise, I say."

Althea spun in place, her eyes widening. Alex stood on the stage. But it was not the polite, slightly diffident young man she had grown to care for and Love. Indeed, the young man who she had plans to take to her bed in the not-so-distant future.

Instead, a sneering, strutting villain was on the stage, dressed in a white shirt covered by a leather vest, with tight black breeches and calf-high boots. Even as he spoke, his voice full of scarcely-veiled contempt, she felt her fists clenching, wanting to deliver a blow to his supremely punchable face.

She shook her head, dragging her mind clear of the veil of fury which had dropped over it. By the Almighty! The boy has talent!

Indeed, he owned the stage, plying his craft with a casual confidence which made him the center of attention no matter where he stood, even as the focus of the scene shifted to other actors. As he moved,

Althea's eyes widened in sudden clarity. She knew what would happen with absolute certainty, as if the future had already happened and she was powerless to stop it.

Stagecraft, she thought, and ego. Kincaid will strike for maximum horror. And what better place to do so than on the stage itself, while the play is actually taking place?

He will come in from the wings. Not from the audience. He will make a grand entrance and kill Alex in front of all of us.