"That sounds nice," Luna said. She nudged Zane.
"What do you think?"
Zane came out of his stasis. "You're going to die —
within the month! Did your father know?"
"He surely did," Luna said. "Of course he thought I was destined for Heaven. But I have as much as two fortnights and might as well make the most of them. Let's go to the carnival."
"The carnival," Zane agreed numbly.
They loaded Molly's wheelbarrow into the limousine's capacious trunk, then got into the passenger compartment. There was room for three in the front seat, though Molly's presence moved Luna pleasantly snug against Zane's hip.
"Straight ahead two blocks," the ghost directed. "Then turn left and close your eyes. Mortis knows what to do."
It seemed the Deathsteed had a good reputation in the Afterlife. Zane followed directions, not really caring whether they crashed. Luna fated to die — when he was just getting to appreciate her! What sort of doom was stalking him, even after he had assumed the office of Death? He had been appalled at the way so many people died; now his feeling intensified. Luna was not merely another person. She was a personal acquaintance, and perhaps more. Surely more!
"Come on, enjoy the evening," Luna said. "Do not struggle with the inevitable, wasting what time we have remaining."
She had learned she was to die — so she had prettied herself up for him. In one sense, this was utter foolishness, for she surely had better things to do in her last hours. But in another way, it was very flattering, for she had chosen to do what she chose to do — with him. He felt a warm rush of feeling, composed partly of appreciation and partly of burgeoning grief. He could love her, he realized; she was the kind of woman he had longed for all his life, without ever realizing it. What had Angelica ever been, after all, but the dream of a moment? Luna was the reality. Beauty, intelligence, artistry, courage — but what use was any of it if she died?

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She was right; they must not waste what time remained. If she wanted to be happy, to celebrate — to celebrate what — the least he could do was help her do it. "We shall make a night of it," he agreed, taking the left turn. Then they all closed their eyes.
There was no crash. "Here it is," Molly Malone announced.
Zane looked. They were approaching a complex of tents, with colorful banners flying. Loud, off-key music wafted out. People crowded around. It was a carnival, all right.
"These people look alive," Zane remarked. "To the dead, the dead look alive," Molly said. "But the two of you are the only living creatures here. Don't let that spoil your pleasure."
"We won't," Luna said. "I have always liked ghosts." Molly approached the ticket seller. "These are my guests from the land of the living," she said. "Death did me a favor not long ago, and the woman will save the world from Satan in twenty years. Give them free passes."
"Those are good credentials," the ticket seller agreed, handing out the passes.
They passed through the old-fashioned stile and entered a broad concourse. Circus-type sideshows and knickknack concession stands lined either side. "Come on," Molly said enthusiastically. "The best thing to start with is the historical tour."
Luna took Zane's hand possessively as they both suffered themselves to be led to the embarcation station for the historical tour. Soon the three of them were ensconced in an open car on narrow tracks. It began to move under its own guidance, carrying them through a scintillating curtain.
Suddenly they were in a gloomy cave. "Lascoux," Molly announced. She obviously had been here many times before. "The famous cave paintings." As she spoke, the cave illuminated, as if from a flickering torch, and the walls glowed with assorted wild animals that seemed almost alive despite being crudely drawn. "It's the glimmering light," Molly explained. "It changes what we see, so it is as if the paintings live. That is the genius of these artists."

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"Is the genius?" Zane asked. "Isn't this a replica?"
"Oh, no!" Molly protested. "This is the real cave, circa 14000 B.C. We are the ghosts."
"Literal time travel being problematical," Luna said, nudging him. Zane put his arm about her shoulders. She might be using spellstones to lighten her mood, but she was still herself. "Ghosts can go where they want, without paradox."
"See, there is the artist painting the first unicorn," Molly said brightly.
Zane looked. He saw a seemingly vast panoply of crudely sketched animals all along the wall. Most of them were equine or bovine, some overlapping other figures. Yet in the flame of the sandstone lamp, whose crude wick sent out almost as much smoke as light, these figures seemed to be a three-dimensional herd, the overlapping sketches showing not carelessness but the dimension of time. This stag would soon give place to that horse; the double picture showed that clearly enough. This was the great Hall of Bulls; Zane remembered it now from former studies.
The unicorn representation was not apt. It had an enormously sagging belly that almost touched the ground, a severely truncated tail, several huge, hollow spots, and two long, straight homs. "That's no unicorn," he protested. "It's a bicorn."
"We think they evolved into the single horn," Molly explained. "The unicorn must have had both horses and horned creatures as ancestors, and the first crossbreeds would have seemed crude by modem standards. After all, the human figures depicted in these caves are far more primitive than those of the animals; our species has evolved much more rapidly in the last fifteen thousand years or so."

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"I suppose so," Zane agreed, surprised at the ghost's knowledge. But of course Molly must have taken this tour many times before, and learned all she wished. He was beginning to understand what ghosts did with their free time.
"Primitive art fascinates me," Luna said, her gray eyes flickering orange in the lamplight. She was especially lovely , here, somehow enhanced by the primitive surroundings. "All true art stems from the depths of the unconscious mind. The men of these caves were close to the natural world and they knew, perhaps better than we do, how to relate to its magic. We can no longer summon prey for the kill by painting its likeness on a wall; we have to use technological weapons or highly refined spells. To primitive man, science and magic were one — and he made them work as one. Only recently have we begun to rediscover the principle of aura that our ancestors understood intuitively. The whole cave is suffused with that awareness."
"Yes," Zane agreed, seeing it now. "I use a camera, you use paints. They used entire caves. The spirits of these animals are still here,"
"No, we are there," Molly reminded him. "Today the caves of Lascoux, Altamira, Perch-Merle, and the rest are tourist traps with no soul remaining. We ghosts are trying to preserve the true spirits, but it isn't easy."
"Of course it isn't easy," Luna said. "But you must keep up the excellent work."
The cart passed through a wall, out of the cave, and into a man-made labyrinth. "The maze of the Minotaur, in old Crete," Molly said. "This is our earliest historical reference to the bull-man."
"I thought you were an illiterate peasant girl," Zane said. "You don't sound that way."
"Oh, I can't read or anything," Molly said. "It is very hard to learn fundamental skills like that after death. I just sell shellfish; it's the one thing I do well. But I've been dead much longer than I lived, and I have had the chance to educate myself that I lacked in life. I wasn't stupid when I lived, just ignorant. There's a lot to learn, simply by watching the follies of the living. See, there's the Minotaur now."

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Indeed, the bull-man was pacing about his central chamber, lifting his horns and sniffing the air suspiciously, as if becoming aware of the intruding party. "I don't suppose you want the gossip about how he was conceived," Molly said. "How the Queen Pasiphae of Crete had a passion for the Bull from the Sea, who was really a sort of masculine demon, but the Bull wasn't interested in her, so she — "
"We know the story," Luna said curtly. Zane could understand why she did not want to discuss the matter of lovely women making love to demons.
Then they were out of the maze and rolling along a Roman highway. "Are you enjoying this?" Zane asked in Luna's ear.
"I haven't been on a date-in a long time," she answered obliquely. "Most men shun association with the family of a Black Magician."
"Their loss," he said, drawing her in more closely. She melted against him, and it was very pleasant.
"How can you save the world from Satan in twenty years if you are doomed to die within a month?" Zane asked, remembering something the ghost had said.
"Maybe I can influence Satan in Hell," she suggested.
"I don't want you in Hell!" he protested. "I don't want you dead at all."
"We must all die," Molly said. "What hurts is dying out of turn." She was, of course, in a position to know.
Zane pondered that, as Luna snuggled most pleasantly close. Those were the clients he had trouble with, intellectually and emotionally — the ones who were dying early because of accident or misunderstanding or plain bad luck. A game that played itself out and was finished was one thing; its score was known. But one that was interrupted before its course was run was a tragedy. Maybe he was abusing his office by talking a potential suicide out of it, or rescuing a drowning man, while facilitating the demise of an old and worn-out person, yet that was the way he had to play it. He had precious little of a worthwhile nature to distinguish himself, but it was important to care about people.

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"Penny for your thoughts," Luna murmured as they cruised through a medieval Chinese city. Zane was sure each setting on this tour was a highly significant historical event, and Molly was happily describing it all, but somehow he wasn't interested at the moment.
"I don't want you dying out of turn," he whispered. "You're a lot better woman than I deserve, and if — "
"Despite my affair with the demon?" she asked.
Why did she have to remind him of that? "To Hell with the demon!" he exploded.
"Which is exactly where he went," she agreed. "I had to tell you, or any relationship we might have would be a lie. I am unclean, Death, and I will never be clean again, and you must know — "
"We've been over this before!" he cried. "You did something horrible to help your father — as I did to help my mother. How can I condemn you for that?" Yet of course he had condemned her, emotionally; he had not been able to avoid it. The notion of some gross demon from Hell sating himself upon her body —
"What did you two do that was so horrible?" Molly asked.
"She gave her body to a demon, to learn the magic that might help her father," Zane said.
"And he used a penny curse to make the machinery that was keeping his mother alive against her will malfunction," Luna said.
"I guess those were sins," Molly agreed doubtfully. "I think sometimes you just have to sin in order to do the right thing."
"If I could have helped my father with a penny curse, I'd have done it," Luna said.

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"And if I had to romance a demoness to spare my mother her pain, I'd have done it," Zane said.
"Some of those demonesses are mighty sexy," Molly said. "They say there's no sex like succubus-sex. Of course, I wouldn't know."
"That does sound interesting," Zane said.
Luna reached up, caught hold of one of his ears, and drew his face down to meet hers. "Try this first," she said.
The kiss was electrifying. She had forgiven him his prior reaction and was giving him her emotion. It was a wonderful gift.
"And this is Tours," Molly said, gesturing to a new scene beyond the cart. Zane had no idea how many important historical scenes he had missed. "Where the French halted the advance of the Moors, and Europe was saved for the Europeans."
"Good for the Europeans," Luna said, resting her head against Zane's neck. Her topaz joy stones affected him as they touched his skin, suffusing him with rare joy. Or maybe it was just Luna's touch that did it.
Still he cursed inwardly. He had foolishly lost an ideal romance and now had another developing in its place — but this one would end within a month. That might be the reason the first Lovestone had not pointed him at Luna, who in certain respects was a better woman than Angelica. He had never gotten to know Angelica, but was judging her on the basis of his expectations. Luna was a poorer match because she would not live long. The Love- stone did not care about details; it merely matched up the greatest good for the longest period. That was the trouble with inanimate magic; it left so much untold.
Yet he realized that this misfortune had a perverse enchantment. He had been somewhat diffident about approaching Luna, for he wasn't sure whether Death should date a mortal woman, or whether a Magician's daughter would have anything to do with the likes of him when not compelled by magic, or how he felt about a person who had been used by a minion of Hell. Now, with the awareness of her mortality, he knew such diffidence could not be afforded. Whatever she could be to him, she had to be now — for there would be no tomorrow.

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"But you could disassociate immediately, sparing yourself sorrow," she pointed out.
"No, that would be like a rat leaving a sinking ship." Then he did a mental double take. "How did you know what I was thinking?"
"I inherited more than Truthstones and Lovestones and Deathstones," she said teasingly. "The right spell stones can enable a person to do anything, even read minds."
"But you aren't using black magic now, because it — "
"Brings me closer to the demon," she finished for him.
"You're right — I'm not using magic. I merely have a pretty good notion of the nature of your thinking."
"How? You don't know me that well yet."
"Did you desert your mother when she needed your help?"
"That's different — " He paused, reconsidering. "No, I guess it isn't. I have much evil on my soul, but I don't desert sinking ships."
"So you are a mixed person, with good as well as evil, as I am. I am selfish to come to you in this fashion, when I did not do so before."
"Yes, you did. You offered — "
"My body. The least valuable aspect of me. Now I offer more."
"I'll take it."
"This self-serving manner of coming to you will further burden my soul. But since my father left, there has been a void in my life that even the most potent equilibrium magic does not entirely abate. I had thought I was prepared, for I knew he was destined to die, but the shock of the actuality was worse than I anticipated." She paused, examining her feeling. "There was a presence that perhaps I took somewhat for granted. Now there is not. I feel unbalanced, falling into the gap that was the support my father provided. How does one counter the emptiness?"

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"Maybe some other support — "
"And you are the closest man for me to lean on. I want to enjoy my remaining time in life before it is gone forever. Before I must go to the demon."
"The demon still lurks for you?" Zane asked, dismayed. He had thought that was over.
"Yes. But he can't reach me in life unless I summon him, and that I will never again do. But when I go to Hell, I will be in his power forever."
"You must not go to Hell!" he protested. "You must improve your balance so you will go to Heaven!"
"In less than a month?" She shook her head sadly. "I have stones that measure good and evil, even as you do, and some of them operate by white magic, so I can use them as I wish, though they do not work well for me. I know my score. I am too deep in debt to Satan to escape at this point."
"There has to be a way! You can do a lot of good, contribute to worthy charities, think angelic thoughts — "
She shook her head. "You know better. Death. Good deeds done for such a purely selfish reason do not count. I had to redress my evil before I learned I was about to die. Now it is too late."
"What — what is to be the cause of your death?" Zane asked, fearing the answer.
"I don't know. I'm not ill, and I'm not accident-prone. Maybe someone is going to murder me."
"Not if I can help it," Zane muttered grimly. He resolved, as soon as this date with Luna was over, to go to Purgatory and look up the relevant records. If he could find out what was slated to kill her, he might arrange to block it. He already knew that a scheduled demise was not necessarily immutable; he had changed several such schedules himself. Meanwhile, if she stayed at home, her invisible moon moth should protect her well.

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"Pearl Harbor!" Molly said. "See the airplanes! They caught the defenders with their spells down. That launched the United States of America into World War Two."
Zane wasn't sure how the cart had traveled all the way across the great Pacific Ocean to this island, but remembered it was a ghost vehicle not subject to the normal laws of physics.
Already the cart was moving on to the next display. "The preemptive nuclear strike that launches World War Three," Molly said with a certain zest. "This one generates a lot of ghosts, believe me!" And it was as if they trundled through the heart of the sun, with blinding light everywhere.
"World War Three?" Luna asked. "That hasn't happened yet!"
"We ghosts aren't limited by time the way living folk are," Molly explained. "We see everything."
"When is World War Three happening?" Zane asked somewhat nervously.
"You'd have to ask Mars that; he's been working on it for a long time, his crowning achievement. I think the time is not precisely fixed, because the Etemals can't agree. Satan wants it when the balance of evil favors him; God is holding out for His own side. Right now the balance is so close they can't be certain where the majority of now-living folk would go if all their souls were released today. So neither side dares provoke the final war. But if any significant shift occurs, either way — "
"The world is in balance, like an individual human soul?" Zane asked. "That's some situation!"
"Is that all God or Satan cares about the world?" Luna demanded. "Which one gets the most souls when it ends?"

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"That's the way it seems to us," Molly said. "Of course, we're only ghosts, who aren't privy to the motives of the Eternals. But it does stand to reason that whoever gets the most souls has the most power. Souls are wealth in the region where gold can't go."
"It can't be that way," Zane said, troubled. "Maybe Satan is soul-grubbing, but God has to want the genuine welfare of man."
"Then how come God never helps man directly?" Molly demanded. "Satan has minions all over, sowing dissension, making mischief, publishing commercials for Hell. God remains aloof.".
"God is honoring the Covenant," Luna said. "Satan is cheating. There should not be any supernatural interference. Man is supposed to make his own destiny, by the type of life he lives when given free will."
"If you believe that," Molly said, the accent of the gutter where she had been raised in life coming through more strongly, "you must also believe the Tooth Fairy is queer."
Luna was startled. "That's a serious charge."
The ghost laughed. "See? You argue the case!"
The cart passed through an invisible curtain and emerged at the carnival grounds. "That was quite a tour," Zane said politely, though he had not paid it much attention.
"That's just the beginning!" Molly said, hauling them off to the ghostly, ghastly Horror House. The experience was, of course, awful, for the ghosts really knew how to horrify mortal people, but Luna took advantage of the darkness to sneak in a passionate kiss that horrified the ghosts. At least Zane thought it was Luna.
They had ghostly cotton candy and visited the Dinosaur Petting Zoo — the larger carnivores were muzzled, which annoyed them visibly — and tried to win a valuable invisible doll by catching a smoke ring on a glass lance. It didn't work; the ring shattered and the lance puffed away as vapor. They concluded with the Tunnel of Love — and here Molly had to let them go alone, for the boat held only two.

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By this time Zane was quite satisfied to be alone with Luna. Maybe it was the hypnotic effect of the constant noise and color of the carnival, or the knowledge of her brief time remaining, or that she was soft and pretty — for whatever reason, he found himself dizzy with delight at her propinquity, and as close to love as he had ever been. They drifted down the calm channel of water; as the quiet darkness closed in, they held hands and kissed again, and that was more pleasant than anything else he might have contemplated with any other woman. Then, it seemed like only half a moment later, they were emerging from the long tunnel, the journey over.
It was enough. They unloaded Molly Malone's wheelbarrow from the car and got in for the drive back to Kilvarough. It had been a good date

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