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disturbance in the earth.
    As he walked, smelling the earth and mold, the musk of time and bodies long forgotten, he mocked himself. For one thing, he was dreaming, and in dreams, the message might be real but the evil was imaginary. For another, he did not believe that the earth itself could be evil. Evil lived in the heart or the soul. It was made manifest by those who reveled in its cruelty.
    But as he walked, he felt the dead, felt their pain, and he imagined that there was a wind here, and that the wind was the whisperings of the dead. He knew that he was once again walking toward the light ahead, that the light was drawing him. When he reached it, he would once again see that strange stone tomb, and the light would surround him. In the maze of tunnels that stretched out in every direction, candles would glow from sconces set in the walls. Legions of the dead rested there.
    He knew he would come upon the mysterious woman, and he would try to go closer, closer…and see what lurked beneath the hood, what visage lay hidden there.
    Only once had he shared his dream, and seeing the faceof another, he had been stunned. The other man had been so real, as if they had both stumbled upon the path like wandering tourists, only to startle one another. He had awakened from the dream that night startled and disturbed.
    Tonight he looked down the corridor, but he was alone.
    And he was approaching the center.
    The wind that was not wind rustled, carrying the voices of the dead. He heard the strange clicking sound as the skeletons began to rebuild themselves.
    One, bearing an ancient shield beneath the tattered remnants of his shroud, struggled to rise. The bony face stared at him sightlessly. The brittle finger bones clicked as the corpse attempted to point at him. The skeletal jaw moved, and the wind seemed to form words. Shakespearean words.
    â€œâ€˜Thou shalt beget kings, tho’ be none.’”
    So far, he had done no “begetting” of any kind, he thought. He stared at the skeleton, and he did not fear it.
    The wind seemed to guide him again, and he moved toward the light. But this time, before he could reach it, the earth beneath him rumbled and rose. He nearly fell. Around him, a shelf in the rock crashed down, corpses shattering to dust. The rumbling was growing worse, and the ground began to undulate wildly…
    He awoke, sitting straight up in bed. At his side, his wife, who knew him so well, jerked up, as well. “Lucien?” she said quietly.
    â€œThere’s been an earthquake. Somewhere.”
    â€œThere are often earthquakes somewhere, my love,” she said, yawning. But then she bolted straight up, as well. “Maggie!…Maggie is out in L.A. visiting Melanie, and they have earthquakes there all the time.”
    He turned on the television, clicking the remote until he found one of the 24/7 news networks.
    In moments he realized that his dream had been true…
    Â 
    The quake registered 4.0 on the Richter scale. Definitely not the big one, but strong enough to cause some serious scattered damage. Centered south of L.A., it did more damage in the Anaheim area than anywhere else. Certain sections of Los Angeles and Orange counties never even lost power, while some areas would be looking at two to three weeks before all public utilities were restored. Thanks to satellite communication, Melanie was able to draw up that much information on her cell phone immediately, even as she made her way back home.
    She was deeply relieved to reach Maggie by phone with equal ease and hear that her friend had taken her car and headed for her apartment to wait for her. Melanie lived in Los Feliz, bordering Hollywood, in an apartment she could reach either from the street or from her small storefront, where she sold high-end pet supplies.
    Since she had been through a few minor quakes before, she had decorated accordingly. She didn’t have glass knickknacks on her shelves, nor had she hung