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green-brown of tobacco juice set in a shapeless, eyeless bag of naked muscle clashed together with a sound that froze Mike's guts.
    The bum leaned against the wall, just under the light. He favored his left side, and from his heavy breathing and the lines carved into his face, Mike knew he was in serious pain. He held his odd club out in front of him like a shield. The dim light set the edge of the metal bar on fire, and it seemed to glow with a clean, golden light of its own.
    The thing that rose from Timmons open mouth ceased its gnashing and turned toward Mike. It gave off waves of malevolent curiosity that he did not like in the least. And then, in a voice that took Mike back to a sea of mind-rending utterances, it spoke.
    "Tch-tch-tch, ah. Krkrkrtcha, come, meat and join us." The stridulating, sibilant   words were barely understandable, and at the same time horribly, horribly clear. "You shall make us a strong, new host." To Mike's horror, the muscular stalk stretched toward him, turning the once-human body with it.
    Mike, still on one knee, cried out in disgust and fear as the hideous thing shambled toward him. In reflex, he thrust his hand out in front of him, and did something he hadn't done in his adult life.
    Mike prayed.
    Heat flashed through his hand, and a brilliant gold glare banished the night. The un-Timmons jerked away and screamed, a shrill, thin shriek that bounced off the walls around them and bored into Mike's head.
    In that moment, the bum leaped away from the wall that supported him. With a shout, he took a long step and brought his club sweeping down. The bar left a trail of shimmering phosphorescence as it sped toward its target. Instead of bludgeoning the monstrosity, however, it cut cleanly - almost effortlessly - through that dark, fleshy column.
    The thing's scream cut off as its maw fell. Mike saw the horrible mouth hit the pavement… and splash, going from solid flesh one second to inky, stinking fluid upon impact. Likewise, the column of its neck and the mass on Timmons's chest melted into gelatinous slime. Timmons himself fell to his knees, coughed and vomited that same odd mixture of inky slime and pale fluid. He sighed once and slumped over on his side, apparently unconscious.
    Mike blinked, trying to make sense of what he'd just witnessed.
    The bu- no, the fearsome street warrior walked over to Timmons, taking care not to step in the puddle of ichorous goo. He nudged the fallen cop with one foot. The effort proved too much, and he staggered several steps to fetch up against a dumpster.
    Mike got to his feet and started over to him, but the warrior shook his head and pointed across the clearing. A boneless mound, clad in a paramedic's uniform, lay collapsed against the building, huddled just inside a door. Mike's heart rose into his throat.
    "Take c-c-care of the g-girl first."
    Yasmin lay in a heap against one wall. An arm-full of medical gear lay scattered about her. He dropped to his knees, unsure what to do. She was unconscious - to have lain unmoving through that episode, she'd have had to be - slumped on her side, in an almost fetal curl. A rising bruise - crowned with a split over her cheekbone - marred most of the exposed side of her face. Even as forceful as that blow must have been, it couldn't be what knocked her out. He knew he wasn't supposed to move someone with a possible head or neck injury, but he hadn't even seen what happened.
    Mike's fingers itched. Absently, he scrubbed them on his jacket, and thought furiously. The itching grew to a fierce tingling, as though thousands of tiny bees buzzed just under his skin. Distantly he realized he held something in his other hand, something he'd thrust at the Timmons-monster. Something that resonated with the tingling in his fingers.
    Mike glanced at his other hand, fingers clenched tight around- clenched around what? Whatever it was had both hands tingling now. He uncurled his fingers to reveal a small gold coin, shining in the