She glanced up at the ghosts. They’d missed nothing of what was going on in the passageway. Eyes like slits, they’d all come a little closer to the threshold, daring its consequences.
Behind her, Todd said: “Tammy?”
He was sliding down the wall, his gaze fixed on her. Katya had apparently used the knife on him again, but hadn’t lingered to finish him off. She was moving past him, her eyes on Tammy.
“It’ll all end in tears … ” Tammy murmured herself, and then turned one last time to the challenge of the central icon.
For the last time, she threw her weight down upon it, using her weakened left hand and her benumbed right to twist the knife-blade in the groove beneath the metal ridge.
Another two or three small splinters came away.
“Come, on” she begged. “Please God. Move.”
Katya was right behind her now. She could feel her presence at her back. And of course Tammy was a perfect target, right now, but there wasn’t a thing in Hell she could do about that, not if she wanted to keep going, keep pushing, keep hoping the damn thing would —
It moved!
She looked down at the icon, and yes, God love it, the thing had lifted out of the wood a little. Scarcely at all, in truth, but movement was movement.
She twisted again, using what little strength her left hand had. And suddenly the jolt came up out of the icon with such force that it threw her backwards, so that she landed in front of Katya, deposited before her like a sacrificial lamb.
The pain in her hands and her arms was so severe this time that she had difficulty staying conscious.
The image of Katya loomed above her, knife in hand. Blotches of darkness invaded it from the corners of her sight. But she held on by force of will, determined not to lie there passively while Katya leaned over and slit her throat.
“You interesting bitch.” Katya said, raising the knife. She took hold of
Tammy’s hair, pulling back her head to expose her throat.
But before she could deliver the cut, something else drew her attention. It seemed she had not realized until this moment that all her defenses had been breached.
“Jesus Christ,” she said.
Weak as she was, Tammy was still capable of feeling a little satisfaction as she saw the look on Katya’s face go from murderous intent to puzzlement, and then — very suddenly — to fear.
“What have you done?” she murmured.
Tammy didn’t have the energy or the wit for a pithy reply. But she didn’t really need one. Events would speak for themselves now.
The door was open and the threshold cleared.
After years of frustration and exile, Katya’s long-neglected guests were coming back to reacquaint themselves with the mysteries of the Devil’s Country.