a red silk tie shining at his neck. His eyes were dark and amused, the flame of the lamp reflected in them. "That's only Valerie," Julian said.
With a rustle of her skirts, she emerged and stood in the kitchen door, pale and quiet yet still strikingly beautiful. Johnston looked at her and laughed. "Ah," he said, "only a woman. Sorry, Mister Julian. Them nigger stories got me all jumpy."
"I understand perfectly," said Damon Julian.
"There's others behind him," Jim Johnston whispered. They all saw them now; dim figures, indistinct, lost in the darkness at Julian's back.
"Only my friends," said Damon Julian, smiling. A woman in a light blue gown emerged at his right. "Cynthia," he said. Another woman, in green, stood to his left. "Adrienne," Julian added. He raised his arm in a weary, languid gesture. "And that is Raymond, and Jean, and Kurt." They emerged together, moving silent as cats, from other doors ringing the long room. "And behind you are Alain and Jorge and Vincent."
Johnston whirled, and there they were, stepping out from the shadows. Still more came into view behind Julian himself. Except for the whisperings of cloth against cloth, none of them made any sound as they moved. And they all stared, and smiled invitingly.
Sour Billy wasn't smiling, though he was vastly amused at the way Tom Johnston clutched his gun and cast his eyes about like a frightened animal. "Mister Julian," he said, "I ought to tell you that Mister Johnston here don't intend to be cheated. He's got him a gun, Mister Julian, and his boy too, and they're both handy with their knives."
"Ah," said Damon Julian.
The niggers began to pray. Young Jim Johnston looked at Damon Julian and drew his own pistol. "We brung you your niggers," he said. "We won't bother you for no reward, neither. Well jest be goin'."
"Going?" Julian said. "Now, would I let you leave without a reward? When you've come all the way from Arkansas just to bring us a few darkies? I wouldn't hear of it." He crossed the room. Jim Johnston, caught in those dark eyes of his, held his pistol up and did not move. Julian took it from his hand and laid it on the table. He touched the youth's cheek. "Beneath the dirt, you're a handsome boy," he said.
"What are you doin' to my boy?" Tom Johnston demanded. "Get away from him!" He flourished his pistol.
Damon Julian glanced around. "Your boy has a certain rude beauty," he said. "You, on the other hand, have a wart."
"He is a wart," Sour Billy Tipton suggested.
Tom Johnston glared and Damon Julian smiled. "Indeed," he said. "Amusing, Billy." Julian gestured to Valerie and Adrienne. They glided toward him, and each took young Jim Johnston by the arm.
"You want help?" Sour Billy offered.
"No," said Julian, "thank you." With a graceful, almost offhand gesture, he raised his hand and hrought it lightly across the youth's long neck. Jim Johnston made a wet, choking sound. A thin line of red suddenly appeared across his throat, a little looping scarlet necklace, whose bright red beads swelled larger and larger as they watched, bursting one by one to send trickles down his neck. Jim Johnston began to thrash, but the iron embrace of the two pale women held him immobile. Damon Julian leaned forward, and pressed his open mouth to the flow, to catch the hot bright blood.
Tom Johnston made an incoherent animal noise deep in his chest, and took the longest time to react. Finally he cocked his pistol again and took aim. Alain stepped in his path, and suddenly Vincent and Jean were beside him, and Raymond and Cynthia touched him from behind with cold white hands. Johnston cursed at them and fired. There was a flash and a whiff of acrid smoke, and weed-thin Alain staggered back and fell, driven by the force of the bullet. A flow of dark blood seeped through the white ruffled shirtfront he wore. Half-sprawled, half-seated, Alain touched his chest, and his hand came away bloody.
Raymond and Cynthia had Johnston firmly by then, and Jean took the gun from his hand with a smooth, easy motion. The big red-faced man did not resist. He was staring at Alain. The flow of blood had stopped. Alain smiled, showing long white teeth, terrible and sharp. He rose and came on. "No," screamed Johnston, "no, I shot ya, you gotta be dead, I shot ya."
"Niggers sometimes tell the truth, Mister Johnston," said Sour Billy Tipton. "All the truth.