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Dread filled Weezy as she watched him take the pistol from the shelf and stick it in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.
“You don’t really think that’s going to be of any use against this Fhi
Another shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. But it works against people, and people brought that thing into this world, so maybe they can be persuaded to send it packing.”
He disappeared into his room for a few minutes, then emerged stuffing things into his jeans pockets.
“You two wait here while I see what I can do.”
Weezy had a sick, bad feeling about this. Something awful was about to happen.
“Be careful, Jack.”
He gave her a tight smile. “Always.”
And then he was out the door.
Weezy held back tears. “Will he be all right?”
“I ca
“But why him? Why can’t somebody else—?”
“Because there is no one else, and he knows that. So he does what needs to be done, or at least tries to. Though he hates it, though he wants no part of any of it, that is what he must do, because that is the way he is. That is the only way he knows, the only path he can see. That is why he was chosen as the Heir.”
Jack . . . her Jack . . . ski
The Tracfone started ringing. She saw Eddie’s number in the window. She thumbed the power off and put it back on the table.
“Your brother?” the Lady said.
Weezy nodded. “My brother, the Septimus.” The word tasted like poison.
“Perhaps you should speak to him. He is blood, after all.”
“I’ve spoken to him. And I’ll speak to him again. But right now . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Possibilities and probabilities collided in her brain, producing an awful scenario: Eddie helping the Order track her through the phone. She opened its rear compartment and disco
“Come, then,” the Lady said, rising and patting her hair. “We will walk. The air will be good for you.”
“But Jack said—”
“I am the Lady. I go where I please.”
8
Hank shook his head in silent wonder.
Whatever was in that stuff leaking from the Orsa, it had a miraculous effect on Darryl. At least as far as his strength was concerned. Ten minutes after lapping at it he got to his feet, but he didn’t seem any less confused. He now stood, swaying slightly, before the One.
“Mother?”
The One showed a hint of a smile. “Yes. Your mother. You want your mother, don’t you.”
Darryl nodded. “Mother.”
“Do you know where she is?”
Another nod. “Mother.”
He stepped aside and gestured toward the staircase. “Then by all means, go find her.”
Hank watched Darryl move toward the stairs, leaving wet shoe prints. He started with a shuffle, then graduated to a slow walk.
“What’s all this about ‘mother’?” Hank said.
Drexler shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve embarked upon an uncharted sea.”
He gave the One a questioning look, but his attention was fixed on Darryl.
When Darryl reached the wrought-iron stairs, he hesitated.
Hank started forward. “Looks like he needs—”
Drexler thrust out an arm. “Don’t touch. No contact. It’s in the Lore.”
“But—”
“Remember what happened to your coffee cup.”
He remembered. Yeah, maybe a good idea to give Darryl some space.
He watched Darryl reach out and grasp the railing. Smoke rose from where his hand touched the wrought iron. He looked at it curiously, then released the railing and stared at his hand. Hank gasped when he saw that the iron he had touched was gone.
Darryl’s gaze moved from his hand to the gap in the railing, then he started up, leaving a puff of smoke and a gap everywhere he touched.
Hank stood frozen, his tongue a sandbox. “Am I seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Yes, Mister Thompson,” Drexler said. His eyes were bright, his lips parted with excitement. He looked ready to explode. “The Fhi
“Where’s he going?”
“Only the Fhi
The One stood statue still, staring after Darryl, and smiling.
Drexler cleared his throat. “Sir, may we ask—?”
“You may,” the One said without looking at him. “But if you wish an answer, you will have to follow him and find out for yourselves.”
Drexler turned to Hank. “Then that is just what we will do.”
Hank jerked a thumb toward the One, who hadn’t moved. “He coming?”
“We need not worry about him. Come.”
Hank followed him to the staircase. He waited as Drexler ascended ahead of him and checked out the gaps in the handrail. The iron appeared to have melted away but without leaving any slag. The free ends looked like they’d been cut with an acetylene torch. He gave one a quick touch but found it cool.
The damage to the handrails seemed to have destabilized the staircase because it wobbled as Drexler climbed. Once he was off, Hank hurried up after him. He glanced back and saw the One still standing by the shrunken Orsa.
When he reached the top and stepped out of the closet, he tapped Drexler’s shoulder.
“Hey, how come the metal dissolved when he touched it, but his clothes are okay?”
Drexler shrugged. “I would assume because the clothes came through the Orsa with him.”
Made sense.
Darryl had walked out into the main room of the basement. As they started after him, Hank heard a voice shout Darryl’s name. He recognized it and heard trouble in the tone.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Ansari said. “Not only do you look like shit, but what the fuck you doing here?”
Hank pushed past Drexler and found Ansari confronting Darryl.
“Mother.”
Ansari’s eyes blazed. “What you call me?”
He gave Darryl a two-handed shove to the chest. Darryl swayed, but Ansari wound up staggering back instead. His face purpling, he raised a meaty fist.
Hank shouted, “Hold it!” but not in time.
Ansari swung. His fist rammed forward, smashing against Darryl’s undefended jaw—
—and dissolved in a cloud of red smoke.
Hank skidded to a halt as he watched Ansari stumble back, clutching his wrist and staring at the place where his hand had been. No blood sprayed the air—the stump was blackened, cauterized.
As Ansari screamed in pain and horror, Hagaman rushed up behind him, shouting, “What the fuck you do, asshole?”
“Mother.”
“Goddamn!”
He bent and charged, as if to tackle, but Darryl put out a hand that caught Hagaman’s arm above the elbow. Another scream, another spray of red smoke, and Hagaman spun and dropped to the floor—right next to his forearm. He writhed in agony as he clutched the stump of his arm.
Panic erupted as the other men in the room fell over each other in a headlong rush to get away from him. Darryl began to move toward them as they bunched up at the door.
“Mother.”
“Get out of his way!” Hank shouted.
But either they didn’t hear or were too panicked to understand.
Darryl reached them and put out his hands to push them aside. The result was more screams and more red smoke at they lurched away with chunks burned out of their backs and shoulders.
With the doorway cleared, Darryl stepped through and headed upstairs. Hank and Drexler followed to the first floor. Word must have spread because everyone was pressed against the wall, staring in fear and wonder as Darryl walked toward the front entrance.
“The doors!” Drexler said.
He scooted ahead and opened one of the heavy oak doors, holding it for Darryl until he passed.
Darryl halted at the bottom of the steps and turned in a slow circle. He stopped, facing uptown.
“Mother.”
He turned and began walking up toward Allen Street.