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“Any idea where he’s going?” Hank said.
Drexler shook his head. “No. But I believe the One does.”
“The One . . . is he even human?”
“Yes, but something more.”
Hank had figured that. “Can he be killed?”
Drexler gave him a sharp look. “Don’t even think—”
“I’m not thinking anything.” True. The question had popped out seemingly on its own. “Just wondering.”
“Well, then, the answer is yes. But not by any such as us.”
“Who then?”
“Another . . . like him.”
“You mean there’s two of him?”
If so, he wouldn’t really be the One.
“Not exactly. The two are mortal enemies. And that is all I can say on the subject.”
“I need more. Is the One going to be the head honcho after the cosmic shit hits the cosmic fan?”
Drexler’s lips pursed. “You have such a way with words, Mister Thompson.”
“You know what I’m saying.”
“Yes, I do. And yes, once he defeats his counterpart, the Yang to his Yin, he will be the Lord and Master of this sphere.” He glanced at Hank. “Don’t tell me you had illusions of—”
“Hey, no way. You crazy?” But he had. He’d thought that with his Kickers at his back . . . “But we—you and me, that is—we’re going to get to wet our beaks, right?”
He nodded. “When the Change comes, you and I will have places beside the One.”
Well, that would have to do. Probably be fine. Just like Daddy promised—he and Jerry would be princes when the Others returned. Too bad Jerry wasn’t around to join in.
Drexler pointed at Darryl’s retreating figure. “We don’t want him getting too far ahead.”
As they began walking, Hank thought about how reality had begun doing slow cartwheels since his first dream about the stick figure known as the Kicker Man, becoming increasingly surreal until blossoming into the complete and total insanity of this past week.
Darryl . . . fucking Darryl, of all people . . . the Fhi
Hank’s pulse raced—he felt cranked and scared. Made him want to pee, but he kept walking.
9
The man who was more than a man, who was known as the One to many, and as Rasalom to a few, who had numerous names, the most important known only to him, stood on the roof of the Lodge and waited.
In an hour or so, perhaps more, it would happen. He would know when it did. He would feel it.
And so would someone else.
You’re nearby, Glaeken. I know it. When it happens you’ll feel it and you’ll know my time has come. And you’ll be afraid.
Though difficult to imagine Glaeken afraid, Rasalom relished the thought. Glaeken would have good cause for fear when the Lady was gone. For the beacon would be turned off, the Enemy would abandon this sphere as lifeless and worthless, and Glaeken would be on his own.
What would that mean? Would he lose his power—his resilience, his immortality? Would he become just another mortal?
Wouldn’t that be delicious.
You will pay for what you have made me suffer down these mille
Rasalom’s only regret was that success today would mean forgoing his vengeance on the transgressor. Slowly destroying that man’s soul a second time would have been pure bliss. But he couldn’t have everything. He’d see the man suffer like everyone else, but that universal fate lacked the élan of what he’d been pla
Prepare yourself, Glaeken. The end begins today.
10
The man who once had been more than a man, who was known as Mr. Veilleur to many, and as Glaeken to a few, who had had numerous names, stood at his window and stared out at the Sheep Meadow.
Far below, light traffic cruised Central Park West. A quiet, peaceful, su
Why then was he so filled with dread?
The Fhi
And that meant . . . what?
He wished he knew. Perhaps then he might be able to head it off. But its purpose had always been a mystery.
He could only wait and see. But he felt something awful coming, something cataclysmic.
11
“I really wonder if you should be out,” Weezy said as she strolled along the su
Her long black dress and three-legged dog made it hard not to think of her as Mrs. Clevenger.
“You keep saying that. You think I should hide? I am the Lady. I do not hide. And besides, if the Fhi
Weezy couldn’t argue with the logic of that. The noosphere was all around, more ubiquitous than air. No one could protect it, no one could hide it, or hide from it.
Still, Weezy worried.
“But what if it’s after you—personally, I mean?”
“Then it will find me eventually.”
“Let’s hope Jack finds it first.”
The Lady nodded. “And for your sake—for everyone’s sake—let’s hope he can do something about it. But I fear he ca
A warm feeling rippled through her. “Jack seems full of surprises.”
“A very capable man, but everyone has limits, even the Heir.” She pointed to their left. “Let’s head this way. We can walk along the edge of Taxidermy Park.”
Weezy smiled. “Why do you call it that?”
“A piece of the city’s wild past stuffed and mounted and put on display.” As they crossed the avenue she said, “You love him, don’t you.”
The words startled her. “We’re just old friends—dear old friends—and I care deeply for him, but I don’t love . . .”
Or did she?
The wall of denial she’d built collapsed, and what she saw staggered her.
Yes, she’d fallen for him. But she’d been vulnerable. The void Steve left had never closed. She’d tried to fill it with her probings into the secrets behind 9/11, but that hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t just that he’d come back into her life, it was the way he’d come back—at full charge, with such drama. Vulnerable? She’d been a sitting duck.
Or maybe nothing was really new about this. She suspected now that she might have loved him back when they were teens, but her neurotransmitters had been too screwed up, swinging her moods back and forth, up and down, to let her notice.
Or were her feelings now just a manifestation of a new swing of her bipolar pendulum? Were these true emotions or just another hypomanic oscillation?
It sucked not to be able to trust your feelings.
The Lady suddenly gripped her arm and pulled her toward the curb. “Let’s cross the street here.”
Weezy sensed a sudden urgency. “Why?”
“I do not wish to walk past that place.”
Weezy looked over her shoulder and saw a blue awning leading to glass doors. Sitchin Clinic was etched in the glass.
“What’s wrong?”
“Their screams.”
Baffled, Weezy looked again and saw Women’s Center in smaller letters. Women’s center . . . the euphemism for abortion clinic.
“You can hear . . . ?”
The Lady nodded. “They linger.”
After they’d walked a ways in silence, the Lady said, “His heart is taken, you know.”
“Jack’s? Yeah, I met her.”
And liked her, damn it. Not the kind of woman she would have expected to be paired with the man Jack had become, but their differences seemed to strengthen their bond instead of weaken it.