Ground Zero

She thought about what the Lady had said about Jack.

. . . cursed . . .

From what she’d heard, it certainly seemed that way.

A spear has no branches . . .

Those words, and their portent, made her shudder each time she thought of them.

“How does Gia handle that?” she wondered out loud.

“Handle what?”

“Knowing that someone tried to kill her and Vicky and did kill her daughter just because the baby was Jack’s?”

“She doesn’t know,” the Lady said.

“How can that—?”

“Jack hasn’t told her yet.”

“Oh.”

Not good. She could see him looking and waiting for the right time to drop that bomb, but more than six months had passed.

“An odd tone in that syllable.”

“Big, big mistake.”

The Lady turned to her. “I agree. But you sound disappointed.”

“Maybe I am . . . a little.” She wasn’t sure why.

“Because he is not perfect?”

Was that it?

“Maybe.”

“Is that fair to him? He’s never pretended to be perfect. Quite the contrary. He makes mistakes and he knows it. And though he may be the Heir, he’s still only human. I know many beings who are perfectly human, but not one perfect human being. We should not expect perfection in anyone. If we do we shall be perfectly frustrated.”

“We shouldn’t expect even you to be perfect?”

The Lady smiled. “I’m only as perfect as the beings who feed the noosphere, and they are all imperfect.”

Something occurred to her, and it made her uncomfortable.

“You know an awful lot about Jack. Are you that aware of everyone?”

She shook her head. “Because he is the Heir, I know where he is and I can find him. I pay special attention to Jack. That was why I moved into Johnson shortly after he was born. He was never aware of it, but I’ve kept an eye on him all his life.”

Weezy shook her head. “I could have used some looking after.”

“Your trials came from within and from the world around you, but they were always of this sphere. Jack has been an object of scrutiny from beyond.”

“ ‘Watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man’s.’ ” She winked at the Lady. “H. G. Wells, War of the Worlds.”

“Perhaps not so ‘keenly and closely,’ but watched nonetheless. It is not for me to interfere in the natural course of events in this sphere.” She nudged the dog with a foot and it raised its head. “My friend here is not so strict as I on such matters, but the fact remains that, despite how much we wish we could at times, we do not exist to influence human concerns and events.”

“Except in Jack’s case.”

“His case is different. Forces from beyond this sphere have impinged and warped the trajectory of his life. Since they originate beyond the normal course of human events, I have on occasion felt justified in stepping in to nudge him onto a less hazardous path, or to ameliorate the effects of their intrusions. I have had varying success. For instance, I was able to save Gia and Vicky. I could not save their unborn.”

Weezy thought again about Gia not knowing that the accident was no accident, and that it had been caused simply because of her relationship with Jack.

How would she react when Jack finally told her? Weezy didn’t know her well enough to say. But she had a pretty good idea how she’d feel if she happened to learn from another source: furious, betrayed, devastated.

It might destroy their relationship.

Weezy suddenly hated herself for what she was thinking.

Don’t. Go. There.

Ever.

The thought retreated, but it wouldn’t die.

“You should convince him to tell Gia about what happened—ASAP.”

“That is not my province. But you, as a friend—”

“Me?”

“If you love him, you will tell him.”

“Is that why you told me all this? I could just as easily tell Gia and ruin things between them.”

The Lady looked at her. “I don’t think you would do such a thing.”

“I’m even less perfect than Jack. And I’m not even supposed to know about it.”

She almost wished she didn’t.

“But you do. And you can tell him where you heard it. You may have an opportunity very soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s coming this way.”

16

Jack squatted briefly by the woman who’d screamed—a young, pretty Hispanic with tear-streaked cheeks.

“Can I help?”

He doubted he could but he wanted to see what had happened to her.

A man standing beside her said, “I just called nine-one-one.”

She showed him a charred area on her forearm. An area maybe four inches long and half an inch deep had been burned away.

“It hurts!”

“What did he burn you with? What did it look like?”

“Nothing! I just brushed against his hand.”

“But he must have been holding something.”

She shook her head. “No. I thought so too, but when I looked all I saw was his hand. It was like his skin burned me. But how can that be?”

“Good question.”

But it dovetailed with what the Kicker in the basement had said: Anything Darryl touched dissolved.

Why? How? And if that were true . . .

He’d been trailing Thompson and Drexler as they followed Darryl, and had wondered all the while what had happened to him. He looked like he was on his way to an audition for George Romero, so people tended to get out of his way. This was the first time something like this had happened. Just lucky, he guessed. If Darryl’s touch meant—

The blaring of a car horn and the squeal of skidding tires pulled Jack to his feet. He turned in time to see a limo plow into Darryl, sending him flying. He landed on his back on Broadway and rolled once. As he pushed himself off the pavement, the asphalt erupted in black steam where his hands touched it. He regained his feet, shook himself, then resumed his uptown trek as if nothing had happened. Jack watched in shock. That kind of impact should have broken at least one leg. Darryl wasn’t even limping.

As he approached a gaggle of gawkers that stood in his path, he said something that sounded like, “Mother.”

Jack started forward. If Darryl waded into them—bloodbath. But Thompson was ahead of him, shouting as he hurried toward the onlookers.

“Out of his way!”

Drexler did the same. “Let him through!”

They needn’t have bothered. The knot was already unraveling at Darryl’s approach.

Jack held back, stepping into the street and checking out the asphalt Darryl had touched. He found two perfect handprints, each about three inches deep, melted into the pavement. He stepped toward the limo where its driver stood looking back and forth between Darryl’s retreating figure and the hood of his car. A hole had been melted through the steel.

Only one conclusion here: Darryl wasn’t carrying the Fhi

And he was heading uptown.

Where Jack lived.

Mother . . .

The word rushed back at Jack like a bullet. He’d said “Mother.” That could only mean the Lady. They’d assumed the Fhi

He pulled out his phone and dialed his apartment.

No answer.

He tried the phone he’d given Weezy and the voice mail picked up immediately. She must have shut it off again.

He watched Darryl’s retreating back. If he was heading for the Lady, then he was heading for the apartment. Jack had to get there first. Warn the Lady. Get her out of there. Tell her to move to the Wilkins ice shelf or someplace equally remote until he’d figured how to deal with this.

His first thought was to take the subway, but the Sunday trains ran few and far between. Something could go wrong and Darryl might beat him on foot. Best thing was to hoof it up there ahead of him.

Jack broke into a loping run, pla