Part of her balked at the possibility that anything so outrageously fanciful could be true. It was the stuff of Harry Potter novels.
But another part of her called up a vision of that black mark—the Stain—stretching across her daughter's back and she knew it was true.
Gia felt her world crumbling around her. She couldn't lose her little girl! It wasn't going to happen—it couldn't happen! Not Vicky! Please not Vicky! Take me instead!
"There's got to be a way out, Jack."
His arm tightened around her. "I agree. Has to be. We've just got to find it in time." He reached for the book. "Tomorrow I'm going to take this—"
She clutched his arm. "Take it where?"
"To Abe's professor friend. I already called him but he's gone for the day. But I'll show this to him. Maybe he'll be able to tease something out of the text that we don't see."
"And what if he can't?"
"Then we go public with the Compendium and the Lilitongue. Haul the world's best minds here and see what they come up with."
"But you won't be able to find this professor till tomorrow, right?"
Jack frowned. "I'm still working on tracking him down tonight. Abe had only his office number. The museum won't give me his home number."
"Okay, you go looking, but leave the book with me."
"Why?"
"To save time." Dear God, so little left. "Have you been through the whole book?"
"No. Look at the size of it. Must be a thousand pages."
"That's my point. While you're out looking for this professor, I'll comb through every single page. There may be more about the Lilitongue hidden inside. And that way, when we bring this professor in, we'll know where to direct his attention."
Jack chewed his upper lip for a second or two, then shook his head.
"We'll both do it—tag-team style. You do an hour, then I'll do one. That way we won't go blind."
"But what about Abe's professor?"
"Who better to track down his home address than Abe? I'll put him on it."
Relief flooded through Gia. She didn't want to be alone here with Vicky, this ancient book, and the Stain.
8
-61:49
Tom sat alone at Gia's kitchen table, sipping a Killian's Irish Red he'd found in the refrigerator and feeling down.
Had somebody put a curse on him? Sure as hell seemed that way. Everything he touched turned to shit.
The feds were looking for him and he faced ruination and jail time if they found him.
If they found him? How about when they found him?
His stash had been discovered and frozen.
His last chance—the weird artifact he'd tracked down and hauled from the bottom of the ocean—had turned out a bust. Worse than a bust: It had put a little girl—Gia's little girl, of all people—in jeopardy.
Could things get any worse?
He couldn't see how. But things could be worse.
He tried to avoid the thought, felt ashamed that it even occurred to him, but his only luck lately had been Vicky touching the dimple on the Lilitougue instead of him.
Christ, he hated himself for the relief he felt.
Yes, he'd been the one looking to "elude all enemies," but not the way the Lilitongue was going about it. Whisked away to some undefined place from whence he could never return? No, thank you.
He shivered. He'd rather take his chances with the feds.
But of all people to be stuck with that creepy-looking mark, why Vicky? Why couldn't it have been Jack?
How low was that?
Sometimes I disgust even myself.
He heard a noise in the hallway and looked up to see Jack walking his way, a key ring in his hand.
Tom said, "Everything okay?" and immediately regretted it. What a stupid thing to ask.
Jack glared at him. "You're kidding, right?"
"It just popped out. How's she doing?"
"Terrible." He snapped a key off the ring and handed it to him. "I'm staying. You're not. This'U let you in."
"I want to help, Jack. I can—"
"You can do us all a favor by leaving." He stood aside to clear the door. "Walk up to the corner and catch a cab."
The scorn in Jack's clipped tone burned like acid. His impulse was to protest but he thought better of it. If Gia felt the same, he was better off gone.
Tom grabbed his jacket from a chair and shrugged into it as he slipped past Jack and headed down the hall. Passing the sitting room he saw Gia sitting in a pool of light, rocking Vicky on her lap.
He stopped. "I'm sorry, Gia. I had no idea… I never dreamed…"
His voice died as she looked up at him with haunted, red-rimmed eyes. He waited for her to say something, to scream curses at him, but she said nothing. He wished she would. The hurt and fear and the how-could-you? look in her eyes cut deeper than any words.
She'd lose her daughter in sixty-some hours and she blamed him.
Not fair.
"Let's go," Jack said from close behind.
Tom expected a shove toward the door. Thankful it didn't come, he began moving on his own.
And then he was on the sidewalk. He arrived there standing, under his own power, but he felt as if he'd been given the old heave-ho and landed with his face in the dirt.
The door clicked behind him and Tom was alone.
His breath steamed in the air as he looked around at all the lighted windows in the high-rises. Surrounded by millions of people and yet alone.
More alone than he'd ever been, and feeling it.
He couldn't remember ever being all that connected to anyone, at any time, but at least he'd had people he could act connected to. Now…
The Skanks? He'd burned those bridges long ago. His kids? Barely knew them. Terry? She didn't want him around—he was an embarrassment, a pariah to old acquaintances and colleagues. Even the solace of immersing himself in work was now denied him.
Perhaps subconsciously he'd considered his family something to fall back on—theoretically, at least—if worse came to worst. Now…?
At this time last year he would have had Kate and Dad to lean on. Both gone now. He'd never considered Jack a possibility, because no one knew anything about him. But even Jack, his only surviving sib, wanted nothing to do with him.
Was this what the philosophers called angst?
He started walking up toward Sutton Place.
Not fair. None of it.
Sure, he'd recovered the Lilitongue and brought it to Jack's place, but he hadn't meant to hurt anyone. Maybe he shouldn't have shown it to Gia and Vicky. That probably had piqued the kid's curiosity, but Jack was at fault here too. Sure, he'd stowed the sea chest out of sight, but he should have found a better hiding place.
And Vicky—what about her? If she'd minded her own business instead of poking around other people's things…
Ah, what's the use?
He reached Sutton Place and found a cab, gave the driver Jack's address, then slumped in the seat.
When had he last felt this low? He needed a little pick-me-up. No, he needed a big pick-me-up.
He checked the driver's ID card: a scowling black face over a name that began with Kamal.
Tom leaned forward. "My nose has this bad itch. You know where I can get something for it?"
The cabby glanced over his shoulder, then looked ahead.
"You are a cop?" he said in heavily accented English. From Guyana, maybe?
"No, I'm anything but. Just a guy from out of town with a problem nose. Can you help me out?"
"I take you to someone. But you better be no cop."
Instead of turning west, Kamal headed uptown. The numbers on the cross streets progressed from double to triple digits, and the neighborhoods became rundown.
Kamal made a quick left and pulled to the curb near a bodega. A tall black man in an oversized, thickly padded Giants Starter jacket stepped out of the doorway and sauntered over.