"No." Bagabond sat down on the floor beside the phone. "Can you meet me at home? I mean, the penthouse?"
"Why? "
"I just feel as if…" Rosemary's voice grew thin for a moment. "I guess I want to tell my father what I'm doing. Maybe it's why I held on to the place. But I don't want to go there alone. Please, Suzanne."
"Why me?"
Rosemary hesitated. "Suzanne… I trust you. I can't trust anyone else. I need you."
"That's not new." Bagabond clenched her jaw and her hand tightened on the phone.
"Suzanne, I know you don't agree with what I've done, but I promise I'm going to change things."
"All right. But I have an appointment at seven." Bagabond closed her eyes in disgust at her need for Rosemary's approval. "Thanks. I'll meet you there." Rosemary hung up. Bagabond looked down at the cats.
"I don't think this night is ever going to end."
She pulled on the long, open, ankle-length black sweater Jack had insisted she get. The black and calico accompanied her to the door. Bagabond mentally told them both to stay. The cats responded with yowls of anger, but backed away from the door. Closing the door, Bagabond knew the black was using another exit to follow her.
At the subway station, she held the door of the car so the cat could enter. The black was not happy he had been spotted, but was glad he would not have to chase the train or find an other route. He panted as he lay at her feet. For him, now, it had been a long run.
She got off at 96th Street, abruptly aware of how few people had been on the subway. The crowds really had given up. She went upstairs to the street. Two blocks down Central Park West, Rosemary waited on a bus bench. Her eyes widened as she saw Bagabond's dress, but she did not comment.
"Let's go in." Bagabond was impatient to get this done. She suddenly felt the gray cat watching her from the park across the street. She looked up, but saw nothing in the trees.
"I suppose I'm ready." Rosemary hesitated before pulling open one of the heavy glass doors.
"Signorina, you'd better be." Trailed by the black, Bagabond followed her in.
The doorman was no longer a Gambione man. He was young, and Bagabond noticed he was studying a book on contract law. Rosemary showed him her key and signed in, as Rosa Maria Gambione, on the guest register.
In the elevator, she used another key to send the car to the penthouse.
"I haven't been here in five years." Rosemary looked up at the ceiling of the car.
"Are you sure you want Rosa-Maria to return?" Bagabond reached out to touch the other woman's shoulder. "You were desperate to leave all this behind. Your father, the Family, all of it. You wanted to atone for what he did. Now you want to be like him?"
"No!" Rosemary glared at Bagabond for an instant before she lowered her head. "Suzanne, I could do a lot of good, turn the Family around."
"Why?" Bagabond barely kept her balance in the high heels as the elevator jerked to a halt. "Let them be destroyed. They deserve it. They're criminals."
Rosemary stepped out into the hallway. "It looks wrong without the men. There were always guards here for my father."
"You want to live that way?"
Rosemary unlocked the double oak doors, then turned and was framed against the darkness behind. "Suzanne, don't you understand that I can make a difference? I can stop the violence and the killing."
Bagabond was skeptical. "You could destroy yourself instead. "
"It's worth the risk." Rosemary pushed the doors open wide and walked in. "I believe that."
Behind her, Bagabond watched the new head of the Gambione Family walk down the dark entry. She murmured to herself and the. black, "I know you do, God help you."
Rosemary showed Bagabond the apartment, telling her of the happy things that had happened there. There were some: the holidays, family gatherings, birthdays. The last room they entered was the library. Books lined the black walnut walls and heavy draperies seemed to absorb most of the light. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, Rosemary laughed.
At Bagabond's look, she explained. "It's awful. All these books? My father bought them by the yard. He didn't care what they were, so long as they had leather bindings and looked impressive. I used to sneak in and read some of them. There was Hawthorne and Poe and Emerson. It was fun." She looked at Bagabond defensively. "It wasn't always bad to live here."
Running her hand over the backs of the chairs that lined the central table, she walked to the chair at its head. For a moment she put her arms around the back as though she em braced a person. Then Rosemary pulled the chair out and sat down, contemplating Bagabond down the length of the table. "Can you find the door?" Rosemary leaned back and was dwarfed by the massive, carved back of the chair. "I just want to think for a while."
Bagabond walked out of the room feeling as though she had seen a ghost. Back in the elevator, she knelt and stroked the black until he purred at her. Then she stood and pulled the sweater more tightly around her.
Outside, the sun was up and traffic had increased on the streets until the horns and diesel fumes made it clear the day had begun. The gray still watched from the park. She was un able to pick up the animal's emotions without effort. She left him his privacy. Bagabond patted the black's head and sent him across to the park to see his son.
She stepped to the curb to hail a cab to take her downtown to the restaurant.
As the taxi wove through the thickening morning traffic, Bagabond started attempting to think of good conversational gambits. Nothing she remembered from the sixties somehow seemed appropriate.
Bagabond wondered if Paul liked cats. He had better.
"Okay, how did you track me to Jetboy's Tomb?" Brennan shrugged. Jennifer was carrying the book sack and he had two bags full of Chinese food that Jennifer had insisted on buying at a take-out place near her apartment.
"It was easy. I'd put a bug on the cloak I'd given you. That little fellow with Fatman teleported me to the middle of the Holland Tunnel, which, luckily enough, isn't far from Jetboy's Tomb. Though I must say I was worried that you'd do something foolish before I managed to reach you. And I was right."
"Humph. And then?"
"And then? Wyrm had planted lookouts to make sure they wouldn't be bothered while they were recovering the books. You must have come through while they were either still secur ing the perimeter or rousting someone else. At any rate, I took the place of one of them just as Wyrm and the others were dragging your unconscious body out of the tomb. Then it was simply a matter of waiting for my chance. I saw it, and jumped Wyrm."
"What did you do to him, anyway?"
Brennan held up his hand. The palm was still stained brown.
"Remember the mustard I brought from the street vendor?" She did. "Wyrm s tongue is an extremely sensitive sensory organ that doesn't take too well to spices. Besides dis comforting him, I'm sure the mustard also wiped away all traces of your scent. So you should be safe from him."
"Thanks. And thanks for saving my life."
"You did the same for me. I'd have never gotten that gun away from Kien."
Jennifer nodded. She'd never used her power that way before, and, even though it had been unintentional and Kien had, after all, tried to kill her, now that she had time to think about it, she felt nauseated. All that blood…
They walked on in silence for a while. She felt Brennan's eyes on her, but said nothing until they'd gone up the four flights of stairs to her apartment.
"Well, here we are."
Books were everywhere about the living room, giving it a comfortable, lived-in look. At least that's how Jennifer thought of it. Brennan put the bags containing the food on the counter that divided the kitchen nook from the rest of the room.
"Make yourself at home," she said as she turned to put the coffeepot on the stove and got two plates and utensils from the cupboard. She turned back to see Brennan standing in the middle of the apartment, an impatient expression on his face. "You want to see the book?"