The cord was thinner than a rope and slick. He closed his hand around it. His fingers gripped. They gripped and held on.
What…you doing?
Yu’s mental voice was so faint he’d missed a couple of words. He looked at her. “I’m going to try it. Turner can see me. Maybe I can use this to get to him, let him know you’re being taken to a warehouse.”
Use what?
“Whatever this thing is between the two of you. I can hold it. Maybe I can follow it.” Maybe he’d gotten lost in the gray because it didn’t have landmarks. This—this cord thing—maybe it wouldn’t go away. Maybe he could hold on to it, pull himself along it, even when everything else went to gray.
But he’d better hurry. Once the halfling got Yu in a car, he was going to come apart.
“Don’t call me,” he told her urgently. “If you do, I’ll come back, and I need to try this.” He held onto the cord tightly and started running—out the door and right down into the floor.
He felt both door and floor as he passed through them. Not tactilely, the way he felt the cord. Just a vague sense of compression as if whatever he was composed of now reacted to the mass he passed through. He raced through someone’s living room, through a wall and a hallway, and out of the building entirely. He was still nearly two stories above the ground.
The cord felt strong and stable in his hand. It stretched out straight ahead of him as he ran. It didn’t seem to matter that his feet had nothing below them but air. He grinned, exhilarated. He’d never tried this. When he wanted to move fast, he’d always let himself go misty. But mist didn’t have hands, couldn’t hang on to a cord.
This was fun.
His grin faded as he looked ahead and saw the way buildings, people, everything faded. Only a few yards ahead of him now, the world took on a gray cast. Beyond that…nothing. The cord stretched out and out into the nothing.
He kept running. The world had faded to gray, ghostly shapes, barely seen, when the first vibration shook him.
He hadn’t been fast enough. Lily Yu was in a car, and it was speeding up.
He began to tatter quickly, and as he came apart he felt the pull, as if he had a hook set deep in his soul that was yanking him. Pulling him back toward her. He’d only felt a little tug before, not this deep ripping. His hand started to lose the feel of the cord, lose…
No. He focused everything he had, everything he was, on his hand, on the hand gripping the cord. On the gold of the ring he wore, glowing like the cord still glowed. Even here where all was gray, here in the heart of the nothing, his ring glowed faintly, just like the cord. He couldn’t see anything but his hand, his ring, and a short length of the shining cord. Everything around him was gone. He was gone, except for that hand, but he kept moving even as that hook ripped him.
It hurt. It felt like the hook was ripping open the gut he didn’t have anymore.
He focused even harder on his hand, the one part of him that was still real. That would, by God, stay real. And he kept moving away from Lily Yu.
FORTY-ONE
THAT was the last name on his list. Rule had checked every damn one, and found nothing.
He rubbed his face and looked around. Madame Yu and Mike were still bent over their lists, but the rest were through. Now what? What the hell did they do next? “I guess we pass our copies to the person next to us. Double-check each other.”
“We eat now,” Madame Yu said without looking up from her pages.
Eat. Yes, it was…God, it was noon. Friar had had Lily for about twelve hours. Rule closed his eyes and tried not to think of what that meant. She was alive. She was alive, and she’d managed to contact him once. “Of course,” he said, amazed at how level his voice sounded. “Scott, would you order something for us?”
Scott nodded and took out his phone and tapped the man sitting next to him on the shoulder. “I don’t know the takeout around here. Where should I call?”
“There’s a pizza place two blocks over that’s pretty good. I’ll get you the number.”
Rule’s phone sounded. He grabbed it. “Yes?”
“We found something,” Tony said. “Pretty fresh, too. It’s at the Whole Foods in Potrero Hill. Rick’s in the produce section now with his cop. He indicated that the strawberries have a lot of elf-scent.”
“Potrero Hill,” Rule repeated, jotting it down. “The Whole Foods store.” He shoved his chair back.
Bergman came in. “That Crescent Street address is a warehouse. It was leased to Abraham Brown this past November, which is a pretty neat trick, considering he died in May.” She stopped. “You found something?”
“Not on the lists. One of my people found elf-scent at a Whole Foods store in Potrero Hill.” Wherever the hell that was. He’d been so eager to move that he hadn’t asked. “Do you know where that is?”
“Sure.” The way her eyes brightened said she was eager to get moving, too. “I’ll take you.” She stuck her head back out in the hall. “Bill! I’m going with Turner to check out another lead. Get out to that warehouse, see if there’s a watchman or someone you can talk to.”
“Can we get a copy of the picture on Abraham Brown’s license?” Rule asked. “Maybe the elves used that likeness for their illusion. Maybe someone will recognize it.”
“Good thinking,” Bergman said. “Harris, you’re quick with that sort of thing.”
“Sure, pick on the new guy.” But the young man stood, stretched, and hurried out of the room.
“I will come with you,” Madame Yu said, and stood.
Beth popped out of her chair. “Me, too.”
Bergman shook her head at both of them. “I need people who can take it door-to-door if we get a hit on Brown’s photo. I don’t need civilians.”
Rule saw the hand first. About three feet away, emerging from the wall next to Bergman—a clear, distinct hand. A man’s hand with a glowing gold wedding band on one finger. It was gripping something tightly. Behind it…mist. Only mist.
“Rule.” Madame Yu’s voice was quiet. Worried. She’d moved up to stand beside him. “What is it?”
“Drummond,” he whispered.
The moment he used the man’s name, the mist began shaping itself. It assembled slowly, painfully slowly, but at last Al Drummond stood there in front of Rule.
He looked bad. He’d been dead for three months, but now he looked like he was dying, and dying in agony. His face was grooved deeply by pain. The tendons in his neck stood out. He seemed to be fighting to stand upright. He looked at Rule and said something.
“I can’t hear you. I can see you, but I can’t hear you. Where’s Lily? Is she nearby?’ he asked sharply.
Drummond shook his head and shuddered. Again he said something. Rule watched his mouth carefully, but he’d never learned to lip-read. “Again,” Rule said. “Say it again, slowly.”
It was no good. He shook his head. “I can’t understand you. Dammit to hell!”
“Who can’t you understand?” Bergman asked warily.
“Quiet,” Madame snapped. “Rule, the ghost tied to Lily is here and trying to tell you something?”
“I can’t hear him,” Rule said, his voice sinking to a growl. “I can see him, but I can’t hear him, and I can’t read lips.”
“Can he see me?”
Drummond nodded.
“Yes,” Rule said.
“And the map? Does he see that?”
Again Drummond nodded. Again Rule repeated that aloud.
“Good.” She marched over to the wall. “Mr. Drummond, do you know where Lily is?”
Drummond nodded vigorously.
“He does,” Rule said. His hands were fists at his sides.
“We will play the hot and cold game.” She studied the map a moment then put her finger on it. “As I move my finger, Mr. Drummond will nod if I am getting warmer and shake his head if I am getting colder. If I touch the place where Lily is, he will speak again. Rule will report this.”