Glaeken leaned forward, keen interest sparking in his blue eyes. “What name?”
She leaned back. “I don’t know. That’s why I put little X’s in the boxes.”
Jack couldn’t hide his shock. “You mean you forgot? You never forget anything.”
“I doubt I ever knew, Jack.” She closed her eyes. “I can see it there, leaning against the wall of the tunnel. It’s covered with dust. You even rubbed off some of the dust to show me how it was made of the same black material as the pyramid. I can see that six of the borders are missing, and I have an impression of seven symbols on the remaining border, but for the life of me I can’t remember what they are.”
“That photographic memory of yours never failed before. Why now? Try.”
Her eyes opened and flashed at him. “What do you think I’m doing right now? It’s simply not there. You remember what it was like that night. We thought that door opened into some kind of floor safe but it was much bigger than that. It was dark down there, we had crummy little flashlights, I was nervous, and we were looking for a lost kid. So excuse me if I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to a dusty old sigil. I can’t remember something if it never registered.”
He realized he’d ticked her off. He hadn’t meant to. He couldn’t remember ever being so impatient. He also realized she was ticked at herself for not being able to remember it.
“Okay. Sorry. If that’s the way it is, we’ll just have to resign ourselves to not knowing.”
“But we can find out,” she said. “I mean, assuming the sigil is still there.”
“If it is, it’s got to be buried under a ton of mud from when the lake flooded in.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I think we should go see.”
“Where? Back to Johnson? What for?” He nodded to the Lady. “If no one’s going to perform the ceremony, why bother?”
“We can worry about ceremonies later. Just knowing Rasalom’s Other Name could be important. Don’t you want to know it? Aren’t you curious, even a little?”
“Not a bit.”
“You won’t go back?”
“No.”
No way he was leaving for the wilds of New Jersey while Rasalom’s heart was still ticking up here. If an opportunity arose to finish the job, Jack wanted to be ready to jump on it.
Where was that son of a bitch?
6
With the cow’s help, Rasalom had struggled his way to the couch. She’d draped it with a sheet-the first step toward making him a bed, she promised-and he now sat upon it, wrapped in a blanket.
The effort had exhausted him. He hadn’t felt this weak since Glaeken had trapped him in that wretched little castle in Romania. His lids felt heavy, and kept drifting closed, but he forced them open to concentrate on the television on the far side of the small room.
The woman had a satellite feed; she’d turned it on first thing this morning and left it running. He had a feeling she kept it on all day. Her only company besides her dog. Rasalom would have ignored it except the channel was updating what it called “the nightmare in Nuckateague.” The mention of a triple murder associated with the “blitzkrieg assault” on the mansion had galvanized his attention.
Triple murder?
He assumed two of the dead to be Georges and Gilda, but who was the third? And then it struck him-the baby.
Oh, no… not the baby.
Despairing, he listened carefully, but the identities of the dead were being withheld pending notification of their families.
He had to get off this island…
Then again, what was the hurry? With the baby gone, he’d have to come up with a new plan.
Another concern arose: Did Glaeken know he had survived? The Glaeken of old could sense his presence in the world, just as Rasalom could always sense his. Had he lost that ability along with his immortality? If not, he knew that his scheme had failed. He might try another strike to finish the job. Rasalom’s weakness and injuries left him painfully vulnerable out here.
He lifted the blanket and examined his naked body. The burns were still oozing, and that concerned him. Certainly his skin was further along in the healing process than an everyday human’s, but he felt he should be doing better. The injuries had seriously weakened him.
He raised his left arm and stared at the stump of his wrist. More than weakened: maimed and mutilated. He could recover from the weakness, he could heal his wounds, but his left hand was gone forever.
Who did this to him?
Glaeken? Not personally, that was certain. Too old and feeble. How he had reveled in seeing him like that. He had not expected so bold a move-had not expected any move.
Killing Georges and Gilda and the baby… that was not like the old Glaeken. Rasalom had used his concern for “innocent” lives against him countless times. Perhaps the mortal Glaeken, with his clock winding down, had realized, like Rasalom, that no one was innocent.
And no one was supposed to know about the Nuckateague house. How had Glaeken found out? Did he have a source in the Order? That was the only answer. But who?
His Heir must have led the attack. An impressive assault, Rasalom had to admit. Only by the sheerest good fortune had he survived. If not for the presence of this island, if not for the wind and current that carried him here, he would have drowned. And even then, had it not been inhabited, he would have frozen solid on the beach out there.
The island’s sole inhabitant, the cow, Sadie, bustled in carrying a plate and a glass of milk.
“Brunch! More like a real breakfast-bacon and fried eggs-but since it’s after twelve we’re going to call it brunch.”
The communal “we” again.
“And since you’ve only got one hand, I put it between bread. So you’ve got a breakfast sandwich and some milk. Now, you may be saying to yourself, I want coffee, and maybe we’ll get you some later, but right now you need nourishment to get your strength back and milk’s got a lot more nourishment than coffee.”
The chatter, the incessant chatter. Did she never tire of prattle?
She placed the plate and the glass on the table next to the couch and moved on to the window.
“Looks like the storm’s finally giving up the ghost. About time, I say. About time.” She turned and looked at him. “The phone should be working now. Time to get you some medical help.”
“No!” he said. His voice was stronger now, but still raspy.
“You keep saying that, but you’re not thinking straight. Those burns are going to get infected for sure and then you’re going to be one sick puppy.”
Infection was the least of his worries-his immune system would not allow it. But discovery… how was he going to stop her?
Perhaps the truth…
“You have been watching the television?”
“On and off. You’ve occupied a lot of my attention.”
“You saw the fire in Nuckateague?”
Her eyes widened. “I surely did! Did you see what someone did to that house? I declare I’ve never seen anything like that in all my born…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at him. “You’re not going to tell me…?”
He nodded.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear God!”
He faked a sob. “They killed my family and were going to kill me but I managed to escape-though, as you can see… just barely.”
“Oh, you poor man! Who were they?”
“I don’t know.” He had to improvise now… something lurid yet plausible. “Home invaders. I am a wealthy man. They thought I had a house full of valuables. They cut off my hand trying to get me to tell them where I had hidden all these supposed valuables. They did not want to hear the truth-that it was all in the city in a bank vault. When they finally were convinced, they became enraged and went on a murder rampage-my brother, my wife, and my baby boy.”
“Oh, dear God!”
That would cover him should they identify the bodies.
“Then they left me for dead and blew up the house to destroy all evidence.”