"Okay, but-"
"I haven'tfinished.
"Sorry.
She drew Harry down beside her. "How long we known each other?" she asked him.
"Eleven years."
Her free hand went to his face. Touched his brow, his cheek, his mouth.
"Takes its toll, huh?" she said.
"Yep.11
"If we knew why, Harry, we wouldn't be what we are. Maybe we wouldn't even be human."
"You think that, really?" Harry said softly. "You think we have to just stumble on because that's what being human is?"
"Part of it."
"And if we get did understand?" Harry said.
"We wouldn't be human," Norma said.
Harry let his head sink on Norma's arm. "Maybe that's it then," he murmured.
"What is?"
"Maybe I think it's time to stop being human."
The new tattoo hurt more than any of the others. That night it itched furiously, and several times Harry woke from dreams of the design moving on his arm like a living thing, writhing to be out from under the dressing.
The next day he'd called Grillo and had what was to be his last conversation with the man, in the midst of which he'd spoken about the Anti-Christ. Grillo had made his contempt for the term perfectly plain
(You're too damn Catholic for your own good, he'd said) after which the exchange had come to a chilly end. The Reef and its keeper had been Harry's last hope of useful information about the Order, and he had come up empty-handed. He would enter the building between Thirteenth and Fourteenth without any real sense of what he was facing. But then what else was new?
He took up his position across the street from the spot before noon the following day and waited. There was little sign of activity until the middle of the afternoon, when the first of the celebrants arrived, slipping out of a car, crossing the sidewalk fast, and disappearing down a flight of steps that led below ground level. Harry had no time even to glimpse his or her face. There were another ten or so appearances before dusk, all the visitors heading on down the same flight. Harry had checked it out when he'd first examined the building. There was an iron door at the bottom of the steps, which had looked to be rusted shut when he'd examined it. Plainly it was not.
He had expected things to speed up somewhat as darkness fell, but that was not the case. Another half dozen partygoers arrived, and disappeared down into the ground, but it began to seem as though the gathering would be considerably more intimate than he'd anticipated. This was both good news and bad. Good, because there would be fewer eyes to spot an interloper like himself; bad, in that it implied the ceremony was not mere ritual reunion; rathe r a meeting of a few authorities, bringing with them who knew what powers? Not a comfortable doubt.
Then, just a little before nine, with the last of the daylight gone from the sky, a cab drew up outside the liquor store at the corner of Thirteenth and Ted got out. The cab drove off, and he stood at the intersection a minute, pulling on a cigarette. Then he crossed towards the building. Harry had no choice but to break cover, and start towards him, hop_ ing Ted would catch sight of him and retreat. But Ted had his eyes fixed on his destination, and before Harry could intercept him he'd disappeared around the back of the building. Slowing his pace somewhat so as not to attract undue attention (could he doubt somebody was watching from inside?) Harry gained the opposite side of the street and followed Ted around the block. But he had already gone. Harry doubled back, and turned the corner in time to see Ted starting down the flight of steps. Quietly cursing him, Harry picked up his pace. There was not sufficient traffic to cover the sound of his footfalls. Ted glanced back over his shoulder, flattenin himself into the shadows of the stairs as he did so, only to emerge a moment later with a grin of welcome on his face.
"It' s you-"
Harry hushed him with a gesture, and beckoned him out of the stairwell, but Ted shook his head, pointing down the stairs to the door. Grimacing, Harry hurried along the wall, and headed down into the shadows to Ted's side.
"You're not coming with me," he hissed.
"You think you're going to get through that door without help?" Ted replied, pulling a hammer and croWhar from inside his jacket.
"You're not getting involved with magic any more, remember?" Harry said.
"This is my farewell appearance," Ted replied. Then, his voice dropping to a near growl, "I'm not taking no for an answer, Harry. You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me."
"I'm not going to be responsible for you," Harry warned him.
"I'm not asking@,
"I mean it. I got too much on my plate as it is."
"Deal," Ted said, with a little grin. "So are we going or what9" So saying, he slipped down the flight of stairs to the door. Harry followed on.
"Got your lighter?" Ted asked.
Harry fished for it and flicked it on. The flame showed them a door, encrusted with rust. Ted pulled out his croWhar and pushed it between the door and the jamb. Then he leaned all his weight against it. A hail of rust particles flew against their faces and the hinges of the door creaked, but it didn't open.
"That's no damn use," Harty whispered.
"You got a better idea?" Ted hissed.
Harry snapped the cigarette lighter shut. In the darkness he said,
"Yeah, I got a better idea. But you look the other way.
"What the hell for?"
"Just damn well do it," Harry said, and flicked the lighter back on to see that his instruction was being obeyed. It wasn't. Ted was staring at him with a quizzical look on his face.
"You've got some suit, haven't you?" he said, his tone more admiring than accusatory.
"Maybe.
"Jesus, Harry-"
"Listen, Ted, if you don't like it get the fuck out of here."
"What you got?" Ted said. There was a gleam in his eyes as he spoke, like an addict in the presence of his prefeffed poison. "You got a hand of glory?"
"Christ, no."
"What then?" "You're not seeing it, Ted," Harry insisted. "I told you: Look away."
Very reluctantly Ted averted his eyes and Harry brought from his pocket the prodigile suit, a minor magical device for which he'd paid Otis Voight four hundred bucks. It was a sliver of aluminum two inches long and one and a half inches wide, with a small sigil stamped at one end, and five narrow grooves radiating from the sign. Harry pressed it into the gap between the door and the frame, as close to the lock as he could get it.
Behind him he heard Ted say, "You got a prodigile. Where the fuck'd you get that?"
It was too late to tell him to look away, and no use lying. Ted knew magic's methods and implements too well to be deceived.
"It's none of your business," Harry told him. He didn't like dabbling in the craft (even the use of a prodigile, which was an extremely minor device on the thaumaturgic scale, brought with it the danger of contamination or addiction), but sometimes circumstances demanded that the enemy's weapons be used in the very labor of destroying them. Such was the sour reality of war.
He pressed his thumb against the exposed edge of the suit, and jerked it down. His flesh opened easily,, and he felt the prodigile throb as it drew blood. This, he knew, was the most likely moment for addiction; when the suit was activated. He told himself to look away, but could not. He watched, never less than amazed, as his blood hissed against the metal and was sucked along the grooves and out of sight. He heard Ted draw a sharp breath behind him. Then there was a burst of luminescence from the crack between door and jamb, and the unmistakable sound of the lock mechanism snapping open. Before the light had quite died, Harry put his shoulder to the door. It opened without resistance. He glanced round at Ted, who despite his earlier bullishness, now looked a little fearful.