"You've lived some," she told her reflection. "I like that."
Let's be sure we live a little longer, Raul counseled. "Any bright ideas?"
We need help, that's for sure. And don't start with me about Lucien. He'd be no use right now. We need somebody who can help us defend ourselves. And I'm not talking about guns. "You're talking about magic." Right. "There's only D'Amour that I know of," Tesla said. "And Grillo thinks he's dead." Maybe Grillo didn't look hard enough. "Where the hell do you suggest we start?"
He worked with a psychic, remember?
"Vaguely." Her name was Norma Paine.
"How'd you remember that?" What else have I got to do with my time? She found Phoebe in the kitchen, standing beside the dishwasher in a litter of twitching roaches with a can of Raid in her hand. "Damn things," Phoebe said, brushing a couple that had expired on the countertop onto the floor. "they breed where it's warm. I open the machine sometimes and they're swarming everywhere."
"Looks like you pretty much finished them off," Tesla said.
"Nah. They'll be back. You feeling better?"
"Much. What about you?"
"I took some aspirin. My head feels like it's ready to burst. But I'm okay. I made some peppermint tea. You want some?"
"I'd prefer something stronger. Got a brandy?" Phoebe picked up her cup and led the way through to the living room. It was chaotic: magazines everywhere and brimming ashtrays. The whole room stank of stale cigarettes.
"Morton," Phoebe remarked, as if that explained everything. Then, while she went through the array of liquor bottles on the dresser, told Tesla,
"I don't really remember what happened in Erwin's house."
"Don't worry about it."
"I remember going down the hallway with you. Then the next thing I remember was waking up on the step. Did you find Fletcher?"
"No.
"I've only got bourbon. We had some brandy from last Christmas, but-"
"Bourbon's fine."
"But the house wasn't empty, was it?"
"No, it wasn't empty."
"Who was in there?"
"A man called Kissoon."
"was he a friend of Fletcher's?" Phoebe asked. She'd poured an ample measure of bourbon, and now passed the glass to Tesla. She took a stinging mouthful before answering.
"Kissoon doesn't have friends," she said.
"That's sad."
"Believe me, he doesn't deserve them." The bourbon took an almost instant toll on her brain functions. She could practically feel its influence through her cortex, slowing her systems down. It was a pleasant sensation.
"Is the clock on the TV right?" she asked Phoebe. It read three-oh-five.
"Near enough."
"We'd better get some sleep," she said, her words faintly slurred.
"This man Kissoon-" Phoebe said.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow."
"No. I want to know now," she said. "He's not going to come after us, is he?"
"What the hell put that idea in your head?"
"The state of you when you came out of there," Phoebe said. "He messed you up. I thought maybe-"
"He wasn't done?"
"Right."
"No. I think we can sleep easy. He's got bigger fish to fry than me. But tomorrow morning, I think you should get the hell out of here."
"Why?"
"Because he's a malicious sonofabitch, and if things don't go the way he wants them to he'll trash this city from one end to the other."
"He could do that?"
"Very possibly."
"I can't leave," Phoebe said.
"Because of Joe?" Phoebe nodded. "He's not coming back any time soon," Tesla said. "You've got to look after yourself for a while."
"But what if he does come back and I'm gone?"
"Then he'll go looking for you, and he'll find you."
"You believe that? Really?" Phoebe said, studying Tesla's face. "If we're meant to be together, then we will be?"
Tesia avoided her gaze for a few moments, but at last had no choice but to meet Phoebe's eyes. When she did, she couldn't find it in her heart to lie.
"No," she said. "I don't believe that. I wish I did, but I don't." There was little to say after that. Phoebe retired to her bed, and left Tesia to make herself comfortable on the sofa. It was ill-sprung and smelled of Morton's cigarettes, but these were minor details given how exhausted she was. She laid down her head, and was just wondering whether the bourbon in her head would keep her awake, when she stopped wondering, and slept.
Upstairs, in the double bed that seemed larger tonight than it had the night before, Phoebe wrapped herself up in her arms, and tried to put Tesla's words out of her head. But they wouldn't go. they stalked the hopes she'd worked so hard to keep alive the last forty-eight hours, sniffing their weakness, ready to pounce and devour them the moment Phoebe oo ed the other way.
"Oh God, Joe," she said, suddenly sobbing, "Joe, Joe, Joe, where are you?"
Just as Joe was beginning to think the swell would never die down and the continued violence of its motion would shake The Fanacapan apart at the timbers, the towering waves began to diminish, and after a time the current delivered them into a region of much calmer waters.
Noah ordered the volunteers to check on the condition of the vessel's boards (it had fared better than Joe had expected; it was taking in water in one place only, and that no more than a trickle), then the torches were lit at stem and bow, and everyone took time to rest and catch their breaths. The volunteers all sat together at the stem, heads bowed.
"Are they praying?" Joe asked Noah.
"Not exactly."
"I'd like to thank them for what they did back there," Joe said. "I wouldn't bother."
"No, I want to," Joe said, leaving Noah's side.
Noah caught hold of Joe's arm. "Please leave them be," he said.
Joe pulled himself free. "What's the big problem?" he said, and strode down the deck towards the half-dozen. None, of them looked up at his approach.
"I just wanted to thank you-" Joe began, but he stopped as a dozen little details of their condition became apparent. Several of them had been hurt in the stonngashed arms and flanks, bruised faces-but none of them were nursing their wounds. they bled freely onto the soaked deck, shuddering occasionally.
Unnerved now, Joe went down on his haunches beside them. This was the first opportunity he'd had to study their physiognomy closely. None of them looked entirely human. Each had some detail of skin or eye or skull that suggested they had come of mixed marriages: the blood of Homo sapiens mingled with that of creatures who either lived beside Quiddity or below it.
He looked from face to face. None of them showed the slightest sign of pain or even discomfort.
"You should get those cuts covered up," he said.
He got no response. they weren't deaf, he knew that. They'd heard Noah's instructions, even over the roar of surf. But they showed no sign of even knowing that Joe was beside them, much less understanding his words.
Then, a voice from behind him.
"I had no choice."
Joe looked back over his shoulder. Noah was standing a couple of yards down the deck from him.
"What did you do to them?"
"I simply put them in my service," Noah said.
"How?" "I worked what I think you call a conjuration upon them."
"Magic?"
"Don't look so disdainful. It plainly works. We needed their service, and I had no other way of getting it."
"Would you have done the same thing to me, if I hadn't agreed to bring you here?"
"I didn't have the strength back there. And even if I had, you'd have resisted me better than they did."
"They've hurt themselves."
"So I see."
"Can't you wake them up? Get them to tend to themselves?"