"No.
"And you didn't come bearing rum."
"I'm sorry."
She waved his apology away. "Don't be silly. I'm happy you're here. But why?"
"I need some advice. I'm going to a party Tuesday night."
"Go on, ask a blind woman what you should wear," Norma replied, much amused. "Who's throwing the party?" "The Order of the Zyem Carasophia." Norma's smile vanished. "That's not funny, Harry." "It's not meant to be," Harry replied. "They're having some kind of ceremony, and I have to be there."
"Why?"
"Because if anyone knows where the lad'Il attempt another breach it's them."
"There's a good reason why nobody ever talks about them, Harry."
"Because everybody buys the rumors. The fact is, nobody knows who the hell they are."
"Or what," Norma said.
"So you believe the stories?"
"About them being exiles?" Norma shrugged. "Seems to me, we're all exiles."
"Now don't get metaphysical on me." "It's not metaphysics, it's the truth. All life began in the dream-sea, Harry. And we've all been trying to get back there ever since."
"Why don't I find that very comforting?"
"Because you're afraid of what it means," Norma said, lightly. "You're afraid you'd have to throw away all the rules you live by, and then you'd go crazy." "And you wouldn't?"
"Oh no, I'd probably join you," Norma replied. "The issue isn't my sanity or yours, Harry. It's what's true or not. And I think you, me, and the Zyem have a lot in common."
"What have I got to fear?" Harry said.
"They're probably as afraid of you as you are of them, and that means they'd prefer to have your head on a plate where they can see it. Or eat it."
"Ha fucking ha."
"You asked," Norma replied.
Harry turned his attention from the street to the television screens. Three dozen silent dramas were in progress before him, the cameras' eyes picking up every little triumph and agony, whether real or rehearsed.
"Do you ever think we're being watched?" Harry said, after a few moments of staring at the screens.
"I am, all the damn time," Norma replied.
"I don't mean by ghosts," Harry replied.
"What then?"
"Oh, I don't know@od?"
"No.
"You sound very sure."
"I am. Sitting here right now. Ask me tomorrow I might have a different answer. I doubt it, but you never know."
"You talk about demons-"
"So?"
"That means the Devil's in the mix somewhere."
"And if the Devil's on the planet God must be too?" She shook her head.
"We've had this argument before, Harry. It's one of those useless subjects."
"I know."
"I don't know what your demons are@'
"They're not mine, for a start."
"You see, we're disagreeing already. I think they're very much yours."
"You mean what happened to Hess was me?" Harry said, his timbre darkening.
"You know that's not what I mean." "What then?"
"The demons find you, because you need them. So did Hess. You need them for the world to make sense to you. Some people believe in-I don't know, what do people believe in? Politicians, movie stars... " she sighed, exasperated. "Why are you fretting about it anyway?"
"Time of year. Time of life. I don't know." He paused. "That's not true. I do know." "Going' to tell me?"
"I've got this constant feeling of dread."
"About the Order?"
11
"No. "What then?"
"I still believe in Hell. It's me I don't believe in any longer."
"What the heck are you talkin' 'bout?" Norma said. She extended her arm in Harry's direction. "Come here," she said. "Harry? You hear me?" Harry extended his arm, and Norma unerringly seized hold of his wrist.
"I want you to listen to me," she said. "An' I don't want you shushing me or tellin' me you don't want to hear, 'cause sometimes things don't get said that should be said and I'm going' to say em now. Understand me?" She didn't wait for Harry to agree to her conditions, but went on, tugging on Harry's arm to bring him still closer to her chair. "You're a good man, Harry, an' that's rare. I mean really rare. I think something moves in you that doesn't move in most men, which is why you're always being tested this way. I don't know what it is testin' you@r me come to that-but I know we got no choice. Understand me? We got no choice but to just get on with things, day by day, and make our way as best we can."
"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.