Kusum was nowhere to be seen.
Kolabati frantically pushed her way through the crowd. She circled the dry, sun-drenched ice rink. Kusum was gone. He must have spotted her and ducked into a cab or down a subway entrance.
She stood amid the happy, carefree crowd, biting her lower lip, so frustrated she wanted to cry.
6
Gia picked up the phone on the third ring. A soft, accented voice asked to speak to Mrs. Paton.
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Kusum Bahkti.”
She thought the voice sounded familiar. “Oh, Mr. Bahkti. This is Gia DiLauro. We met last night.”
“Miss DiLauro—a pleasure to speak to you again. May I say you looked very beautiful last night.”
“Yes, you may. As often as you wish.” As he laughed politely, Gia said, “Wait a second and I’ll get Nellie.”
Gia was in the third floor hall. Nellie was in the library watching one of those public affairs panels that dominate Sunday afternoon television. Shouting down to her seemed more appropriate to a tenement than a Sutton Square townhouse. Especially when an Indian diplomat was on the phone. So Gia hurried down to the first floor.
As she descended the stairs she told herself that Mr. Bahkti was a good lesson on not trusting one’s first impressions. She had disliked him immediately upon meeting him, yet he had turned out to be quite a nice man. She smiled grimly. No one should count on her as much of a judge of character. She had thought Richard Westphalen charming enough to marry, and look how he had turned out. And after that there had been Jack. Not an impressive track record.
Nellie took the call from her seat in front of the tv. As the older woman spoke to Mr. Bahkti, Gia turned her attention to the screen where the Secretary of State was being grilled by a panel of reporters.
“Such a nice man,” Nellie said as she hung up. She was chewing on something.
“Seems to be. What did he want?”
“He said he wished to order some Black Magic for himself and wanted to know where I got it. “’The Divine Obsession,’ wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Gia had committed the address to memory. “In London.”
“That’s what I told him.” Nellie giggled. “He was so cute: He wanted me to taste one and tell him if it was as good as I remembered. So I did. They’re lovely! I think I’ll have another.” She held up the dish. “Do help yourself.”
Gia shook her head. “No, thanks. With Vicky allergic to it, I’ve kept it out of the house for so long I’ve lost my taste for it.”
“That’s a shame,” Nellie said, holding another between a thumb and forefinger with her pinky raised and taking a dainty bite out of it. “These are simply lovely.”
7
Match point at the Mount Holly Lawn Tennis Club: Jack was drenched with sweat. He and his father had scraped through the first elimination on a tie-breaker: six-four, three-six, seven-six. After a few hours of rest they started the second round. The father-son team they now faced was much younger—the father only slightly older than Jack, and the son no more than twelve. But they could play! Jack and his father won only one game in the first set, but the easy victory must have lulled their opponents into a false sense of security, for they made a number of unforced errors in the second set and lost it four-six.
So, with one set apiece, it was now four-five, and Jack was losing his serve. It was deuce with the advantage to the receiver. Jack’s right shoulder was on fire. He had been putting everything he had into his serves, but the pair facing him across the net had returned every single one. This was it. If he lost this point, the match was over and he and Dad would be out of the tournament. Which would not break Jack’s heart. If they won it meant he’d have to return next Sunday. He didn’t relish that thought. But he wasn’t going to throw the match. His father had a right to one hundred percent and that was what he was going to get.
He faced the boy. For three sets now Jack had been trying to find a weakness in the kid’s game. The twelve-year-old had a Borg topspin forehand, a flat, two-handed Connors backhand, and a serve that could challenge Tanner’s for pace. Jack’s only hope lay in the kid’s short legs, which made him relatively slow, but he hit so many winners that Jack had been unable to take advantage of it.
Jack served to the kid’s backhand and charged the net, hoping to take a weak return and put it away. The return came back strong and Jack made a weak volley to the father, who slammed it up the alley to Jack’s left. Without thinking, Jack shifted the racquet to his left hand and lunged. He made the return, but then the kid passed Dad up the other alley.
The boy’s father came up to the net and shook Jack’s hand.
“Good game. If your dad had your speed he’d be club champ.” He turned to his father. “Look at him, Tom—not even breathing hard. And did you see that last shot of his? That left-handed volley? You trying to slip a ringer in on us?”
His father smiled. “You can tell by his ground strokes he’s no ringer. But I never knew he was ambidextrous.”
They all shook hands, and as the other pair walked off, Jack’s father looked at him intently.
“I’ve been watching you all day. You’re in good shape.”
“I try to stay healthy.” His father was a shrewd cookie and Jack was uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
“You move fast. Damn fast. Faster than any appliance repairman I’ve ever known.”
Jack coughed. “What say we have a beer or two. I’m buying.”
“Your money’s no good here. Only members can sign for drinks. So the beer’s on me.” They began to walk toward the clubhouse. His father was shaking his head. “I’ve got to say, Jack, you really surprised me today.”
Gia’s hurt and angry face popped into Jack’s mind.
“I’m full of surprises.”
8
Kusum could wait no longer. He had watched sunset come and go, hurling orange fire against the myriad empty windows of the Sunday-silent office towers. He had seen darkness creep over the city with agonizing slowness. And now, with the moon rising above the skyscrapers, night finally ruled.
Time for the Mother to take her youngling on the hunt.
It was not yet midnight, but Kusum felt it safe to let them go. Sunday night was a relatively quiet time in Manhattan; most people were home, resting in anticipation of the coming week.
The Paton woman would be taken tonight, of that he was certain. Kolabati had unwittingly cleared the way by taking the bottle of rakoshi elixir from Jack and disposing of its contents. And had not the Paton woman eaten one of the treated chocolates as she spoke to him on the phone this morning?
Tonight he would be one step closer to fulfilling the vow. He would follow the same procedures with the Paton woman as he had with her nephew and her sister. Once she was in his power, he would reveal to her the origin of the Westphalen fortune and allow her a day to reflect on her ancestor’s atrocities.
Tomorrow evening her life would be offered to Kali and she would be given over to the rakoshi.
9
Something was rotten somewhere.
Nellie had never thought one could be awakened by an odor, but this…
She lifted her head from the pillow and sniffed the air in the darkened room… a carrion odor. Warm air brushed by her. The French doors out to the balcony were ajar. She could have sworn they had been closed all day, what with the air conditioner going. But that had to be where the odor was coming from. It smelled as if some dog had unearthed a dead animal in the garden directly below the balcony.
Nellie sensed movement by the doors. No doubt the breeze on the curtains. Still…
She pulled herself up, reaching to the night table for her glasses. She found them and held them up to her eyes without bothering to fit the endpieces over her ears. Even then she wasn’t sure what she saw.
A dark shape was moving toward her as swiftly and as soundlessly as a puff of smoke in the wind. It couldn’t be real. A nightmare, a hallucination, an optical i
llusion—nothing so big and solid-looking could move so smoothly and silently.
But there was no illusion about the odor that became progressively worse at the shadow’s approach.
Nellie was suddenly terrified. This was no dream! She opened her mouth to scream but a cold, clammy hand sealed itself over the lower half of her face before a sound could escape.
The hand was huge, it was incredibly foul, and it was not human.
In a violent spasm of terror, she struggled against whatever held her. It was like fighting the tide. Bright colors began to explode before her eyes as she fought for air. Soon the explosions blotted out everything else. And then she saw no more.
10
Vicky was awake. She shivered under the sheet, not from cold but from the dream she had just lived through in which Mr. Grape-grabber had kidnapped Ms. Jelliroll and was trying to bake her in a pie. With her heart pounding in her throat she peered through the darkness at the night table next to the bed. Moonlight filtered through the curtains on the window to her left, enough to reveal Ms. Jelliroll and Mr. Grape-grabber resting peacefully where she had left them. Nothing to worry about. Just a dream. Anyway, didn’t the package say that Mr. Grape-grabber was Ms. Jelliroll’s “friendly rival”? And he didn’t want Ms. Jelliroll herself for his jams, just her grapes.
Still, Vicky trembled. She rolled over and clung to her mother. This was the part she liked best about staying here at Aunt Nellie and Aunt Grace’s—she got to sleep with Mommy. Back at the apartment she had her own room and had to sleep alone. When she got scared from a dream or during a storm she could always run in and huddle with Mommy, but most of the time she had to keep to her own bed.
She tried to go back to sleep but found it impossible. Visions of the tall, lanky Mr. Grape-grabber putting Ms. Jelliroll into a pot and cooking her along with her grapes kept popping into her head. Finally, she let go of her mother and turned over to face the window.
The moon was out. She wondered if it was full. She liked to look at its face. Slipping out of bed, she went to the window and parted the curtains. The moon was almost to the top of the sky, and nearly full. And there was its smiling face. It made everything so bright. Almost like daytime.
With the air conditioner on and the windows closed against the heat, all the outside sounds were blocked out. Everything was so still and quiet out there, like a picture.
She looked down at her playhouse roof, white with moonlight. It looked so small from up here on the third floor.
Something moved in the shadows below. Something tall and dark and angular, man-like yet very unman-like. It moved across the backyard with a fluid motion, a shadow among the shadows, looking like it was carrying something. And there seemed to be another of its kind waiting for it by the wall. The second one looked up and seemed to be gazing right at her with glowing yellow eyes. There was hunger in them… hunger for her.
Vicky’s blood congealed in her veins. She wanted to leap back into bed with her mother but could not move. All she could do was stand there and scream.
11
Gia awoke on her feet. There was a moment of complete disorientation during which she had no idea where she was or what she was doing. The room was dark, a child was screaming, and she could hear her own terror-filled voice shouting a garbled version of Vicky’s name.
Frantic thoughts raced through her slowly awakening mind.
Where’s Vicky… the bed’s empty... where’s Vicky? She could hear her but couldn’t see her. Where in God’s name is Vicky?
She stumbled to the switch by the door and turned on the light. The sudden glare blinded Gia for an instant, and then she saw Vicky standing by the window, still screaming. She ran over and lifted the child against her.
“It’s all right, Vicky! It’s all right!”
The screaming stopped but not the trembling. Gia held her tighter, trying to absorb Vicky’s shudders into her own body. Finally the child was calm, only an occasional sob escaping from where she had her face buried between Gia’s breasts.
Night horrors. Vicky had had them frequently during her fifth year, but only rarely since. Gia knew how to handle them: Wait until Vicky was fully awake and then talk to her quietly and reassuringly.
“Just a dream, honey. That’s all. Just a dream.”
“No! It wasn’t a dream!” Vicky lifted her tear-streaked face. “It was Mr. Grape-grabber! I saw him!”
“Just a dream, Vicky.”
“He was stealing Ms. Jelliroll!”
“No, he wasn’t. They’re both right behind you.” She turned Vicky around and faced her toward the night table. “See?”
“But he was outside by the playhouse! I saw him!”
Gia didn’t like the sound of that. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in the backyard.
“Let’s take a look. I’ll turn out the light so we can see better.”
Vicky’s face twisted in sudden panic. “Don’t turn out the lights! Please don’t!”
“Okay. I’ll leave them on. But there’s nothing to worry about. I’m right here.”
They both pressed their faces against the glass and cupped their hands around their eyes to shut off the glare from the room light. Gia quickly scanned the yard, praying she wouldn’t see anything.
Everything was as they had left it. Nothing moved. The backyard was empty. Gia sighed with relief and put her arm around Vicky.
“See? Everything’s fine. It was a dream. You just thought you saw Mr. Grape-grabber.”
“But I did!”
“Dreams can be very real, honey. And you know Mr. Grape-grabber is just a doll. He can only do what you want him to. He can’t do a single thing on his own.”
Vicky said no more but Gia sensed that she remained unconvinced.
That settles it, she thought. Vicky’s been here long enough.
The child needed her friends—real, live, flesh and blood friends. With nothing else to occupy her time, she had been getting too involved with these dolls. Now they were even in her dreams.
“What do you say we go home tomorrow? I think we’ve stayed here long enough.”
“I like it here. And Aunt Nellie will be lonely.”
“She’ll have Eunice back again tomorrow. And besides, I have to get back to my work.”
“Can’t we stay a little longer? “
“We’ll see.”
Vicky pouted. “’We’ll see.’ Whenever you say ’We’ll see’ it ends up meaning’no.’ “
“Not always,” Gia said with a laugh, knowing that Vicky was right. The child was getting too sharp for her. “But we’ll see. Okay?”
Reluctantly: “Okay.”
She put Vicky back between the covers. As she went to the door to switch off the light she thought of Nellie in the bedroom below. She could not imagine anyone sleeping through Vicky’s screams, yet Nellie had not called up to ask what was wrong. Gia turned on the hall light and leaned over the bannister. Nellie’s door was open and her bedroom dark. It didn’t seem possible she could still be asleep.
Uneasy now, Gia started down the stairs.
“Where’re you going, Mommy?” Vicky asked with a frightened voice from the bed.
“Just down to Aunt Nellie’s room for a second. I’ll be right back.”
Poor Vicky, she thought. She really got a scare.
Gia stood at Nellie’s door. It was dark and still within. Nothing out of the ordinary except an odor… a faint whiff of putrefaction. Nothing to fear, yet she was afraid. Hesitantly, she tapped on the doorjamb.
“Nellie?”
No answer.
“Nellie, are you all right?”
When only silence answered her, she reached inside the door and found the light switch. She hesitated, afraid of what she might find. Nellie wasn’t young. What if she had died in her sleep? She seemed to be in good health, but you never knew. And that odor, faint as it was, made her think of death. Finally she could wait no longer. She flipped the switch.
The bed was empty
. It obviously had been slept in—the pillow was rumpled, the covers pulled down—but there was no sign of Nellie. Gia stepped around to the far side of the bed, walking as if she expected something to rise out of the rug and attack her. No… Nellie was not lying on the floor. Gia turned to the bathroom. It stood open and empty.
Frightened now, she ran downstairs, going from room to room, turning on all the lights in each, calling Nellie’s name over and over. She headed back upstairs, checking Grace’s empty room on the second floor, and the other guest room on the third.
Empty. All empty.
Nellie was gone—just like Grace!
Gia stood in the hall, shivering, fighting panic, unsure of what to do. She and Vicky were alone in a house from which people disappeared without a sound or a trace—
Vicky!
Gia rushed to their bedroom. The light was still on. Vicky lay curled up under the sheet, sound asleep. Thank God! She sagged against the doorframe, relieved yet still afraid. What to do now? She went out to the phone on the hall table. She had Jack’s number and he had said to call if she needed him. But he was in South Jersey and couldn’t be here for hours. Gia wanted somebody here now. She didn’t want to stay alone with Vicky in this house for a minute longer than she had to.
With a trembling finger she dialed 911 for the police.
12
“You still renting in the city?”
Jack nodded. “Yep.”
His father grimaced and shook his head. “That’s like throwing your money away.”
Jack had changed into the shirt and slacks he had brought along, and now they were back at the house after a late, leisurely dinner at a Mount Holly seafood restaurant. They sat in the living room sipping Jack Daniels in near-total darkness, the only light coming in from the adjoining dining room.
The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) Page 63