“We have to go,” she told Lili.
“Why?”
“This is still some kind of mystery to you, just a puzzle to solve,” Tess said. “You’re not afraid. But I have a feeling that when you see this woman, your double … maybe then it’ll get under your skin.”
She turned and marched off into the rain and Lili followed. As night fell, every window in the city seemed to hold the promise of dead faces and whispered warnings. Tess tried to breathe and told herself that the rules of the solid, tangible world she had always known still applied. But she knew a lie when she heard one, even one she very much wanted to believe.
SIX
Tom Belinski didn’t mind the rain. A good thing, because his three-year-old German shepherd, Kirby, never stopped to consider the weather when it came time for his walk. They had an apartment on Boylston Street, but their walk always took them over to Beacon Hill, past the golden-domed State House and into the neighborhood of exclusive mansions at the top of the hill. Belinski had been a history professor for years but now, well into his fifties, he’d dropped the professor part of his job description to concentrate on being a pure historian. His work in progress was a book about the old Granary Burial Ground, just blocks from where he and Kirby now wandered. Each chapter offered a slice of Boston’s early history by profiling the lives of some of the city’s early denizens—every grave in that burial ground, from Benjamin Franklin’s father, Josiah, to the victims of the Boston Massacre, had its own story. His publisher had flipped over the idea, but Belinski had missed his deadline by months and still had months to go, and they were profoundly displeased.
Kirby tugged at the leash, sniffing the leg of a mailbox where some other dog had no doubt left its mark. He loosed a short stream of urine not because he had to go but because he wanted to obliterate the other dog’s claim of ownership over that spot. Over his life, Belinski had owned four dogs and he had learned that each had its own personality, but Kirby had proven to be the oddest, by far. Like graffiti artists, dogs marked their territory almost as a challenge to others to take it back. Normal behavior for canines. But Kirby took it one step further. When they went to the Common on their morning walk he would always antagonize other dogs by stealing their toys and balls, running off to drop them on the ground nearby, just to piss on them.
Belinski had been told that his dog was an asshole, and he never argued the point.
“Come on,” he said, tugging the leash until Kirby fell into step beside him.
The shepherd stopped every dozen feet or so to sniff the sidewalk or the front of a building, undeterred by the puddles or the falling rain. It had eased up a little, but Belinski kept beneath his umbrella, making no attempt to shield the dog. He kept a towel by the front door to dry Kirby off so that they could both avoid provoking the ire of Belinski’s wife, LeeAnne.
Kirby paused in front of the granite wall that hemmed in the yard of the second Otis Harrison House, the only freestanding mansion on Beacon Hill. The house had always been one of Belinski’s favorites and he had written about it more than once. After the latest restoration a few years back, the brick building looked more magnificent than ever. He’d always found the use of Corinthian pilasters more than a bit odd, but who was he to question the great Thomas Bulfinch, who had designed the whole thing, right up to the octagonal cupola on the roof?
A low span of wrought iron separated the street from the tiny green yard. The leaves on the two oaks in front had turned a vivid red and orange, but in the rain and after dark they looked almost black.
He gave Kirby’s leash a tug but the dog did not respond. Kirby had paused in his sniffing of the granite wall and as Belinski tried to pull him away, the dog began to growl. Belinski rolled his eyes—the dog had always indulged in this sort of drama—but he gave in when Kirby tried to drag him nearer to the house.
“What do you smell, boy?” he asked. “That little French bulldog?”
At the corner of the house, a curtain of rain spilling off the edge of the Federal’s roof onto Belinski’s umbrella, Kirby started barking. Just a few growling yaps at first, but they grew in ferocity. The dog backed up a step, hackles raised, barking wildly. Kirby had snapped at people before, but Belinski had never heard him like this.
“Hey, dummy, quit it!” he said, yanking on the leash.
Kirby stood his ground, straining against his collar. The dog howled, paws scratching the rain-spattered sidewalk as he threw his weight into an effort to pull away from his master. Belinski wondered if he’d caught some animal scent that had whipped him up into this frenzy, but couldn’t imagine what it might have been. With his merely human nose, he couldn’t smell anything except the rain.
“Jesus, Kirby, come on!” Belinski said, holding firm. “What set you off?”
The dog began to whine between snarls, digging in harder. Belinski gave up being gentle and tried to drag Kirby away from the house. Snarling, the dog refused to turn away, forcing Belinski to haul him backward, nails scraping the sidewalk. The wind gusted fiercely and blew up under the umbrella, which bent sideways and popped inside out. The rain swept down on him and suddenly Belinski had lost all patience.
“That’s enough,” he said, pulling his way along the leash like they were playing tug-of-war.
He shouted the dog’s name as he dropped to one knee on the rain-slicked sidewalk and grabbed hold of Kirby’s collar, reaching around to force the German shepherd to look at him. Wild-eyed, slobber drooling over his black lips, the dog paused, huffing for breath. He whipped his head side to side to pull away from his master’s grip, but Belinski held the collar tightly.
“Let’s go, boy,” he said. “There’s nothing for you here.”
The dog sniffed the air. His upper lip curled back in a silent snarl, and then he lunged. Belinski shouted in alarm and anger, grabbed Kirby’s throat, and held him back for a few seconds until the dog twisted sideways and sank his teeth into his master’s left wrist. Bone crunched and blood sprayed as the dog clamped his jaws down and shook his head back and forth, digging in.
Belinski screamed. His right hand slipped off the dog’s collar. Kirby felt it, released his wrist, and went for his face.
And then his throat.
And then the meat of his arms.
And then the soft things inside his belly.
SEVEN
The cab ride passed mostly in silence, save for the African music playing through the speakers. The driver kept a clean taxi and unlike many of those in his occupation, didn’t try to engage his passengers in small talk. Occasionally, voices crackled over the radio as the dispatcher ordered other drivers to addresses where they would pick up their fares. The wipers sluiced rain off the windshield. The taxi shot through a vast puddle, tires throwing a tidal wave onto the sidewalk.
“You’re mad at me,” Lili said.
Tess kept her breathing steady, trying to ignore the throbbing in her spine. “I’m not.”
“But—”
“Let’s just get there, okay?”
Lili pressed her lips together and turned to stare out the window. After twenty seconds or so she spoke a single, quiet word. “Okay.”
Minutes passed during which Tess reminded herself that they had been incredibly fortunate to get a cab. In retrospect they could have had the doorman at the Nepenthe call one for them, but neither of them had been thinking clearly when they had emerged from the hotel. Tess had just wanted to get away from the place. Fortunately they had passed Octavian Steak House, which was high-end enough to have a doorman all its own, and he’d had them in a taxi ninety seconds after they’d asked.
The African music quieted and the driver gestured to the street corner ahead. “Any particular spot for you, ladies?”
Tess bent to peer through the window and saw the bright white of the First Light Gallery’s shop window. She wanted to tell the driver to keep going, give him her address and tell him to take her home.
“Right here’s fine,” Lili replied.
The driver pulled up to the curb, creating a smaller, slow-motion tidal wave. Tess opened the door, not waiting while Lili paid. She popped open her umbrella and slid out, sheltered herself from the rain, and stared at the gleaming white light pouring out of the gallery. It seemed impossibly cheerful on such a dreary evening.
“Hey,” Lili said.
Tess glanced at her, then blinked in surprise as she realized the cab had already pulled away—was halfway up the block—and she hadn’t even noticed.
“You okay with this?” Lili asked.
Tess managed to nod and start walking. Lili caught up, hiding from the storm beneath her own umbrella. The wind whipped the rain sideways and Tess felt it slicking her legs, colder than before now that the temperature had dropped. Her back ached a little, but the tightness would work itself out as she moved. It always did.
They passed a gourmet cupcake shop, empty though its lights were still on. Nobody wanted a cupcake badly enough to deal with the rain. Not tonight.
Just beyond the shop was a narrow alley between buildings, rain pouring off the roofs. If it hadn’t turned so cold—if it had been a different night—Tess might have found it almost beautiful. Instead she hurried on, wanting to get this over with, needing to know without question that Lili believed her. What had happened in that gloomy restaurant in the back of the Nepenthe—what she had seen in the apparition box—had been like stepping across the threshold from one world and into another. Like crashing her house down on a witch and opening the door into a world of bright and frightening colors she had never known existed. She couldn’t stand the idea of being in that world alone.
Clutching the collar of her jacket closed, she approached the steps that led up to the gallery’s entrance. A couple hurried along the sidewalk from the other direction, huddled under a single huge umbrella of the sort that infuriated people on a crowded sidewalk. Tess caught a glimpse of them as they turned to go up the steps, a leggy blonde in a scarlet dress and an artfully disheveled young guy in a 1980s-inspired suit.
Lili mounted the first step to follow them in, but Tess halted.
“What are you doing?” Lili asked.
A tight little ball of nausea burned in Tess’s gut. The voice inside the psychomanteum echoed in her head, the warning still fresh as a slap in the face. Nick’s voice. She remembered the words he had spoken prior to that as well, just before he had stepped into the mirrored room. This needn’t concern you. Not the kind of phrasing her ex-husband would have chosen.
Lili took the edge of her umbrella and tipped it back so they could look eye to eye. “What are we doing, babe?”
Tess stepped up beside her, moving under Lili’s umbrella as she closed her own. “Listen to me, Lil. I can only imagine what your brain is doing right now.”
“I’ve kind of shut it off for the moment.”
“Exactly. Trying not to analyze any of this, because it’s crazy. I know all that. I want you to see your clone or whatever, but I think maybe it’s not a great idea for her to see us.”
Lili nodded slowly. “Let’s just look inside.”
Under that single umbrella, they went up the last couple of steps and peered through the glass panel in the door. Tess had only been to a couple of gallery shows in her life—both during her college years—but both of them had been thinly attended affairs, a handful of friends and curious art lovers, wine and cheese and pompous talk. It surprised her to see that First Light had drawn a crowd. People milled about in clusters, admiring the work hung on the walls and installations. A closer look revealed glasses of wine and small plates of cheese and grapes, so maybe First Light wasn’t that much different from those art school shows after all.
Tess scanned the crowd. “I don’t see her.”
“I do.”
Lili had leaned to the left, looking through the shop window instead of the door. The artwork hanging there must have blocked most of the view—Tess certainly couldn’t see more than the tops of a few heads and an arm or two—but Lili stood positioned to see between two of the displayed paintings. Her face had gone slack and she let out a loud breath that seemed to deflate her.
“Is this real?” she said quietly.
Tess held tightly to her arm, aches and pains forgotten. “It is.”
“I don’t … Oh, my God, Tessa. To be told is one thing, but to see … to see her…”
Lili pulled away from the window and reached for the door.
Heart lurching, Tess held her back. “No, no. Honey, I think that’s a very bad idea.”
Lili hung her head and breathed in and out, steadying herself, then looked up at Tess. “It’s like A Christmas Carol. Like the Ghost of Christmas Past is showing me myself.”
“But it’s not you. Her name is Devani Kanda and she’s an artist.”
Lili leaned over to stare back through the window, peering between those two paintings behind the glass. “I saw the guy. Theo. I saw how much he looked like Nick, but this is different.”
“We should go,” Tess said.
Lili didn’t argue. They turned together and descended the steps, staying under the one umbrella. Tess held on to her own umbrella as they reached the sidewalk, knowing that she and Lili needed to talk, to make sense of things that made absolutely zero sense, but she didn’t have the words yet. Didn’t know how to begin.
“Tessa,” Lili said, yanking her to a stop.
Tess glanced up and saw the homeless man standing in the rain. She jerked back in surprise. The man turned toward them, perhaps as startled as they were, and she saw the dirty rag he had tied like a blindfold over his eyes. The white lights of the gallery cast him in a dim glow. His gray hair was slick with rain, beads of it running down his stubbled face. He wore a ratty, full-length, black coat over clothes that looked baggy and torn and stained with colors she did not want to think about.
The blind man stood too close.
“Excuse me, sir,” Lili said, edging Tess sideways to go around him.
A dank, animal smell wafted off him, an unpleasant musk even the rain could not wash away. Tess held her breath as she moved past him, but then the man put his head back, lips curling, and his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air.
Lili muttered something and nudged Tess, who kept going but could not take her eyes off the blind man as he sniffed again, like a hunting dog trying to pick up a scent. His head swiveled, tracking them as if he could see perfectly well through that filthy blindfold, and then he smiled. The grin became more of a leer, showing broken, crooked teeth.
He shot out a hand and grabbed a fistful of Lili’s hair. She swore, grabbing his wrist, and smashed the open umbrella against his head. Even over Lili’s furious shouting and the rain and the noise of the umbrella, Tess could hear him sniffing again … breathing them in. The sound broke something inside her.
“Off me, you crazy fucker!” Lili screamed, then she cried out in pain as the blind man dragged her forward by the hair, batting the umbrella away and pulling her closer. His mouth opened as if he meant to bite or lick her.
Tess struck him in the temple with her closed umbrella. He reeled back, still holding on to Lili’s hair. She swore again as she tried to force his fingers free. Tess went after him, hit him in the skull twice more, then turned the umbrella around so she could hit him with the handle, and smashed it across his throat.
He let go, wheezing as he grabbed his throat with both hands.
With a snarl, his smile returned. He lunged for Tess, arms waving, hands searching blindly. She swung the umbrella again but somehow he caught it and ripped it from her grip.
“Oh, darling girl,” he said, and stalked toward her, hands raised, ready to lunge.
Tess saw the frown form on his face, saw his brows knit. He paused in confusion and sniffed the air again … and then again.
“No, no,” he said, turning in a circle as if he had fo
rgotten them entirely. “What happened? I had the scent. I know I did.”
Muttering and cursing, he dropped his arms and slumped into a sulk. Sighing, he bent his head back and began to sniff at the air again, wandering along the sidewalk until, hands in front of him now and searching the rainy night, he turned into the narrow alley beside the cupcake shop and vanished into the shadows.
Lili stared after him. “Could you please tell me what the hell that was about?”
Tess could not erase the image of the filthy blindfold from her mind.
“I think I’m glad I don’t know,” she said. “I just want to go home, have a mug of tea, and climb into bed.”
They were standing in the rain, Lili’s umbrella ruined and Tess’s still closed.
“Can I come?” Lili asked.
Tess did not need to answer. She put up her umbrella and they sought out the nearest hotel, knowing they would never find an empty taxi on such an ugly night. If Lili hadn’t asked if she could come over, Tess would have invited her. Maddie was at home with the babysitter, so Tess wouldn’t have been by herself, but she did not want Lili to have to go home alone.
Not on a night like this.
The thought brought a rueful chuckle to her lips. A night like this.
As if there had ever been a night like this.
EIGHT
Tess lived with six-year-old Maddie in a Victorian house in Cambridge, an easy trip on the red line from downtown. Mother and daughter shared the spacious first floor of the house, which consisted of a kitchen, a home office that had once been the front parlor, a gorgeous living room that had once been a dining room, and two small bedrooms. The hardwood gleamed and the high windows washed the apartment in sunlight when there was sunlight to be had.
It wasn’t cheap. On her salary alone, Tess could never have made the rent every month, but Nick shared the cost with her. On her angry days, she told people that the divorce settlement required it, which was true. But she knew that he would have paid his share even if the court had told him he didn’t need to kick in a dime. Despite how often he found himself in a bubble of self-interest, Nick loved his daughter and he wanted the best for her. And, after all, he hadn’t been solely responsible for the dissolution of their marriage. Post-accident, Tess had needed attention and found herself married to a man uniquely unsuited to give it to her.
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