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anywhere.
"Okay. I will," he lied. "You take care, now."
"God protect you," came the short reply. The tone sounded suspiciously like
Wolfgang was washing his hands of his great-nephew's fate.
Then the phone went dead.
Gabriel replaced the receiver thoughtfully. At least Great-uncle Wolfgang knew
when he was playing to an empty house. But Gabriel hadn't the slightest clue
what to feel about any of the rest of it. It simply left an empty space in his
mind, a space waiting for some reaction, some emotion to fill it up, but the
reaction didn't come. And somehow, it didn't even matter. What was in motion
was in motion, this much Gabriel knew. If
this long-lost great-uncle had any relevance at all, it would become clear
when it needed to.
He hoped.
Gabriel showered mechanically and pulled on his usual garb white T-shirt,
jeans, black boots.
He was just finishing his morning coif, mind dis-
tracted with thoughts of what there was to do today, when he heard the phone
ring. He let
Grace pick it up.
"It's for you," her voice called back to him overly loud, in her New York
fashion.
"Who is it?" he mouthed as he entered the shop.
"Hartridge. From Tulane," Grace hissed eagerly.
Gabriel took the phone.
"Professor Hartridge?"
"Mr. Knight! I have some news. Can you stop by this morning?" The man's
arrogance was gone, replaced by a boyish excitement.
"News about the vevel Did you find out where it's from?"
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"We shall see. I'm not done, not by a long shot, but I did identify a few of
the marks."
"What were they?" Gabriel asked. He glared at
Grace with annoyance. She was pressing close, trying to hear the conversation.
"Very old symbols for two common Loa, and another one I don't
recognize probably a tribal
Loa that's not widely known. I've got some idea of a general region based on
the symbols, but time frame and lineage are still on the slab."
"Two common Loa? That doesn't sound very exciting."
"Except that they just happen to be the darkest
Loa conceivable. Even so, a Loa's characteristics change from time and place.
If I'm not mistaken, these particular symbols represent these Loas'
most horrible aspects." Hartridge laughed a little nervously. "Look, I'd
rather get into this in person."
Gabriel's "person" was much in demand these days. "All right. I'm on my way."
"Good." Hartridge hung up.
"Well? What'd he say?" Grace pestered, taking the phone from Gabriel and
returning it to its cradle.
"What, you couldn't hear? I coulda sworn you were close enough to smell his
breath," Gabriel replied dryly. He walked to the front door.
As he put on his jacket he glanced back and saw
Grace doing a strange little dance. She seemed torn about something, thusly
hovering like a baby
bird not quite sure what to do with its various appendages, caught between
moving forward and sitting down.
"Sit, Grade," he said dryly. "I'll be back soon enough."
Grace still looked like she were having a gas attack, but she did sink back
down into her chair, albeit reluctantly. As he left he reminded himself to
keep an eye on her. The girl was taking this whole business way too seriously.
The stone hallways of the science building at
Tulane were cool and quiet. Gabriel had forgotten the way to Hartridge's
office in this place where all the stairs and landings looked alike, every
room had an equally unwieldy unmarked door, and every five feet of hall had an
alcove that might, from a few feet away, be equally indicative of a rest room,
a broom closet, an emergency exit, or a blank wall with nothing but a water
cooler or trash can to justify the excess space.
Gabriel attacked the building, heading deter-
minedly for the remembered center and finding himself frequently thrust back
to the fringes, like so much flotsam washing back to the beach with the tide.
His anticipation began to chill, then turn into annoyance, then to a sense of
dislocation. The place was not merely quiet, he realized. Except for his own
clicking heels, it was silent. It was, in fact, empty. Gabriel passed
classroom after classroom, doors propped open, chairs and podiums markedly
devoid of life. It was as if this place, so hallowedly built of stone on the
Louisiana swamps, had been reclaimed the bones of the frame left, but the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]