8
-61:49
Tom sat alone at Gia's kitchen table, sipping a Killian's Irish Red he'd found in the refrigerator and feeling down.
Had somebody put a curse on him? Sure as hell seemed that way. Everything he touched turned to shit.
The feds were looking for him and he faced ruination and jail time if they found him.
If they found him? How about when they found him?
His stash had been discovered and frozen.
His last chance—the weird artifact he'd tracked down and hauled from the bottom of the ocean—had turned out a bust. Worse than a bust: It had put a little girl—Gia's little girl, of all people—in jeopardy.
Could things get any worse?
He couldn't see how. But things could be worse.
He tried to avoid the thought, felt ashamed that it even occurred to him, but his only luck lately had been Vicky touching the dimple on the Lilitougue instead of him.
Christ, he hated himself for the relief he felt.
Yes, he'd been the one looking to "elude all enemies," but not the way the Lilitongue was going about it. Whisked away to some undefined place from whence he could never return? No, thank you.
He shivered. He'd rather take his chances with the feds.
But of all people to be stuck with that creepy-looking mark, why Vicky? Why couldn't it have been Jack?
How low was that?
Sometimes I disgust even myself.
He heard a noise in the hallway and looked up to see Jack walking his way, a key ring in his hand.
Tom said, "Everything okay?" and immediately regretted it. What a stupid thing to ask.
Jack glared at him. "You're kidding, right?"
"It just popped out. How's she doing?"
"Terrible." He snapped a key off the ring and handed it to him. "I'm staying. You're not. This'U let you in."
"I want to help, Jack. I can—"
"You can do us all a favor by leaving." He stood aside to clear the door. "Walk up to the corner and catch a cab."
The scorn in Jack's clipped tone burned like acid. His impulse was to protest but he thought better of it. If Gia felt the same, he was better off gone.
Tom grabbed his jacket from a chair and shrugged into it as he slipped past Jack and headed down the hall. Passing the sitting room he saw Gia sitting in a pool of light, rocking Vicky on her lap.
He stopped. "I'm sorry, Gia. I had no idea… I never dreamed…"
His voice died as she looked up at him with haunted, red-rimmed eyes. He waited for her to say something, to scream curses at him, but she said nothing. He wished she would. The hurt and fear and the how-could-you? look in her eyes cut deeper than any words.
She'd lose her daughter in sixty-some hours and she blamed him.
Not fair.
"Let's go," Jack said from close behind.
Tom expected a shove toward the door. Thankful it didn't come, he began moving on his own.
And then he was on the sidewalk. He arrived there standing, under his own power, but he felt as if he'd been given the old heave-ho and landed with his face in the dirt.
The door clicked behind him and Tom was alone.
His breath steamed in the air as he looked around at all the lighted windows in the high-rises. Surrounded by millions of people and yet alone.
More alone than he'd ever been, and feeling it.
He couldn't remember ever being all that connected to anyone, at any time, but at least he'd had people he could act connected to. Now…
The Skanks? He'd burned those bridges long ago. His kids? Barely knew them. Terry? She didn't want him around—he was an embarrassment, a pariah to old acquaintances and colleagues. Even the solace of immersing himself in work was now denied him.
Perhaps subconsciously he'd considered his family something to fall back on—theoretically, at least—if worse came to worst. Now…?
At this time last year he would have had Kate and Dad to lean on. Both gone now. He'd never considered Jack a possibility, because no one knew anything about him. But even Jack, his only surviving sib, wanted nothing to do with him.
Was this what the philosophers called angst?
He started walking up toward Sutton Place.
Not fair. None of it.
Sure, he'd recovered the Lilitongue and brought it to Jack's place, but he hadn't meant to hurt anyone. Maybe he shouldn't have shown it to Gia and Vicky. That probably had piqued the kid's curiosity, but Jack was at fault here too. Sure, he'd stowed the sea chest out of sight, but he should have found a better hiding place.
And Vicky—what about her? If she'd minded her own business instead of poking around other people's things…
Ah, what's the use?
He reached Sutton Place and found a cab, gave the driver Jack's address, then slumped in the seat.
When had he last felt this low? He needed a little pick-me-up. No, he needed a big pick-me-up.
He checked the driver's ID card: a scowling black face over a name that began with Kamal.
Tom leaned forward. "My nose has this bad itch. You know where I can get something for it?"
The cabby glanced over his shoulder, then looked ahead.
"You are a cop?" he said in heavily accented English. From Guyana, maybe?
"No, I'm anything but. Just a guy from out of town with a problem nose. Can you help me out?"
"I take you to someone. But you better be no cop."
Instead of turning west, Kamal headed uptown. The numbers on the cross streets progressed from double to triple digits, and the neighborhoods became rundown.
Kamal made a quick left and pulled to the curb near a bodega. A tall black man in an oversized, thickly padded Giants Starter jacket stepped out of the doorway and sauntered over.
'"Sup?"
This looked pretty straightforward, but Tom had seen enough hapless would-be customers hauled in via police sting operations. He decided to play it cute.
"I'm looking for my girlfriend," Tom said.
The guy looked surprised. "Are you now?" He leaned over and glanced toward the front seat. "You know this one, Kamal?" His accent matched the driver's.
"Just met him."
The guy looked at Tom. "Girlfriend, yes? What her name? Angel, maybe? Or Roxanne, huh?"
The guy was playing along and seemed to be enjoying it.
"No, Snow White. She's a bit of a flake."
He nodded and smiled. A missing front tooth made him look like Leon Spinks. "I see her around. How much you pay to find her?"
Tom had the money ready. He'd considered using some of his bogus twenties but decided this might not be a guy you wanted mad at you.
He handed fifty bucks out the window.
"That should do for now."
With a single quick move the guy removed the money from Tom's hand and shoved it into a pocket.
"What else you want? We got alphabet soup—A, X, MJ from TJ—and we got baseball, purple rain, roofies, and Georgia Home Boy."
Tom smiled and said, "Thanks, but I'm very faithful to my girlfriend."
The guy straightened. "Okay. Leave your window open and wait here."
He said something into a walkie-talkie as he sauntered back to the bodega. A few minutes later a kid who couldn't have been more than ten ran up to the cab, tossed a little envelope through the window, and kept on moving.
Without being asked, Kamal put the cab in gear and took off.
Tom found the packet on the floor, picked it up, and stared at it. He'd had a coke problem for a while. When he'd realized where it was taking him he'd weaned himself off. He hadn't partaken for almost five years now.
But he needed a boost tonight. Needed one in a big, big way.
9
-56:33
Gia glanced at the clock: almost eleven thirty.
Jack had dozed off while awaiting his turn at the Compendium. She'd gone upstairs to check on Vicky, asleep in Gia's bed, and then forced herself to peek into Vicky's
bedroom in the hope the Lilitongue had decided to move on. It hadn't. It hung there in the air like… like nothing she'd ever seen or imagined.
After that she moved herself and the Compendium to the kitchen so as not to disturb Jack. Her mind screamed for sleep and her eyes burned like coals, but she couldn't stop. And she didn't want anyone else to take over, couldn't let go of this book until she'd read every word.
So far the words offered no hope. They did, however, depict a world rife with wonders and horrors. People and objects and devices with strange powers and obscure purposes. If even a small fraction of what the Compendium described was true, then life on Earth, existence itself, was far stranger than she ever could have imagined.
But nowhere, at least so far, had she found another mention of the Lilitongue of Gefreda. She was losing—
No. She wouldn't give up hope.
She turned the page and found a heading: Remedies.
Probably just a lot of folk medicine—herbal potions and poultices and the like. A long section. Her impulse was to skip over it, but she'd promised herself to read every word, so that was what she'd do.
As she skimmed through the pages she found lotions to cure everything from scales to boils, elixirs to heal everything from diarrhea to blindness, solutions to—
The words Stealing the Stain leaped out at her.
Gia closed her eyes before reading further. Please, God, let it be about the Lilitongue stain—not wine stains or bloodstains, but the Stain.
Then she did a quick scan of the text and gasped when she spotted "Lilitongue of Gefreda." This was it!
But hadn't the Lilitongue text—she knew it by heart now—said that once acquired, the Stain may not be shed—not by cleansing, not even by flaying the Stained skin. Nor may it be given to another.
Then how…?
Never mind the contradiction. Learn what it says.
She found a list of ingredients—things like sodium bicarbonate and tartaric acid and juice of the seeds of the vanilla planifolia orchid, among others. Where on earth was she going to find—?
Wait. She had some of them right here in the kitchen.
She hopped up and darted to the cabinet with her baking ingredients. She spun the lazy Susan until she spotted her box of baking soda. The label said "sodium bicarbonate."
Yes! Such a common item… but maybe not so common back when the Compendium was written.
Another spin and she found her bottle of vanilla extract.
She hurried to the computer and Googled vanilla extract:
Vanilla Beans are the long, greenish-yellow seedpods of the tropical orchid plant, Vanilla planifolia. Before the plant flowers, the pods are picked, unripe, and cured until they're dark brown. The process takes up to six months. To obtain Pure Vanilla Extract, cured Vanilla Beans are steeped in alcohol. According to law, Pure Vanilla Extract must be 35 percent alcohol by volume.
Alcohol… the recipe or whatever it was didn't mention alcohol. But if she boiled that off she'd be left with juice of the seeds of the vanilla planifolia orchid—probably pretty hard to come by in the old days.
Going back and forth between the Compendium and the lazy Susan Gia discovered she had five of the eleven ingredients. But she didn't have a clue as to where to find crushed monkshood petals and dried red fly agaric. From what she learned through the Internet, she figured she could probably find the missing ingredients in some of the more esoteric ethnic herb shops downtown. She knew of one in Chinatown that sold the weirdest things.
She read further. The instructions were easy: Mix up the solution, wet your hand with it, then lay your hand palm down on the Stain and wish—yes, wish for it to leave the Stained.
Sounded like voodoo. And seemed too simple. But no downside to trying.
Then she read the final paragraph. There would be a price to pay.
Gia folded her arms on the book, lowered her head, and sobbed.
TUESDAY
1
-47:12
Gia found the little shop she sought on Bayard Street. It had a name but it was written in Chinese. She didn't care what it was called. The important thing was that it was open.
Thank God.
A little after midnight Jack had awakened and taken over perusing the Compendium. Gia showed him where she'd left off—just beyond the Remedies section—and he'd picked up from there. She hadn't mentioned the "Stain Removal."
They'd alternated two-hour shifts through the night. Jack managed to doze between his but Gia found sleep impossible. She'd discovered what might—might—be a way out for Vicky. She prayed it would work. If it did, she'd deal with the price afterward.
She'd watched the clock all night, watched the sky through the window, waiting for dawn. Around seven thirty she'd left Jack dozing and slipped out, hailed a cab, and rode it to Chinatown.
As she stepped through the door of the tiny shop she half expected the proprietor to be elderly with a wispy white beard and dressed like a mandarin. Instead she found a gaunt young man, maybe thirty, dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans.
She handed him the list of ingredients. He studied it, then frowned and pointed to the third item: crushed monkshood petals.
"This poison."
Poison? Oh, no.
"It… it can't be."
"Yes. Kill you dead you eat. Rub on skin, okay, but not for eat."
That was a relief. Sort of.
"I understand. This will be used on skin. What about the rest? Have you got the rest?"
He nodded. "Yes. Not lot, but some."
"Some will do just fine."
He squinted at her. "This very strange list. What you use for?"
"An experiment. A successful one, I hope."
A few minutes later she was hurrying up to Canal Street to find a cab.
2
-46:51
She found Jack bent over the Compendium. He looked up as Gia entered the kitchen. His eyes were red and bleary. She was sure hers were no better.
"Where've you been, Gi? I've been worried about you."
She tried to keep her expression neutral. She didn't want to give anything away.
"I left you a note."
"Yeah: 'Went out for some things. Be back soon.' What things?"
"Ingredients."
"For?"
She pointed to the Compendium. "Something I saw in there. A recipe for a stain remover."
His eyes widened as he began leafing back through the pages. "Where? Where?"
"Somewhere near the middle," she said, then quickly added, "Don't bother. I wrote down all the ingredients."
"But didn't the book say it can't be removed, even if you cut away the skin?"
"No. It said it may not be 'shed.' There's a difference between shedding and having it removed by someone else."
"Sounds like a lot of parsing, but…"
"But what have we got to lose?"
He nodded. "Right."
Gia hoped that would be enough, that he wouldn't go back to search for the page.
She found a saucepan, emptied the bottle of vanilla extract into it, and turned on the gas. While that was heating she laid out the other ten ingredients.
She consulted her notes—many times; she could barely think—and measured the proper proportions of the other ingredients. She noticed her hands trembling.
When the vanilla extract came to a boil, she took it off to let it cool. Then she began blending the rest in a stainless steel mixing bowl.
Five minutes later she added the vanilla and the proper amount of water, then began heating it all to a boil.
"I just…" Jack began. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up."
She glanced at him. "You mean our hopes?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Our hopes."
"Don't worry. Really, how could I feel any worse? I'm simply trying something. I'm ready to try anything."
But her hopes were sky high. The remedy had mentioned the Lilitongue by name. She only prayed she hadn't messed up th
e proportions, and that the vanilla "juice" she'd concocted was the right one called for.
Once she'd brought the mix to a boil—it measured about a cup—she removed it from the heat and poured it into a saucepan to speed its cooling. She looked at the steaming brown liquid and thought, I'm crazy. This isn't going to work.
But she had to try. Especially since she couldn't see a downside.
Except for the monkshood. She'd Googled that while waiting for the mix to boil. What the Chinese man had told her was true: poison if taken internally but long used topically for pain relief.
Under no other circumstance could she imagine applying a poisonous mixture to Vicky's back…
Gia climbed to her second-floor bedroom and stood in the doorway. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched her sleeping child. She looked at the clock radio on the nightstand.
Thirty-six hours gone. That left just under two days.
My God, my God, my God, how am I going to live if she's taken away from me?
She stretched out beside Vicky and wrapped her arms around her. If the solution didn't work, maybe when the time came, if Gia held her tight enough, Vicky wouldn't, couldn't be taken away.
The pressure must have awakened Vicky because she started and twisted around.
"Mom! You're crushing me!"
"Sorry, honey. Come on downstairs. I've got something I want to try on that mark on your back… see if we can wash it away."
Vicky hopped out of bed and headed for the door.
"Really? Okay! Let's do it now! I hate that mark! It's ugly and I don't want it on me."
Gia clutched the banister railing for support as she followed Vicky's bounding descent.
Please let this work, God. Please.
When Vicky saw Jack she squealed and leaped into his arms with the abandon of a child who had no fear of being dropped. Not by Jack, anyway. Not with their history. They'd bonded, those two, and nothing would tear them apart. Nothing except…
Jack squeezed her and laughed, but his expression as he looked at Gia over Vicky's shoulder revealed his desperation. She saw him blinking back tears.
"Okay, Vicks," he said. "Your mom's going to try something on your back to see if we can get rid of that Stain."
Infernal rj-9 Page 25
