Nightingale finished his cigarette, held out his hands to check that they had indeed stopped shaking, then went back upstairs to the sitting room where he messaged Wainwright that the coast was clear. He sat smoking on one of the black sofas until he heard the noise of the SUV on the gravel outside the front door. Wainwright walked in, a straw shopping bag in each hand, obviously heavy. He put them down behind the bar, poured himself a Glenlivet, took a cigar from the humidor, then sat on the sofa opposite Nightingale. He lit his cigar then stared at Nightingale’s face. ‘You look like shit, Jack,’ he said. ‘How did it go?’
‘It doesn’t get any easier. There’s such a darkness, such an emptiness about her...’
Wainwright held up a hand to cut him short. ‘I don’t want to know. In theory I know a lot more about the Occult than you, but there are things you’ve done that simply terrify me, and summoning Proserpine is just about top of the list. I’ve known people who tried to summon her kind, and they always ended up dead. Or worse.’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘I know. You told me. Maybe it’s ignorance that’s protected me so far. Anyway, it’s done.’
‘You learn what you wanted?’
‘I’m still not sure,’ said Nightingale. ‘She’s hardly the helpful type when it comes to information. But there’s more to this than simple revenge on you and me. A lot more. And it seems I might not even be a target here.’
‘You mean it’s all about me?’ said Wainwright. He took a slug of whisky. ‘It figures. I was the one who shoved my nose in places it had no right to be. You were just the hired help.’
‘Thanks for that.’
‘You know what I mean. Without me leaning on you, you’d never have got involved. Guess I overestimated my power, my abilities and my chances of staying in the background. But if it’s not about you, how come that Sophie girl’s on the list?’
‘A bluff. She’s too old and too well protected, apparently. But she’s on the list because Proserpine, or someone, decided to make it about me too. I’m meant to be here. But Sophie is in no danger from Dudák. That’s just about the only good news so far.’’
Wainwright leaned forward on the sofa, knocked the ash off his cigar into the glass ashtray on the coffee table and looked up at Nightingale again. ‘You know, Jack, if Sophie’s just a lure to get you into this for some reason, you don’t have to stay. I have the feeling this could turn even nastier, and it looks like it’s cantered round me, and I brought it on myself. Couldn’t blame you if you got in that car, and started putting lots of miles between you and this. Couldn’t blame you at all.’
Nightingale lit a fresh cigarette, blew a smoke ring up at the ceiling and watched it widen and disperse. ‘That’s not going to happen, Joshua,’ he said, ’If I’m here, it’s for a reason that’s bigger than I know. There are a lot of dead kids in Tennessee because of this Dudák thing, and it needs to be stopped.’
Wainwright gave a weak smile. ‘I appreciate it, Jack. Thanks.’ He raised his glass in salute. So what happens next?’
‘First I’ve got to finish cleaning up downstairs.’
‘And then?’
‘I’m still thinking about that,’ said Nightingale.
‘The clock is ticking, Jack.’
‘I know.’
‘Tick, tock. Tick tock.’
Nightingale flashed him an annoyed look. ‘Mate, I know what a fucking ticking clock sounds like.’