The musical score enthralled Paul’s mind. The blossoms still shifted back and forth, drinking his soul from the roots. He could feel the dead, once fragrant, orange blossoms whither from the stress and he could feel pieces of universe stretching.
The Priestess of Morning sat in the passenger seat. Hands poised over her head, she had been concentrating for some time. He’d kept quiet so as to not disturb her. The silence (with the pipe organs playing on a tiny music box in a mouse-hole) could be savored. It was beyond enjoyable—it tasted good. So when the Priestess let out a gasp, Paul accidentally spun the wheel and they went into the breakdown lane. “Shit!”
“I see him!” cried the Priestess. “The Nomad—the man. He’s driving south.”
Paul had to muster some interest. “Just the man? Is the woman there?”
“No—she’s somewhere dark. In a vault or something. I can’t make out where.”
“What about the Hearts?”
“The Hearts aren’t with him. They might be with her—”
“Call Szerszen,” said Paul.
She glanced at him and shook her head.
“What?” Something clenched inside Paul, not grief, just searing shock. Cole was gone?
“I think he killed Sandeus Pager too,” she said, “though I’m not sure how.”
A husky chuckle. “And just as Pager got his own.”
“What matters is Cloth—he’s the one.” She dialed a number on his cell phone, touching each number with fascination.
“Who’s that?”
“The Japanese envoy said he would be on the Hunt this year. His business card had his telephone number, which I put in my sight.”
Paul felt a twinge of jealousy but it didn’t last through his delirium.
She waited breathlessly before the other end picked up. “No this is the Priestess of Morning. Yes, I don’t have time. I need to let Chaplain Cloth know something of great importance. A Nomad is heading south on Mount Vernon Avenue. He’s arrived outside a tavern named the Spyglass Saloon. Tell Cloth at once. I’ll call back if the situation changes. Thank you, fine. Farewell.” She sneered at the phone before figuring out how to turn it off. “Something’s wrong,” she muttered.
“What?”
“The envoy’s voice sounded strange. I think Cloth might have told them to get rid of us.”
Fuck, just when my nerves had begun to settle. “What does he care?”
“Paul,” she stated matter-of-factly, “between the two of us, we’ve done a great deal of damage.”
He grunted, but not in agreement. Cars sped by and their colors shifted and blended as they went. He shook away the distraction and pressed toward ninety-five miles an hour. Paul’s eyelids dipped. He had to make it without taking another rest, at least before leaving the state. No matter what happened, there was one thing left to be certain about. For good or ill, today or tomorrow, when they got there, his life would be transformed forever.