The next day, I booked my flight back to New York. News of the novel virus was everywhere now. Quinn was edgy. I did my best to reassure him, without much luck. He had a lot to be edgy about—that I’d fall off the wagon, that I’d never come back, that my plan would fail.
“Look, we’ll work something out,” I said. Outside, the early-March rain hammered at the Quonset hut’s metal roof. It sounded like a bomber had dropped a million ball bearings onto the structure. “But I’m not staying here. It’s too damn cold. And dark.”
“Whatever. Greece, I can handle Greece.” He paced to the window. “And you need to take off for a little while so I can have a drink without having to hide the bottle.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
When it was midmorning Pacific Standard Time, I used Quinn’s mobile to call Gryffin Haselton. He answered after the first ring. When he heard my voice, he disconnected. I called back: same thing. At last I texted him.
I have the book.
Seconds later, Quinn’s mobile chimed.
“What do you mean?” demanded Gryffin.
“I have it. The Book of Lamps and Banners. Where are you?”
“What? Wait—”
“Shut up and listen to me. Are you still in London?”
“No, home. San Francisco. Where—”
“I’m flying back to New York tomorrow. You need to meet me there. I’ll text you when and where.”
I took a breath, then gave him the figure I’d decided on. A shit ton of money, but a lot less than what Tindra Bergstrand had intended to pay him. Gryffin laughed.
“I’m not kidding,” I said. “I’ll give you my account number, you can transfer the money as soon as you get it.”
“But that’s my book!”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law. When you’re dealing with the black market, I think it’s ten-tenths. Trust me, my father’s an attorney.”
“But I don’t have that much money!”
“You will once you sell the book. Start working on it, let me know when you’re ready. See you.”
I handed the mobile to Quinn and flopped onto the bed beside him. “Nice,” he said. “What are we going to do with all that money?”
“Me? Rehab. Somewhere warm. California, maybe, one of those places where rock stars go. Then back here. Then Greece, when this virus thing blows over. With you.”
I ran a finger down one of the vertical incisions beside his mouth, leaned in to kiss him. He tasted of Myer’s rum, the closest I was going to get to it for a while. But then he pulled me on top of him, and I almost didn’t care.