Death Draws Five

Chapter eleven

The corridor leading from the elevator to Barnett’s sanctum was lousy with Secret Service agents, and the second string—Mushroom Daddy, Digger Downs, and that kid Secret Service agent whose name Jerry kept forgetting—were in the reception room with Sally Lou. She looked as cool and desirable as ever.

Only Barnett and Fortunato were inside. Barnett looked up sourly as Jerry knocked and entered. He was not, Jerry realized, in a good mood. He turned to Fortunato. “You were saying about the boy?”

He must be really worried about something, Jerry thought. It’s actually showing on his face.

Fortunato shook his head. “He finally fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake him.” Fortunato looked bleakly at Jerry. “He should be dead. I’m afraid that he didn’t draw an ace after all, but a Black Queen.”

Jerry felt Fortunato’s words like a hammer blow to his guts. “That can’t be,” he said. “He was fine—”

“Was fine,” Fortunato said with grim finality. “It seems that his Black Queen is an odd bitch. Slow acting, but progressing geometrically. His body temperature rose well over fifty degrees during the night. I can’t even begin to guess what it is now. I’m not a doctor, but I can recognize death when I see it coming. How high can his temperature go before his body just burns up?”

“Maybe it’s part of his ace metabolism,” Jerry said hopefully. “Maybe his body won’t burn.”

Barnett nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course. He is divine—”

They looked at him and frowned. Fortunato spoke. “Maybe he is,” he said, though his tone indicated his dubiousness, “but his surroundings aren’t. How long until he’s a danger to everything around him?”

“You can’t know for sure that he will be,” Barnett said. He looked like a man who was fighting hard to maintain an unlikely viewpoint.

“He burned Billy Ray by just touching him,” Fortunato said in a leaden voice that lacked all hope. “He would have burned me if I hadn’t shielded myself. And the process seems to be speeding up. He’s getting hotter, faster. If it keeps going at this pace, by evening he’ll consume everything around him. He won’t be able to control it at all.”

A depressed silence settled over Barnett’s office.

“There’s one possibility left,” Jerry said. He and Fortunato looked at each other, and nodded. “The Trump,” they said together.

Years ago, Dr. Tachyon had managed to concoct a cure for the wild card virus, but it was so dangerous in itself that it was only administered when a patient was facing inescapable death.

Barnett frowned. “Isn’t the Trump pretty unsafe?”

“Fifty percent fatality rate,” Fortunato said, looking at no one.

“You can’t...” Barnett began, but his voice ran down to silence.

“We must,” Jerry said, “if we’re sure the kid is going to die. Or pose a danger to his surroundings.” He looked at the ace sitting next to him. “Sorry, Fortunato.”

“No,” Fortunato said heavily. “You’re right. But we have to be sure.”

Jerry nodded. “The Jokertown Clinic has the only supply of the Trump.” He sighed deeply. “I’ll fly back to the city and get a dose. By the time I get back we should know for sure if we’ll have to use it. One way or the other.”

It was hard for Jerry to volunteer to fetch the Trump. Very hard. Over the years John Fortune had become something like the son he’d never had. He’d seen him grow up to be a nice kid. He’d seen him apparently beat all the odds and become an ace. Now death was again panting over his shoulder. It would have been easier, Jerry thought, if he’d just drawn a Black Queen that day in Vegas. But the kid deserved better than that...

“Hang on,” Jerry said, looking at Fortunato. “He almost beat the odds when the virus struck him. He has an even better chance with the Trump.”

Fortunato nodded. He looked at Barnett. “If you believe in the power of prayer,” he told the ex-President, “get down on your knees for the sake of my boy.”

To his vast surprise, Barnett came around his desk, sank down on his knees and bowed his head. “Let us pray,” Barnett said.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

“We don’t know exactly where the boy is,” Nighthawk told the Cardinal, “but we will soon.” He frowned. “There may be something wrong with him, though,” he said.

The Cardinal interrupted angrily. “If we injured him somehow, all the better. The assault teams are in place. Start the attack.”

Nighthawk nodded equitably. “As you say.”

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

The Angel didn’t quite know where she was when she woke up. It was still morning by the bedside clock. She’d slept deeply, almost as if she’d been drugged. As she lay drowsing she realized suddenly that her bone-deep weariness was gone. She felt refreshed. Somehow replete. She turned and looked at the rumpled bed beside her, and Billy Ray was gone. She sat up, holding the sheets around her breasts, feeling the touch of the fabric everywhere on her naked skin. The room was quiet and empty. Billy Ray was gone.

She felt so... ashamed. They did things last night she could scarcely imagine, let alone believe. And she had reveled in it all. She had lain in his arms panting with lust like an animal. She had kissed him, willingly. She had joined with him willingly. She had laughed with him between bouts of love-making. She...

Wasn’t ashamed, actually. It surprised her to realize that. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done. It had been a wonderful night, wonderful and glorious in a way she’d never experienced before. She wanted to have other nights like that with him.

But Billy Ray was gone.

Maybe her mother had been right. Men used you to sate their lusts, then cast you aside, leaving you with the consequences of your actions. A swollen belly and a child to burden you for years. Well, the Angel thought, at least that last couldn’t happen to her.

The song her mother had played obsessively said that love is touching souls. The Angel was sure that more than their bodies had touched last night. She was sure their souls had as well. At least hers had. That was the only way to explain the complete and utter ecstasy she’d found, coupled with a sense of peace and rightness that she’d never felt before in her life. She’d found that. But there was no telling about Ray.

And now, he was gone.

“Just like a man,” she said aloud, and suddenly the door opened and Billy Ray came into the room with an armful of packages.

“Hi, babe,” he said, grappling with the packages and the door, finally managing to close it without dropping the boxes he carried. “You’re finally awake.” He paused. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

The Angel realized she was glaring at him. She sank down into the bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Nothing,” she said in a small voice.

He spilled the packages on the bed and sat down next to her. “Okay. I had to get something to eat after last night’s workout.” He grinned wickedly at her, and put his hand on the sheet over her upper right thigh and squeezed. “I don’t sleep much anyway. You looked like you needed your rest, so I didn’t want to disturb you by ordering room service. Also, I knew you didn’t have any clothes so I picked up a few things for you. You can do a proper shopping later.”

The Angel was almost over whelmed by his casual thoughtfulness. “I—I can’t accept these things from you—”

“Why not?” Ray frowned. “Besides, I found Barnett’s charge card among the remains of your jumpsuit, and put everything on it. The jumpsuit was a total loss, so I tossed it. Hope you don’t mind.”

The Angel shook her head, barely holding back her laughter. She had climbed again from the pits of despair to the very heights. “Of course you did,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. How’s your hand?”

Ray frowned, and held it up. He looked at it as if it were an alien object someone had grafted to the end of his arm without him realizing it. He stripped the tape away and the bandage underneath. The skin covering his once-burnt flesh was smooth and pink as a baby’s bottom. He grinned and wriggled his fingers.

“All right,” Ray said, as if surprised. “It healed pretty fast. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so hungry. Grab a shower and get dressed and let’s go get something to eat. I’m hungry again and I’ll bet you’re famished.”

He was right. She was ravenous. She started to slip out of the other side of the bed, the sheet still drawn around her, and Ray grabbed it and pulled it away. Her first reactions were to cover her breasts and loins with her hands, but that was ridiculous. She blushed, but leaned close to him.

“I could drink a case of you,” she said, “and still be on my feet.”

“What?” Ray said, frowning.

“It’s our song,” she told him, and laughed at his befuddled look. She grabbed him and kissed him hard, then let him go and, still blushing, walked self-consciously to the bathroom, his eyes following her every step.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

The anteroom was even more crowded after they piled out of Barnett’s office when the meeting ended. Barnett stayed behind to continue his prayer vigil.

Digger Downs had been chatting up Sally Lou and Mushroom Daddy was watching the kid Secret Service agent, Alejandro something or other, who was ostensibly on guard duty, make Sally Lou’s pens and pencils wriggle around on her desk as if they were snakes.

“Very cool, man,” Daddy said. “Animation. That’s a power I could dig. Kind of like Mickey in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Ever watch that movie stoned, man? The dancing mushrooms are just hilarious.”

Sascha was gone. Barnett had intercommed Sally Lou to get Jerry a reservation on the next available flight to New York. Sascha had gone ahead to the airport to make sure there weren’t any screw-ups. Downs looked intently at Jerry and Fortunato as they exited Barnett’s office, dropping his try at charming Sally Lou. “Something’s going on,” he said. “I can tell.”

Fortunato grimaced. “I suppose I owe you the whole story. The boy’s down in our suite, still sleeping. Come along, and I’ll tell you.”

They left the office together, and Sally Lou turned to the phone bank.

“What’s up, man?” Mushroom Daddy asked Jerry, breaking off his conversation with the Secret Service kid, who looked somewhat relieved.

“Heading back to New York,” Jerry said. “I’ve got to pick up something at the Jokertown Clinic.”

He figured there was no sense in spreading the real story around. Mushroom Daddy nodded.

“Might as well go with you, man,” Daddy said. He looked very sad. “I was planning on driving my van back, but it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen. It’s gone, man. I only had three hundred thousand miles on it.”

Jerry felt sympathetic. To a point. “Shit happens, man,” he said.

Mushroom Daddy nodded philosophically. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Sally Lou looked up from the phone she’d just answered, blank-eyed.

“Uh,” she said, “Uh—”

“What is it, man?” Daddy asked.

“Armed men are attacking the Bower,” she said in an oddly-calm voice, as if stunned by the news. “They’re trying to reach the penthouse.”

“Shit,” Jerry said. “The Allumbrados! Get Barnett on the horn.” She nodded rapidly.

“Tell him what’s happening,” Jerry said. “Tell him to freeze the elevator banks. With any luck we can catch a bunch of those assholes between floors if they’re dumb enough to try to come on up on the lifts. Call Fortunato’s suite. Call Ray. Try to find Angel. Let them know what the Hell is happening. We’ll go downstairs and check things out.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alejandro said.

“Your duty’s with Barnett—” Jerry began.

“My duty is to stop anyone coming after him. He’s safe here with the other agents guarding the corridor, at least for awhile. Besides, you’ll need me downstairs.”

“All right,” Jerry said. “No sense wasting time arguing over who belongs where. Come on.”

They went to the north stairwell at a run, stopping only briefly to tell the agents on duty in the corridor what was happening, and headed downstairs. They went down half a dozen flights, before Alejandro, leading the way, suddenly pulled up short.

“What’s the matter?” Jerry asked. “You okay?”

Alejandro nodded silently, and drew an automatic from his shoulder holster. “I am,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid that I can’t say the same for you two.”

“Hey, man,” Mushroom Daddy said, “that’s so not-cool.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Alejandro said, “but blood must sometimes be spilled in the service of the Lord.”

“What are you talking about?” Jerry asked. “You’re a Secret Service agent!”

Alejandro nodded. “I am. I am also a perfecti in the service of Our Lord, a somewhat higher master whom I am even more tightly bound to serve.”

Shit, Jerry thought. What—

Mushroom Daddy moved. He swiveled on one foot, lashing out with the other, catching the turncoat secret service agent on his gun hand. The agent lost his grip on the automatic, and it went clattering down the stairs. Alejandro went after it like a cat after a fleeing mouse.

“Run!” Daddy said, and for once the hippie made sense.

He and Jerry turned and fled back up the staircase. Jerry hit the steel fire door just as a bullet ricocheted off it near his head, reverberations from the gunshot pounding his eardrums like tiny hammers. He and Mushroom Daddy pushed through the door, then closed it behind them, leaning against it and breathing deeply.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Jerry panted.

“Bruce Lee movies, man,” Mushroom Daddy said. “He’s the king.”

“Well, thanks,” Jerry said.

“No problemo, man,” Daddy said. “Even a pacifist has to kick ass sometimes.” He paused to take a deep breath. “What do we do now?”

Jerry shook his head. It was clear that the plan to go back to the city to get a dose of the Trump has no longer feasible. There was nothing much they could do, now, that seemed remotely helpful.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

Angel was still sufficiently self-conscious to dress in the bathroom.

Pity, Ray thought. He loved watching beautiful women get into clothes. And out of them, for that matter. He was particularly interested in seeing her in the underwear he’d picked up. Though he was sufficiently realistic to get her a plain, boring sports bra to wear under her new jumpsuit, he’d also picked up a few rather more lacy numbers for casual wear. He stuck with thong panties all around, though. You couldn’t beat those for looks and all-around wearability.

Angel came out of the bathroom, a concerned look on her face.

“Don’t you think this is a little low cut?” she asked, gesturing at the front of the new outfit.

Ray shook his head in admiration. “No,” he said. “I’d say that it’s just about right.”

“And a little too bright?” she asked.

He shook his head again. “Nope. It’s about time you got out of black, babe. It has its place in a wardrobe, but it can get depressing if you wear it all the time. Red suits you.”

“If you say so,” Angel said uncertainly.

Ray nodded enthusiastically. “I do. Now let’s eat. I’m starved.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

Ray’s room was on the first floor above the lobby and shop level. When possible he always took rooms on the first floor. He didn’t like to deal with elevators in either emergencies or on an everyday basis. They went down a flight of stairs that led from the room block to the hotel lobby, and Ray immediately knew that something was wrong. He could smell it even before he saw it. It was an odor he knew well, a mixture of blood and gunpowder residue.

“What in the bleeding Hell?” he asked aloud.

He and Angel stared at each other, then gazed around the lobby. It was deserted, except for a couple of bodies laying in pools of blood. Some were moving feebly or groaning, most were not.

“We’ve got to help them,” Angel said.

Ray grabbed her arm as she started forward. “First we have to find out what the Hell is happening,” he said. “Split up. Look around outside. I’ll check the lobby. Don’t go far, and if you see anything that might explain this, for Christ’s sake, come and get me.”

Angel nodded. “Don’t blaspheme,” she told him.

“Right.” He grabbed her by the upper arm. “And whatever you do, be careful.”

She smiled briefly, dazzling him, and was gone. He turned and headed for the shops lining the lobby.

The only person in the first one he went into was a gray-uniformed security guard who was bravely defending the deserted store from non-existent looters. The guard was a badly shaken youngster with badly shaking hands. Ray was glad he didn’t have a gun or else he would have shot someone, probably himself, out of fear-induced ineptitude. He flinched when Ray marched up to him and tried to duck under the counter by the cash register, but Ray hauled him up.

“Get a grip, Howard,” he said, reading the kid’s name off his tag above the fancy badge pinned to his shirt pocket. He reached for his own identification wallet, flipped it open, and shoved it into the kid’s face. “My name is Billy Ray. I’m a federal agent. You got that Howard?”

The kid stuttered a frightened, “Y-y-y--yes s-s-s-sir,” that Ray almost interrupted three or four times out of sheer impatience.

“What’s going on out there, Howard?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the kid said. “But there’s dead men out there in the lobby. Some of them are security guards.” He said that as if it were the most shocking thing imaginable, and started to cry. Ray shook him by the collar until his teeth rattled.

“Snap out of it, goddamn it,” he said. The Allumbrados had come after them. Again. It had to be them. The persistent bastards. But no one would believe the story if he told it the way it really was. He let go of Howard’s collar, took out a pen and scribbled a name and a phone number on the back of a card he took out of his wallet. “I want you to call this number,” he said in clear and precise tones. “Tell them Billy Ray told you to report to Nephi Callendar. Tell him that a gang of aces are trying to assassinate ex-President Leo Barnett under the guise of robbing the hotel. Tell him to get help out here, pronto, or else the Secret Service will have a dead ex-President on their hands. You got all that Howard?”

The security guard nodded.

“What’s my name, Howard?”

“Uh. Leo Barnett?”

Ray slapped him once across the face, fairly hard, then grabbed his shirt before he could fall down. “Wrong, Howard. My name is Billy Ray. It’s on the other side of the card. The man I want you to call is named Nephi Callendar. I’ve written his name on this side of the card. Now, what’s the story?”

“Uh, Leo Barnett is, uh, robbing the hotel, and—”

Ray sighed. “Just tell them Billy Ray said to get their asses down here or else there’ll be a dead ex-President on the five o’clock news. You get that right, and there’ll be a promotion for you. You fuck up, Howard, and I’ll hunt you down myself and kill you. You got that?”

“Yessir,” Howard managed.

Ray sighed. It was the best he could do. If he made the call himself they’d only want him to stay on the other end of the line and answer useless fucking questions. The odds were, anyway, that help wouldn’t arrive in time. Whatever was going down here was going down fast. But there was always the slim chance that the Feds could show up in time to be useful.

Now, Ray thought, to collect Angel and get up to Barnett’s office, fast. That was where the bad guys would be headed, after the kid who was ensconced in Fortunato’s suite on the floor below Barnett’s HQ. If Barnett, or Fortunato, or somebody was on the ball, they’d have already stopped the elevators, maybe catching some of the bad guys in frozen steel cages. He couldn’t count on that, though. He could count on the fact that the Cardinal probably sent a shit load of bad guys on this little adventure. He was probably really pissed by now.

Ray cut through the lobby at high speed, closing his ears to the cries of the wounded civilians he passed. No time for you now, he thought. Just hang on, hang on and we’ll get to you ASAP. If we can.

He spotted Angel just outside the tall glass doors leading up to the lobby’s main entrance at the top of the set of marble stairs. She was looking out into the courtyard in front of the hotel and the surrounding parking lot.

“Angel—”

She turned to him, and silently gestured outwards. In the courtyard were the Witness and Butcher Dagon, both. They were surrounded by armed goons. Alejandro Jesus y Maria C de Baca stood on the lowest step of the marble stairs, looking up at Angel.

Ray grinned his crazy grin. “Alejandro,” he called. “Now’s your chance, kid. Let’s see your stuff.”

Alejandro nodded slowly. Behind him, the Witness and Butcher Dagon approached, though the gunmen kept their distance. Alejandro did or said nothing until the two aces joined him. He looked at them and nodded, then he looked up at Ray.

“It’d be best if you just gave up, Billy. I don’t want to see either you or Angel get hurt, and I’m afraid you’re pretty well out-numbered.”

Ray frowned. His pulse beat with sudden anger. “Why you little bastard,” he said. “I always thought that you were too polite.”

Alejandro shrugged. “I’m sorry to hear that. I am a great admirer of yours.”

“Yeah, well, I never liked you.”

“He gave you good advice,” Witness said. “You’d better take it. We have to join the party inside. If you let us pass, we’ll just let you go. If you try to slow us down, we’ll kill you.”

“How’s your knee, you prick?” Ray asked. “Still walking with a limp?”

Witness scowled, but Dagon grabbed his arm and shook his head.

Alejandro shrugged again. “As you will, Billy.”

“Call me ‘Mr. Ray,’ you traitorous shit.”

Alejandro turned and looked over his right shoulder, a frown of concentration on his youthful features.

Angel lifted her arms to the Heavens. “Save my soul from evil, Lord,” she intoned, “and heal this warrior’s heart.” Her sword appeared as always, a roaring flame in her hands. She smiled at him. He was happy to see that her smile was without the taint of fear. “Stand with me, Billy,” she said. “‘One sword at least thy right shall guard.’” she semi-quoted.

Ray grinned crazily. “‘One faithful heart shall praise thee,’” he responded in the same spirit. “With all due respect to Thomas Moore.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why, Billy. I’d never guess you went in for poetry.”

“Stick around, babe. I’m full of surprises.”

“I believe I will,” she said, nodding.

From the parking lot came the sound of ancient stone groaning.

“Oh, crap,” Ray said.

The statues of the three apostles that stood in front of The Angels’ Bower climbed down creakily from their daises and approached the lobby entrance like arthritic giants.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

John Fortune could no longer sit on the bed without the sheets smoldering. The glow of his halo was so bright that it made Fortunato’s eyes ache. Downs, at his side, stared at the boy with a gaping mouth. The reporter was so stunned by the unexpected turn of events that he didn’t even ask Fortunato any questions.

John Fortune wore his sneakers to insulate the bottom of his feet so that he wouldn’t leave burn marks on the carpet. A wet towel was wrapped around his waist. Fortunato was afraid that anything else would burn. He had to get a new one every few minutes and exchange it with the one his son was wearing. There was no sign as to how high his temperature would eventually go.

“Maybe,” Fortunato said, “you’d be more comfortable in the bathroom. You could lie down in the tub for awhile. Rest some.”

“I’m okay,” John Fortune said, “but, yeah, you might be right.”

He seemed to realize what Fortunato didn’t want to say. That he was becoming a fire hazard in a hotel room that had so many flammable objects in it.

“I’ll go with you. We can talk for awhile.”

“That’d be nice,” the boy said.

As they headed for the bathroom, the doorbell suddenly rang. Fortunato stopped, looked at Downs. “Digger,” he said. “Go with John. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Downs nodded. “Jeez,” he asked the boy, “does it hurt?”

John Fortune looked more bewildered than frightened. “No. Not really. It’s just... strange. I feel warm, but it’s not uncomfortable. The heat feels soothing. I am hungry, though.”

Fortunato watched them go off together, then went to the door and peered out through the spy hole. He quickly unlocked the door when he realized who was outside. The ace who called himself Creighton came in, accompanied by the enigmatic Mushroom Daddy.

“What happened?” Fortunato asked, then realized there no time for niceties. He read the story from Creighton’s mind. He glanced at Mushroom Daddy, who looked back innocently at him. Fortunato took one stab at his mind, but could not gain access to it. The man clearly was a mystery, a puzzle that would be interesting to solve, but Fortunato had no time for idle past-times. “All right,” he said. “I get it. Alejandro is out of our hands, for now, and there’s no time to retrieve the Trump, anyway. It’s no longer an alternative.”

“Right,” Jerry said.

Fortunato nodded. The only question was what to do now, and Fortunato had no answer for it.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower, lobby

“Inside,” Ray shouted, and the Angel followed him unhesitatingly.

They went back into the lobby through the tall glass doors, the statues following them ponderously, like twenty-foot high golems.

“How is this possible?” Angel asked.

“It’s that frigging kid,” Ray said. “His power is animation. He can make inanimate objects obey his will. And apparently his will is for them to squash us.”

Glass shattered as the first statue hunkered down and smashed through the doors, showering shards all over the lobby’s interior. To her shame, the Angel was unsure which of the apostles this stature represented, so she thought of it as Peter. Even though it was a holy figure, she screamed an inarticulate battle cry and hurled herself at it, swinging her sword as hard as she could.

“Hamstring the bastard!” Ray shouted.

It was a good idea, but the Angel decided to aim even lower. The bastard couldn’t walk if it didn’t have any feet, she thought, and immediately wondered if Ray was being too great of an influence on her. Her sword skimmed the floor and chopped at Peter’s ankle. It clanged against stone, shivering in her hands. Her arms went numb almost up to her elbows, but she felt her blade bite deep. A sizeable chip flaked off Peter’s ankle, running up into his calf. The force of her blow caused the statue to sway like an oak in a storm. She suddenly wished that she had John Bruckner’s morningstars. With those she could reduce the statue to rubble in a matter of minutes.

One of the other statues, Call him John, the Angel thought, was crowding past Peter. John took a ponderous swipe at the Angel as Ray called out a warning. She ducked and the very tips of John’s fingers brushed against the back of her shoulders, hurling her backwards on the floor. She slid a dozen feet, broken glass scraping her leather jumpsuit, but it held.

Ray darted forward, grimacing in anger. He leaped at Peter, planting one foot on the statue’s injured leg, and swarmed up his chest like a monkey climbing a cliff. He rammed his shoulder under Peter’s chin and heaved. The ponderous sculpture tipped over backwards and fell hard to the lobby floor with all the grace of a drunken sailor.

The Angel levered herself to her feet and bounded after Ray. As Peter reached for Ray with his left hand, The Angel swung her sword and sheared through his wrist. His hand flew off and shattered on the lobby floor.

Ray kept going. He slid between John’s immense, widely-braced thighs. The statue bent forward slowly at the waist and tried to catch him as he went by. He missed and the back of his exposed neck presented a tempting target. The Angel braced herself and brought her sword down like a headsman’s ax. Her first blow bit deeply. Using all her strength, she yanked the blade free desperately, and wound up and swung again as the apostle turned his head and looked at her disapprovingly. She said an apologetic prayer under her breath as her second blow caught him in the side of the throat and John’s head sprang from his neck. Thank God, the Angel thought, that it’s not bleeding. She dodged around the statue’s blinding groping arms, following Ray whose slide took him against the legs the third statue. James, the Angel christened him.

Ray’s hands dragged on the floor, and a smear of blood followed him as glass shards sliced into his palms, but that was the least of his worries. James caught him in his marble hands, and lifted him high. He squeezed, and Ray screamed. Oh, God! the Angel thought.

The statue lifted Ray high over his head and the ace spasmed. The Angel thought that Ray was trying to jerk himself away from the giant’s crushing grip, but there was no way he could escape from the statue’s cruel hands.

But he wasn’t, the Angel suddenly realized, trying to pull himself free. He was throwing something. Something clear and sharp that he’d grabbed off the floor as he slid by.

A nine-inch long, razor sharp glass shard glimmered in the sun as it flew to its target and buried two thirds of itself in Alejandro’s stomach. The Allumbrado cried out and gripped it, cutting his palms deeply as he tried to pull it out of his gut, and failed. He looked at Ray with a stricken, unbelieving expression. The Angel saw their eyes meet for a moment, and then Alejandro slumped to the ground. The statue, holding Ray above his head like a fond father might playfully hold his infant son, kept leaning back, back, back, until it fell backwards against the steps leading into the lobby, shattering into several hundred chunks of rock.

Ray hit the ground behind it, rolled, and came to his feet. He twisted briefly, as if trying to put a sore back back into place, and the Angel could see the crazy grin on his face. “Never send a boy to do a man’s job,” he said to Dagon and the Witness, who were standing ten feet away, and suddenly, like that, he was on them.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

John Nighthawk stood before the door to Fortunato’s suite. Usher and Magda were pressed against the wall out of sight on one side of the door. Blood and his handler were on the other. He looked at Usher, nodded, and raised his hand to knock, when the thunderbolt of revelation struck him.

Danger was in that room. Danger for the entire world. Nighthawk saw fire consume everything. The land was blackened, the oceans boiled away. Even the very air was aflame. And the boy was the center of all, surrounded by flame but not devoured. Perhaps Contarini was right after all. Perhaps the boy was the Anti-Christ. The warning in Revelations regarding false prophets ran through his mind along with the images of all-devouring flame. He had to think about this, but now was not the time. His hand wavered, then came down on the door to Fortunato’s suite, knocking politely.

After a moment, it opened a crack. A small, neatly dressed man peered out. He cleared his throat. “Yes?” he asked.

“We’re here for the boy,” Nighthawk said.

“Boy?”

Nighthawk smiled. “John Fortune. There’s no sense standing behind the door. We can take it down in an instant, if we have to.”

The man seemed to think for a moment, then opened it all the way. “I’m Digger Downs,” he said as Nighthawk came in. “Reporter for Aces! You’re?”

“Anonymous,” Nighthawk said as he entered the suite.

Downs started to close the door, but Usher, followed by Magda and then Blood and his handler, pushed by. “Hey—“ Downs began, then fell silent when he saw the weapons Usher and Magda carried, and the look on Magda’s face. Nighthawk knew that Downs really wanted to say something when he caught sight of Blood, but he kept his mouth shut.

Nighthawk looked around the room. “Where’s the boy?” he asked.

“He was here—”

Nighthawk looked Downs in the eye. “It’s better you bring the boy out than we go looking for him.”

Magda jacked a round into her automatic shotgun for emphasis.

“Hey,” Downs said, “if it was up to me—ah, Fortunato.”

Nighthawk recognized him as he came out of one of the bedrooms. He was tall, thin, and light-skinned. Energy shimmered the air around him like heat waves in a desert. Blood, who had strange senses of his own, whimpered at the sight of him, and cowered behind his handler’s legs. If I drained him, Nighthawk thought, I could keep going for another century. At least.

“You can’t have him,” Fortunato said flatly. “Unless you go through me.”

Magda brought her shotgun up with a cry of pure rage. Fortunato glanced at her, and she froze, literally, in mid-scream, her mouth open, face contorted, shotgun almost leveled.

“Impressive,” Nighthawk said. “How many minds can you handle at once?”

Nighthawk nodded at Usher.

“Dad—it’s all right.” John Fortune came from the same bedroom Fortunato had. He looked a little disheveled, a little frightened, but basically all right. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me. I’ll go with them.”

Nighthawk smiled at him. “Good boy.”

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower, courtyard

Ray knew that the only thing that kept him from immediately being blown to shit and back by the Allumbrado gunmen was the fact that they’d blow Witness and Butcher Dagon along with him. He decided to stay nice and close to them.

Ray got in one lick on Dagon before the British ace could transform, an open-handed slap that split his lip and knocked him on his ass. Dagon transformed as he lay on the ground glaring at Ray, but was too wary to attack immediately. He and Witness circled Ray carefully. Out of the corner of his eye Ray could also see the gunmen creeping up and around him, also trying to encircle him. He realized that if they got close enough to aim carefully, he’d be in trouble.

Something the size and general shape of a softball whizzed by and struck one of the gunmen between the shoulder blades, knocking him flat. He didn’t get up. Almost immediately another chunk of stone from the shattered statue struck a second gunman in the chest. Instead of rebounding, it stuck there, squishily

Ray laughed. “Good girl, Angel,” he said.

Some of the Allumbrados fired at her, but she crouched low behind some of the bigger statue chunks, then popped up a moment later in another spot and let fly with another stone, taking most of another gunman’s head off.

The Witness suddenly turned and ran, heading for the lobby. Angel leaped up. A storm of gunfire knocked her to her feet. She was hit, Ray was sure, at least once.

“Angel!” he shouted.

“I’m okay! I’m going after him!” Ray watched her start to crawl back toward the lobby, carefully keeping to cover.

“Remember, Angel,” he called after her. “He’s afraid. He’s afraid of pain.” He looked at Dagon, grinning. “But I’m not.”

Dagon’s animal-like jaw slavered string-like lengths of drool.

Ray stood still, stretched like a cat, and grinned. He watched Angel slip into the lobby, get to her feet and run after the Witness, who had vanished up the staircase. He felt something pride, awe, and lust rush through his system. He suddenly realized that he was in love.

“Well,” he said to Dagon. Looks like it’s just us boys.”

Dagon gibbered something unintelligible.

“Let the fun began,” Ray said.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower, Fortunato’s suite

Fortunato looked at the boy, frowning. John Fortune nodded almost imperceptibly as he went by him. Fortunato opened his mouth as if to speak, but held his peace.

“Let’s go,” John Fortune said.

Nighthawk looked at him. “You’re not glowing,” he said.

John Fortune shrugged. “I stopped doing that awhile ago.”

Nighthawk removed the glove from his left hand, and put his fingers out, almost on John Fortune’s face. Fortunato darted into the old man’s mind. He almost rebounded in surprise at what he saw there. Ancient power, tempered by wisdom and grace. He realized that Nighthawk meant them no harm.

Nighthawk’s hand dropped down and he smiled. “Nice try.”

“What?” John Fortune asked, bewildered.

“It’s no good, Jerry,” Fortunato said. “He knows.”

“What?” John Fortune said.

“That you’re the bodyguard,” Nighthawk said.

Jerry Strauss slumped. “It was worth a shot,” he said.

Nighthawk nodded. “I suppose.” He put his glove back on his left hand. “Now where’s the boy?”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Fortunato said with sudden hope that somehow Nighthawk, with all his strange powers, might be able to help his son.

Nighthawk looked at his troop. “Wait here,” he said. He paused, looking at Magda. “Take her gun away,” he told Usher. “I don’t want her to come to pissed and armed with an automatic shotgun.”

Usher nodded. “You’ll be all right?”

Nighthawk looked at Fortunato. Fortunato nodded.

“For now,” Nighthawk said.

They headed for the bedroom, the disguised Jerry Strauss following. Fortunato stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you for trying to save my son.”

“It didn’t work,” Jerry said.

“This wasn’t the only time you tried. And succeeded.”

“It’s my job,” Jerry said. “But it was always a pleasure, as well.”

“This way,” Fortunato told Nighthawk, leading the way to the bathroom. The hippie was still with his son. He looked worriedly at Fortunato and the others.

“He’s getting hotter, man. I tried to help him, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Fortunato nodded. Nighthawk stared at John Fortune as he stood naked in the shower stall. His halo was an angry aura, flickering like rays from a tiny sun.

“John, are you okay?” Fortunato asked.

The boy shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m hotter. Now I can’t touch anything cloth without burning it.”

Fortunato swallowed hard.

“We need the Trump,” Jerry said. “But there’s no damn time.”

Nighthawk looked hard at the boy. John Fortune looked back at him. He seemed more puzzled than frightened, but Fortunato knew that he was putting the best face he could on his fear. He suddenly was very proud of his son. Very proud, and very frightened for him.

Nighthawk suddenly seemed to come to a decision. “Yes, there is,” he said.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower courtyard

The Angel raced up the stairs, taking them as quickly as she could. At first that wasn’t too quick, as she smarted from the ricocheting slug that had bounced off her back and knocked her down and, she was sure, bruised her badly. But she couldn’t let a little thing like that stop her. By the time she reached the third floor she was taking the steps two at a time as she headed for Barnett’s office. She was sure that the Witness was after Barnett, and she wanted to head him off before he could harm The Hand.

She was breathing hard when she reached the upper floor, and went through the secret panel in the service corridor that allowed direct access to Barnett’s office, bypassing Sally Lou’s domain. She burst into Barnett’s office, and paused. Barnett was on his knees in front of his desk on his knees, praying aloud. There was no Witness.

Barnett fell silent when she came into the room and rose up.

“Angel!” he exclaimed when he realized that it was her and not some form of sudden death. “I knew you would come to me in the time of my need!”

“You’re safe,” she breathed.

“Of course,” he said. “Now that you’re here.”

She looked around the room. “Where’s John Fortune?” she asked. “Fortunato, the others?”

Barnett’s eyes looked wild. “Burning in Hell with that demon child, I suppose.”

“What?” the Angel asked. She realized that something had gone very wrong.

Barnett came up to her. He was sweating and disheveled. She had never seen him like this before. “I was in error,” he said. “I confess my sin to you, before God. The boy is not Christ, but a demon burning with Hellfire—”

”What are you saying?” the Angel asked, aghast.

“It’s true. Even Fortunato admits that the boy is out of control. That he burns not with the Grace of Our Lord, but with the flames of the Pit. Unless he is stopped he will turn the Earth into an inferno.”

“You’re crazy,” the Angel blurted, and was immediately appalled at the words that slipped out of her mouth.

“No, no I’m not,” Barnett said. “The revelation has come unto me. He is a child of the Pit. You must go to him,” he said, suddenly sly, “and slay him.” He looked at her, nodding approvingly. He put his arms around her and tried to pull her to him. “Then come to me, and comfort me in my hour of need, for I am in sore need of succor.”

“You fucking idiot,” the Angel said, shocking herself again, but at least avoiding blasphemy. She pushed him away, and he fell on the carpet. “I was with him for a long time. There’ s no evil in him. He may—” Her world took another lurch, but it had been doing a lot of that lately. “You may have been wrong. He may not be our Savior. But he’s not a demon. That’s just stupid.”

Barnett looked as if he were shock. “Foolish woman—”

He never finished his thought. The door to his sanctum’s secret entrance suddenly burst open, showering bits and pieces into the room. The Angel threw up an arm to deflect fragments of flying door and blinked when she saw the Witness limp into the office.

He smiled. “My prayers,” he said, “have been answered.”

The Angel stood silently, staring at him.

“I saw you enter the stairwell,” the Witness said, “And decided to follow you. I awaited outside the door to hear the revelations of this pathetic fool whom you’ve wasted your time following. It was good to hear him finally admit his error. To acknowledge that we Allumbrados have been right all along—”

”I say,” the Angel said, suddenly utterly sure that she was right, “that you’re both wrong. John Fortune is an innocent child, nothing more. Neither savior nor demon.”

The Witness laughed contemptuously. “Stupid woman. What do you know? First, I shall beat you senseless to save you for later. Then—” he looked at Barnett, cowering on the carpet—“I will slay this false prophet, this supposed man of God.”

“Ambitious,” the Angel said. “But deeds, not words, are what counts in this world.”

“Remember that when I throw you on that desk and make you beg for your life, slut in the costume of a Devil,” the Witness sneered.

The Angel shouted in righteous wrath and sprung like an unforgiving fury at the Witness. He grabbed her, catching her around the waist, but leaving her arms free. That was a mistake. Her first blow cracked his left cheekbone, her second knocked out two teeth. The third smashed his right eye socket, the fourth glanced off his forehead. Already she could feel his grip around her waist slacken.

“Ray was right!” she hissed into his face. “You’re a weakling who’s afraid of pain. But I’m not!”

She head-butted him, smashing his nose flat, and the Witness groaned and let her go. She dropped to the floor, pivoted on her right foot, spun to gain momentum, and kicked him through the wall. He hit the wall of the corridor beyond, bounced, and fell flat on his face.

New York City: Jokertown Clinic

However this all worked out, Nighthawk decided that he had to try to save the boy, and perhaps the world. “Come with me,” he said to the bodyguard.

Jerry looked at Fortunato, who nodded, and then followed Nighthawk back into the suite’s living room.

“Blood,” Nighthawk said.

Jerry groaned. “Not this again?” he asked.

Nighthawk nodded, then turned to the joker/ace. “You’ve been to the Jokertown Clinic?” he asked.

“He’s been a patient there,” his handler confirmed.

Nighthawk took his leash. “Let’s go,” he said.

“Finn’s office,” Jerry said helpfully.

Blood turned to the nearest wall, and after a moment a black circle appeared in it. When they passed through Blood’s tunnel through space, nausea hit Nighthawk like the mother of all hangovers. Somehow he managed not to throw up as they walked out the hole in the wall in Finn’s office, right before the astonished doctor who was standing behind his desk trying to catch up on some paperwork.

“John Fortune?” Finn asked in an unbelieving voice.

Jerry shook his head. “Nope. Jerry Strauss.”

“This is John Nighthawk,” Jerry said. “I believe you know Blood.”

Finn nodded dazedly. “He’s been a patient.”

“Thank God for that,” Jerry said. “Otherwise he couldn’t find his way here so quickly. Listen, Dr. Finn, we’re on the clock. We need a dose of the Trump Virus. And we need it fast.”

Finn nodded. “Of course,” he said.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

Fortunato went back into the living room, pacing impatiently, almost unable to bear the thought of what he was about to do to his son. He only had to wait a few minutes. Nighthawk came back through the hole in the wall, leading Blood. He gave him to his handler, and both he and Jerry followed Fortunato back into the bathroom where the boy was burning so hot that no one could approach him. Jerry put a syringe, already loaded with the Trump, by the side of the tub.

“Okay, John,” he said, “you’ll have to inject yourself, but that’s no big deal. You can do it.”

The boy looked at them. Fortunato could read the fear in his eyes. “I know it’s scary,” he said, “but it’s your best hope.” Am I condemning him to a terrible death, Fortunato thought, or saving him from one? He could barely breath. He couldn’t imagine how the boy felt.

“Hey,” John Fortune said, his voice cracking only a little, “I’ve beat worse odds before.”

“That’s right,” Jerry said. “You can do it, kid, I know you can.”

John Fortune reached for the syringe. His hand trembled only a little. He took it in his hand, and the glass melted like snowflakes on a griddle. Fortunato felt something like death pass through him as everyone groaned in anger and frustration.

“There’s only one thing left,” Nighthawk said. He took the glove off his left hand and stepped forward.

Peaceable Kingdom, The Angels’ Bower, courtyard

Dagon growled like a beast. He took a step backwards, and was suddenly among the Allumbrados, claws and teeth flashing. Screams etched stricken expressions on the gunmen’s faces as the Butcher moved through them.

“Dagon!” Ray shouted.

He must have heard, but he paid Ray no attention. The Allumbrados were dead in moments, all of them, and suddenly Dagon turned back into a naked tubby man.

“What the Hell are you doing?” Ray asked.

Dagon smiled. “Turning coats, right?”

“We’ve got to fight this out,” Ray said.

“Do we?” Dagon asked with raised eyebrows. “We tried that once before, and neither of us liked it very much.”

“I liked it enough to try it again.”

“Ah, but I don’t, dear boy.”

“I should kick your ass.”

“Don’t be a dolt,” Dagon chided him. “Don’t you have more important fish to fry? You shouldn’t even be wasting time talking to me.”

Ray ground his teeth in frustration. The bastard was right. “This isn’t over between us,” Ray flung over his shoulder as he rushed back into the Bower’s lobby.

“For now,” Dagon said smiling, “it is.”

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

“No!”

Fortunato stepped in front of Nighthawk, blocking his path to the boy. The old man looked at him with sorrowful eyes.

“You know how dangerous he is,” Nighthawk said in a soft voice. “He’ll burn hotter and hotter, but he won’t die. He’ll eat up the world, maybe even ignite the atmosphere. He has to be stopped.”

A noise came from John Fortune, a squeak of fear that he couldn’t control.

“I know,” Fortunato said replied in equally low tones. “But you can’t do it.”

“I only have to touch him for a moment—”

“He’s too hot already. You’ll die before you can touch him. Your flesh will shrivel and burn.”

Nighthawk smiled. His eyes crinkled and Fortunato could see something of the true age that was in them. “I’ve had a long life,” he said. “Maybe it was my fate to live it this long so I’d be here today to stop him.” He paused and looked at Fortunato pityingly. “It’s quite painless, you know.”

“You’ll throw your life away for nothing. But maybe I can do something,” Fortunato said. “Besides. I’m his father.”

Nighthawk looked at him steadily for a long moment. Then he nodded.

Fortunato nodded back, then he looked at Jerry Strauss and Mushroom Daddy. “I want to be alone with my son.”

“You sure about this?” Jerry asked him.

Fortunato nodded again.

“Good luck, then,” Jerry said. He and Nighthawk exchanged glances, and Fortunato was aware of the surprise they felt about being on the same side of this conflict.

“Luck, John,” Jerry said.

“Luck, boy,” Nighthawk said.

“Thanks,” John Fortune said in a small voice that could barely be heard as they went out of the bathroom.

Mushroom Daddy paused on the thresh hold, turned and said, “God bless us, every one,” and closed the door as he left the room.

Fortunato turned to his son and smiled. “Are you frightened?”

John Fortune nodded. His halo danced like the rays of an agitated sun. “Yes.”

“I am too. That was why I went to Japan, you know.”

“You were afraid?” John Fortune asked, as if surprised at Fortunato’s admission.

“Yeah.” Fortunato sighed. “Afraid of losing more pieces of myself. More of the people around me. Afraid of being the most powerful ace in the world, yet in the end being alone.”

“You’re not alone now.”

“Neither are you.” He held out his arms. “Come to me, son.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

Fortunato shook his head. “I’m Fortunato. Nothing can stand before me. Not the Astronomer. Not the Swarm. Not even the wild card virus.”

John Fortune got out of the bathtub. Fortunato could feel his eyebrows curl and singe as his son stepped closer, but he didn’t flinch. There was a nanosecond of horrible pain as they almost touched. Then Fortunato stopped time.

His astral form fled his body, but maintained a thin thread, a tenuous link to draw energy through, for it would take tremendous amounts of energy to implement his plan. Fortunately, size was a meaningless concept on the astral plane. Fortunato went down into his son’s body. He propelled his consciousness through his son’s bloodstream, flashing like a corpuscle through his veins.

Searching, he found the changes wrought by the virus in John Fortune’s brain, nervous system, and all the cells throughout him. Fortunato wasn’t an expert, but he knew that it didn’t look good. The cells were twisted abnormally, blasted and sickened. This will be rough, he thought. The enemy was almost numberless, and he was only one man.

He broke himself into a million fragments and ordered them into battle against John’s body. He fought it cell by cell, shifting, rearranging, and cleansing, but never harming. He burned energy at a prodigious rate as he willed John Fortune’s cells to repair the damage the wild card virus had done. Thankfully, he didn’t have to guide them in the process, to tell them exactly what to do. They knew themselves, wired deep in the mysteries of their DNA, how to correct themselves. He just had to supply them with the energy they needed, and the time. He gave freely of both. He hoped he had enough.

He settled in for the longest, most difficult battle in his life.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

Ray knew where he would find the Angel. He went to Barnett’s headquarters as quickly as he could. The corridor leading to Barnett’s office sanctum was empty. Ray rushed into the reception area to see Sally Lou sitting behind her desk and the two Secret Service agents crowded around the door leading into Barnett’s office, looking in but afraid to enter.

Ray brushed by them as if they were children, and they didn’t even protest. He took in the room with a single glance. Barnett was on his knees, praying loudly. Angel was standing by him with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. He also noted that a hole had been punched through one of the sanctum’s walls. The Witness lay in the corridor beyond. He didn’t look too good.

Ray rushed up to Angel. “You had me worried there—” he began.

“Sometimes,” Angel said, “you think too much. Kiss me.”

He did, with enthusiasm. He could have kept it up for a long time, but he realized that things weren’t finished, by any means.

“John Fortune—” he said, somewhat breathlessly as he pulled away from her.

She nodded. “He’s in Fortunato’s suite. There—something’s wrong with him,” she said with a concerned expression. “His temperature is rising. The Hand—Barnett said that it was out of control.”

Ray glanced at Barnett, who was loudly praying for guidance and forgiveness. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

Time was meaningless on the astral plane. Fortunato couldn’t tell how long he’d been fighting. It seemed like forever. He gave of himself with every single battle with every single recalcitrant cell of his son’s body. He knew that he didn’t have much left. He needed help, but there was no one to give it. If he’d had a physical body, he’d be exhausted. Even without one, he was still exhausted. That was a sign of the desperate state he was in.

But all throughout a hard life, Fortunato had never given up. Never once. Not even when he’d gone to Japan, he finally realized. It had been a step in his evolution that he’d had to take. A time to rest, reflect, and learn. It had not been a wasted sixteen years if it had enabled him to do this.

Peaceable Kingdom: The Angels’ Bower

Ray and Angel barged into Fortunato’s suite. Inside it looked like the Jokertown Clinic’s emergency room on Saturday night, crowded with patients and worried on-lookers. Some of them seemed to be members of the other team, Ray realized, but nobody seemed to care, so he didn’t.

“John?” Angel asked, staring at a worried-looking figure standing near the doorway to one of the bedrooms.

He shook his head. “No. It’s me.”

“Creighton,” Ray said.

“My name’s not Creighton. It’s Strauss. Jerry Strauss. I just wanted you to know that.”

Ray nodded.

“John’s in the bathroom, with Fortunato,” Jerry said.

“They’ve been in there a long time,” Mushroom Daddy said.

“What’s going on?” Ray asked.

A little old black man standing next to a big young black man armed with an automatic weapon said, “He’s trying to heal him.”

Ray shook his head. Time enough later to sort out who was who. “Well—has someone checked on them lately?”

No one said anything.

“Someone should,” Ray said.

Still no one said anything. He looked at Angel, who nodded. He went quietly through the bedroom, Angel at his side. He listened at the closed bathroom door, but heard nothing.

“Should I open it?” he asked quietly.

Angel nodded again.

He hesitated, took her hand, then quickly opened the door. Fortunato was lying on the bathroom floor, his son in his arms. As they watched, John Fortune’s golden aura flickered and went out. Ray and Angel stared at each other for a moment, then rushed into the bathroom, vaguely aware of the crowd that had gathered at the door behind them

Ray gently lifted Fortunato off his son and felt his wrist. He looked at the Angel, then at the others crowded around the bathroom door. “There’s no pulse,” Ray said flatly, as if he could hardly believe it himself. “Fortunato’s dead.”

“The boy?” Angel asked in a shaky voice.

“He’s all right,” Fortunato said. He lifted his head and opened his eyes and gripped Ray’s arm hard. It was the only thing that prevented the stunned ace from dropping him. “He’s all right. Tell Peregrine not to worry. He’ll just be a normal boy now. Tell her I took the virus... away...”

“God,” Ray said. “My God. You have no pulse. You’re dead.”

Fortunato smiled. “That’s right,” he said, and he kept smiling as his body slumped in Ray’s arms.

John Fortune opened his eyes, looked around the room, looked at everybody crowding around the doorway, looked at Fortunato’s limp body in Ray’s arms. He asked in a quiet voice, “What happened?”

The Angel went to him and put her arms around him. She said nothing, but held him as he cried, until he stopped shaking.