15

Cal idled his stolen Camry on 58th, downstream from Second, and watched the street corner in his rearview mirror.

Hursey and Jolliff waited down near First in their stolen cars. They'd pull out in Cal and Miller's wake and run interference should anyone come in pursuit.

He fidgeted in his seat. Hard to sit still. Hell, he could barely breathe. Inside his gloves, his palms were slick with sweat under his death grip on the steering wheel.

This shouldn't be happening. The yeniceri were warriors—trained to fight evil. Usually that meant men. He had no illusions that males had a lock on Otherness-related activity, but executing a pregnant woman and her daughter…

He knew the Ally wasn't good, per se, but these days—especially after last month—its ends and means seemed indistinguishable from the Other-ness's. He'd begun to wonder if good existed.

Take this woman. Yeah, yeah, he'd be the first to admit that looks could deceive, but he'd seen the way she smiled, the way her eyes sparkled as she listened to her little girl reading to her. He didn't give a damn what the Ally said, this woman was not evil.

He needed a bathroom.

16

Miller idled the truck in an empty fire hydrant space west of Second Avenue. He had the last spot on the corner and an unobstructed view of the intersection. Second ran uptown, moving from his right to his left.

He shifted his attention between his watch and the traffic light. He'd been timing the sequence. The green came in consistently at an even sixty seconds, followed by five seconds of amber. He'd have to time this perfectly. Wouldn't be easy, but it could be done.

And he could do it.

Shit, he hoped so. One thing to play hard guy with Davis, but something else entirely to have to live up to your own press and—

Suddenly she was there—short blond hair just as the 0 had described—and heading for the corner, guiding a kid.

Why'd there have to be a kid along? Kids were noncombatants as far as he was concerned, but the 0 said the Ally wanted them both. Miller trusted the Ally. He had to. Without that trust, he had nothing. His life would mean nothing.

He watched the light switch from red to green and began timing. He put the truck in gear and waited. He noticed he'd broken out in a sweat. What was wrong with him?

He watched her standing at the curb, waiting for permission to walk. Miller always ignored those signals—wasn't going to wait for anyone's permission to cross a street—but he guessed it was a different story with a kid along. Set a good example and all that.

At the fifty-five-second mark he started inching the truck forward. He waited for the amber, then counted down. With a second left to go he hit the gas and roared into action, picking up speed as the light turned red. He saw the woman and the kid step off the curb.

The only thing that could stop him now was some asshole getting a jackrabbit start on the green.

17

The Oculus was sitting at his desk, taking a break from schooling Diana, whe1n the room darkened.

His head snapped up as he realized this wasn't simply a fluctuation in the current—this dimness originated in the room, in the air around him.

As the darkness deepened he reached for his call buzzer to summon a yenigeri but found he could not move. His hands had rooted to his desktop, his body to the chair, his feet to the floor. He opened his mouth to shout for help but his throat locked before he could utter a sound.

He watched in helpless terror as the darkness enveloped him. It didn't block the light, it absorbed it.

In half a minute, perhaps less, the formless darkness became complete. No up, no down, just fathomless blackness.

And then he knew he was not alone in the room.

A pair of eyes appeared before him, floating in the otherwise featureless void. His mind, desperate for orientation of any sort, grasped at them, then recoiled.

The whites were cold and hard as crystal, the irises dark, verging on black. But the pupils… the pupils were windows into a writhing, hungry chaos, inviting him in.

Why not go? Why not leave behind this weight of responsibility? It would be so easy… so easy…

He shook it off.

And then he heard the music… if it could be called that. A choir screaming a discordant cacophony. But no human voices had ever made sounds like these.

"So," said a soft voice, "you are the local Oculus. I'd introduce myself, but I believe you've figured out who I am."

The Oculus knew and the realization threatened to empty his bladder.

Rasalom… the Adversary.

"I've put off meeting you because I wanted to wait until certain events had transpired. 1 was about to pay a call last November but plans went awry, didn't they. This time, however, all will go as planned—no second reprieve for this woman."

He spoke so casually, with no more emotion than someone ordering cold cuts at a deli. Yet the Oculus sensed a mix of hunger and malicious glee bubbling beneath the fagade.

But he had no time to wonder why. His brain buzzed with the question of how Rasalom knew about the woman and that the Ally had marked her for death.

Unless…

His mind reeled at the possibility that the Otherness had sent those Alarms. The idea had occurred to him this morning but he'd discarded it as impossible. He had a direct link to the Ally, a dedicated line, so to speak.

But what if the Otherness had tapped in and sent a false Alarm?

What if this woman was being run down not at the Ally's behest, but at its expense?

And he had been the instrument.

Why me?

"I'm sure you have a thousand questions," Rasalom said. "We have some time, so why not pass it with a few explanations. Not a Q and A, I fear. More of a soliloquy. What I'm going to tell you will upset you, make you doubt yourself and your calling, but that's all to the good. It will serve as an appetizer to what is to come."

The Oculus knew many things could upset him, but nothing could make him doubt himself and his calling.

But as Rasalom told his tale, he realized he was wrong.

18

The WALK sign flashed the go-ahead green to cross 58th. Gia was just stepping off the curb when she heard a voice calling from somewhere behind.

"Miss! Oh, Miss!" Calling her?

She turned and saw Dov, the owner of Kosher Nosh, hurrying toward her, waving his arms.

Had she forgotten something?

"Phone call!" he said, pointing back toward the deli. "Emergency phone call!"

Emergency? Who—?

Her chest tightened as the possibilities raced through her mind. Had something happened to her parents? No, they wouldn't know about Kosher Nosh. Only Jack knew of her fondness for the place, and no one in her family had a way to contact him.

It had to be Jack.

She signaled to Dov that she'd heard him, then turned to take Vicky back. She was surprised to see her a third of the way across the street, her nose in her new book. Probably thought she was right behind her.

Then things began to happen.

Hearing the roar of a big engine…

… turning to see a truck of some sort running the red light and bearing down on Vicky…

… seeing the hulking shadow behind the wheel…

… realizing he wasn't going to stop…

… knowing Vicky was going to be hit and nothing she could do would change that…

… leaping into the street…

… pushing Vicky to get her out of harm's way…

… seeing the truck's grille rushing at her…

… feeling an instant of awful, bone-crushing impact…

Then nothing.