"I thought that was settled," Hiram interrupted. "It was that ace-of-spades fellow. The psychopath who tried to steal those stamps from us that night in the Crystal Palace."

"Yeah, well, I don't think it was him," Jay said.

Hiram cleared his throat noncommittally, then said, "You're the sleuth, but I think you're wasting your time."

"It won't be the first time," Jay admitted. "Hiram, listen to me, and be careful what you say. Little politicos have big ears. Before she died, Chrysalis hired an assassin to kill Leo Barnett. He's probably in Atlanta already."

For a long moment there was nothing on the phone but the sound of Hartmann staffers shouting strategy into walkietalkies. Then, in a hoarse voice, Hiram finally managed, "Barnett? Are you sure?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Jay said. "Barnett's the candidate who wants to put jokers in concentration camps. Chrysalis was a joker. Last time I looked, two plus two still added up to four." Or did it? Assassinate Barnett and you might just guarantee the triumph of Barnett's ideas.

Hadn't Chrysalis been more subtle than that? Maybe two plus two equaled… what?

Hiram was talking. "… Barnett's done everything he can to emasculate the jokers' rights plank. I deplore everything the man stands for, but assassination can't be tolerated. Jay, you have to go to the authorities."

"Oh, that'd be real good," Jay said. "Just tell them that two jokers conspired to send an assassin, who's probably an ace, to knock off Leo Barnett because they didn't like his politics. Once the press gets wind of that, you might as well just inaugurate the fucker, save us from all those campaign commercials."

"God," Hiram swore. He was whispering now. "You're right, of course. Jay, what are we going to do?"

"Somehow we have to keep Barnett alive without blowing the lid off this story. I'll leave the details up to you."

"Thanks," Hiram said dryly. "Ever so much."

"Get help," Jay said. "Someone you can trust. Tachyon, maybe. Be subtle, but be careful, too. See if you can come up with some way to tighten security around Barnett."

"Around all the candidates," Hiram suggested. "Fine," Jay said. "I'll keep digging on this end."

"Jay, listen to me, you'd be more valuable down here. Chrysalis is dead, this quixotic investigation of yours won't bring her back. Start your meter and catch the next flight to Atlanta. I'm hiring you. I'll want you to be Senator Hartmann's bodyguard."

"The last body I was supposed to guard wound up short a head," Jay pointed out. "Besides, I thought each candidate had a government ace assigned to baby-sit?"

"Carnifex is an incompetent braggart," Hiram said. "Nothing more than a street brawler, really, and not terribly bright. I have more faith in the Secret Service, but they're only men. At least Barnett has Lady Black attached to him, but Gregg is terribly vulnerable. We need your help, Jay."

"Yeah, well, get in line," Jay said. "Hiram, I got to go. I'll keep in touch. Be careful. Do what you can."

"Popinjay, will you listen to reason for once?"Hiram insisted.

"Nah," Jay said, "it might become a habit." He hung up before Hiram could reply, and headed for the door.

No sooner did he step out of the office than the phone started ringing behind him. Jay leaned back against the office door and counted the rings. Hiram didn't give up easily, he had to give him that. On the ninth ring, he sighed, went back into the darkened office, and scooped up the phone. "Look, Hiram," he said, "I'm not going to Atlanta, goddamn it. If Senator Gregg needs another baby-sitter, do it yourself, you can't just-"

"My archer needs help," a woman's voice said quietly on the other end of the line.

A cold chill went up Jay's spine. He knew that voice. The timbre of it, the cadences, the crisp British accent. "Chrysalis?" he said, in a stunned whisper.

"Go to him," Chrysalis said. "Before it's too late."

"You're dead," he said hoarsely. Standing in the dark, the phone clutched in a sweaty hand, Jay suddenly felt like the world had been pulled out from under his feet.

"The eskimo…" Chrysalis began.

"The eskimo?" Jay interrupted. This was getting weirder and weirder; he felt like he'd slipped down a rabbit hole. Chrysalis was lying dead in her coffin a few rooms away, and here she was on the phone talking to him about eskimos. All of a sudden he got real suspicious. "Who the hell is this anyway?" he asked.

There was a long silence. "Chrysalis," the voice said at last.

It sure as hell sounded like her. "My God," Jay said with all the awe he could muster. "You're alive. My darling… my lover… is it really you, sweet one?"

Another hesitation. "Yes," the voice whispered at last. "It's me, darling. Listen. You must save my archer, he-"

"Yeah, I know, he's been kidnapped by eskimos," Jay said. "Maybe you think this is funny, but I don't. You do a damn good impression, but you're not Chrysalis. So why don't you take your eskimos, put Prince Albert back in the can, and go fuck yourself, okay?" He slammed down the receiver so hard it rang.,

Then he sat there in the dark for a long time, fuming, staring at the phone, daring it to ring again. It stayed silent.

9:00 P.M.

Ann-Marie was eight months pregnant with their child. They made love slowly and gently, Brennan kneeling before her, Ann-Marie lying on her side with one leg straight out, the other drawn upward. She was a slight, slim woman, now swollen to ripeness with the child in her womb. Her small breasts were heavy with milk, their nipples dark, pointed, and excruciatingly sensitive to the touch of his fingertips, the caress of his lips. Her face favored her Vietnamese ancestry more than her French, and she was beautiful, beautiful and hungry for Brennan's touch.

They made love in languorous slow motion, every minute movement of their bodies perfectly mated in rhythm and cadence, and as they made love Ann-Marie changed. Brennan watched her skin fade and flesh disappear, until he could see the network of blood vessels that laced throughout her body, and the bones and organs underneath their son in her womb. Then the baby melted away and changed and Ann-Marie did, too. She became larger, stronger, with wider hips and larger breasts, invisible but for the veins coursing through them and their dark nipples. Somehow they'd changed positions and Brennan was on his back and Chrysalis was atop him, dreamy passion on her enigmatic face, her nipples bobbing on their invisible pads of flesh as she rode Brennan, grinding her pelvis against his in long, slow, hard strokes that made him groan with each thrust.

He reached out to grasp her warm, soft invisible breasts, and they faded like smoke. Chrysalis slowly vanished, but he could still feel her warmth and wetness on his loins, and then like a ghost she slowly coalesced again, but her flesh was opaque, her breasts were small and hard, her body long, lean, and muscular.

"Jennifer," Brennan whispered, and she smiled sadly at him and pulled away, taking all her warmth and leaving him alone and naked. He wept as the pain of her leaving stung him again and again and she slowly faded from his sight in a haze of anguish and tears.

He squinted through the blur. There was a face swimming in the mist, peering closely at him.

"Jennifer," he croaked. His lips were dry, his throat tight and choked.

"About time you woke up," the face said in a naggingly familiar voice. "Let's see if we can bring you all the way out of it."

Brennan couldn't move his arms or legs, but he still had feeling in them. He felt the man grab his upper arm, and then pain shot through it as needles lanced into his flesh in what felt like three or four separate places. Brennan opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't get his tongue or lips to work together. He mumbled something unintelligible, not even understanding himself what he was trying to say. A moment or two passed and suddenly Brennan felt his heart starting to beat faster and faster. His vision cycled in and out, from misty to excruciatingly clear focus, pulsing like a strobe light. He wanted to stand, to shout, to run, but realized suddenly that he was bound in a chair with leather straps. He wrenched at the straps, but they were strong. He gritted his teeth and yanked back and forth, but the chair wouldn't budge and the leather straps only cut into his flesh. He howled, panting in savage, unreasonable rage. He had to stand up and the goddamned chair wouldn't let him! He'd get free, he had to! He concentrated all his strength in his right arm and yanked again and again, trying to pull free. He felt blood run down his arm, but he only redoubled his efforts.