“Fakes? Do you really think so?”
“Most of them,” Bloxham said, wallowing in the ill-deserved role of expert. “There may have been one or two, I suppose, who knew what they were doing.”
“Have you ever been tempted?” Charlotte asked him, slipping her arm through the crook of his as they went.
“To do what?”
“To see if any of it’s worth a damn. To try raising a familiar or crossing into the Dominions.”
He looked at her with genuine astonishment. “That’s against every precept of the Society,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked” she replied, almost curtly. “I said, Have you ever been tempted?”
“My father taught me that any dealings with the Imajica would put my soul in jeopardy.”
“Mine said the same. But I think he regretted not finding out for himself at the end. I mean, if there’s no truth in it, then there’s no harm.”
“Oh, I believe there’s truth in it,” Bloxham said.
“You believe there are other Dominions?”
“You saw that damn creature Godolphin cut up in front of us.”
“I saw a species I hadn’t seen before, that’s all.” She stopped and arbitrarily plucked a book from the shelves. “But I wonder sometimes if the fortress we’re guarding isn’t empty.” She opened the book, and a lock of hair fell from it. “Maybe it’s all invention,” she said. “Drug dreams and fancy.” She put the book back on the shelf and turned to face Bloxham. “Did you really invite me down here to check the security?” she murmured. “I’m going to be damn disappointed if you did.”
“Not entirely,” he said.
“Good,” she replied, and wandered on, deeper into the maze.
Though Jude had been invited to a number of New Year’s Eve parties, she’d made no firm commitment to attend any of them, for which fact, after the sorrows the day had brought, she was thankful. She’d offered to stay with Clem once Taylor’s body had been taken from the house, but he’d quietly declined, saying that he needed the time alone. He was comforted to know she’d be at the other end of the telephone if he needed her, however, and said he’d call if he got too maudlin.
One of the parties she’d been invited to was at the house opposite her flat, and on the evidence of past years it would raise quite a din. She’d several times been one of the celebrants there herself, but it was no great hardship to be alone tonight. She was in no mood to trust the future, if what the New Year brought was more of what the old had offered.
She closed the curtains in the hope that her presence would go undetected, lit some candles, put on a flute concerto, and started to prepare something light for supper. As she washed her hands, she found that her fingers and palms had taken on a light dusting of color from the stone. She’d caught herself toying with it several times during the afternoon, and pocketed it, only to find minutes later that it was once again in her hands. Why the color it had left behind had escaped her until now, she didn’t know. She rubbed her hands briskly beneath the tap to wash the dust off, but when she came to dry them found the color was actually brighter. She went into the bathroom to study the phenomenon under a more intense light. It wasn’t, as she’d first thought, dust. The pigment seemed to be in her skin, like a henna stain. Nor was it confined to her palms. It had spread to her wrists, where she was sure her flesh hadn’t come in contact with the stone. She took off her blouse and to her shock discovered there were irregular patches of color at her elbows as well. She started talking to herself, which she always did when she was confounded by something.
“What the hell is this? I’m turning blue? This is ridiculous.”
Ridiculous, maybe, but none too funny. There was a crawl of panic in her stomach. Had she caught some disease from the stone? Was that why Estabrook had wrapped it up so carefully and hidden it away?