And If Thou Wilt, Forget

The shop reminded Tim of the Night Market, except that everything seemed to be exactly what it was. Granted, “exactly what it was” constituted a wide variety of oddities, curios, and esoteric objects, ranging from a signed poster of Harry Houdini to a Victorian testicle massager to a whole shelf full of eyeballs in glycerin, but it was at least honest in terms of labeling. And the two women who ran the shop were happy to tell them about anything they asked about, which was both a refreshing change and suggested a relative degree of normalcy.

Gertrude’s warnings about Elias made him a little leery of the eyeballs, though.

“Yes,” he said in response to the teasing smile he was getting from the first of the two proprietors. “I am very sure you can’t interest me in a haunted clown doll. It’s not a work-related expense. Artifact Storage is a completely different department than the Archives.”

“Oh, it’s not actually haunted,” the woman, who had said her name was Janet, assured him. “Or at least we don’t have any kind of provenance saying it is. It just looked so creepy we started calling it the Haunted Clown.”

Tim hummed as he eyed the doll. It looked way too similar to Joseph Grimaldi, save that it had black diamonds around its eyes instead of the red tears Grimaldi had been famed for, and he hated it very much. It could have been innocent…or it could have been the best lead they’d gotten on this whole damn trip, which was saying something, since it was the middle of March. He definitely wasn’t going to purchase it, though. “Where did you get it?”

“One of our regular sources offered it to us as a bonus when we bought that off of him.” Jojo, the other proprietor, pointed to a framed poster. “He said it gave him the heebie-jeebies and that if we didn’t take it, he was going to mail it to one of his relatives that he didn’t like. His partner said that would be a pretty long list.”

Tim looked—and felt a chill run down his spine as he recognized a full-size version of the same flyer he had found himself holding in front of the Royal Opera House less than two years ago. It was in color rather than black and white, and it didn’t have the Cyrillic writing all over it—he’d always thought that was more in the way of being notes than anything—but other than that, it was identical, down to the clown’s face peering up at him from just above the frame. His hand curled into a fist automatically. Punching it would probably not do anything other than cost him a lot of money, but God help him, he wanted to. Badly.

Gerry came up behind him and placed a hand on the flat of his back, gently supportive, but didn’t say anything, just let Tim take the lead. Tim leaned back into his partner’s hand and took a breath before turning back to Jojo. “Where did he get it, do you know? I’d, uh—this circus is kind of a specialty of mine.”

Janet and Jojo looked at one another, then seemed to come to some kind of decision. Janet was the one who spoke. “You would have to ask him. If he didn’t get it directly from the original owner, or from someone who would add to the value because they’d owned it, he doesn’t always include that in the details.”

“Do you think he’d talk to us?” Gerry’s voice was soft, but hopeful; even Tim couldn’t tell if that was put on or not. “Not like we’re cops or anything.”

Jojo tilted her head at him skeptically. Tim was about to cave and offer to call Gertrude to verify their story when she said, “Well, if you are, just go to Central and ask to speak to Detective Montoya first. But yes, I’m sure he’ll talk to you.” She reached behind the counter, pulled out a business card from a rack there, and handed it to Gerry.

Gerry studied the card, then tilted it towards Tim. The logo was simple, a black bird with a gleam in its eye, clutching a banner that read POTTER’S FIELD above an address and phone number. At the very bottom was small text that read Rook Stevens, proprietor.

“Rook Stevens?” Tim repeated, his mood lightening slightly. It couldn’t be that common of a name. “I think I know him.”

Gerry gave an indulgent sigh, and Tim could feel him roll his eyes. “Of course you do.” To Janet and Jojo, he added, “Tim knows everybody.”

“Then I’m definitely sure he’ll talk to you, Skippy.” Janet laughed. Tim, who knew that joke, laughed too. “Tell him we said hello. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him.”

“We will. Thank you so much, ma’am.” Tim shook both women’s hands, and the two of them left the shop.

Their rental car waited on the curb; Tim, who was more comfortable driving on the wrong side of the road than Gerry was, slid behind the wheel. “Want to navigate?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Gerry fished the paper map of Los Angeles out of the side pocket and unfolded it. They tried to leave as little of a digital footprint as they could, so usually avoided GPS whenever possible. “What’s the address?”

The late afternoon was warmer than Tim was used to for the beginning of March, but not so hot that they needed the air conditioner. In fact, it was a perfect day to ride around in a convertible with the top down, so after confirming that Gerry would be able to hold onto the map if he did, Tim folded back the roof and donned a pair of sunglasses before stepping on the gas and pulling away from the curb.

“So when was the last time you were in Los Angeles?” Gerry asked as they hit a stretch of road that would take them straight for a while before he had to navigate further.

“Never.” Tim shot Gerry a grin at his disbelieving scoff. “No, really. I’ve been to the San Joaquin Valley, but that’s about six hours north of here. And, well, we flew into San Francisco, so we went to Fisherman’s Wharf while we were there. It’s like the Navy Pier, it’s one of those things you just have to do.”

“What were you in San Joaquin for, then?”

“Nonno owned a quarter share in a vineyard that grew Emerald Riesling. He’d heard reports that the glassy-winged sharpshooter was spreading to California and he got anxious, and his English was rocky, so he asked if we’d come along and help translate.”

Gerry hummed. “Good trip?”

Tim bit his lip, wondering how to answer that. Finally, he said, “Well, to start with, fully two thirds of the crop was lost. Nonno got into an argument, through Mum of course, with his partner about whether to sell it or try and rebuild. And in the middle of it, Danny saw a traveling carnival that was set up a couple farms over—guy was letting the fields lie fallow that year—and took it into his head to run away and join the circus.”

“Oh.” Gerry reached over and squeezed Tim’s thigh lightly. “You got him back, though.”

“Uh…actually, he convinced me to go with him,” Tim admitted. He couldn’t help but smile when Gerry laughed. His memories of Danny were still a bit of a minefield, but okay, this one was funny. “I was twelve, old enough to know better, but Danny was nine, and I knew that short of tying him up in the hotel room he was going to join that carnival one way or another, so I told him we would go together. He got bored less than a day later, which I’d figured he would—things didn’t hold his interest as long back then—but I pulled the big brother card and told him he had to give it a week before he gave it up.”

Gerry laughed harder. “How much trouble were you in?”

“Dad threatened to sell us both as midway prizes if we tried it again, but that was the worst of it. Probably would have been more if Mama and Zi’ Vincenzo hadn’t done the same thing when they were our age.”

“She talked him down?”

“No, Nonno did. To hear him talk, we were only gone a week, and we actually came back on our own instead of them having to chase us halfway across the country. Rook almost came with us, but, well, his mum came back right when we were getting ready to go and he didn’t want to leave her.”

“This would be the Rook Stevens we’re going to see? Take the next left,” Gerry added, finger tracing the length of their road as a sign flashed past.

Tim hit the blinker. “Yeah, that’s him. His mum was…I’m actually not sure what she did in the carnival, but she wasn’t there then. She’d gone off to get some cigarettes and hadn’t come back for a while. It was fine, the other carnies were looking after Rook, but I think he was kind of desperate for attention from kids his own age. Latched onto us.”

“How old was he?”

“Six or seven. He wasn’t sure. Tried to say he was ten, but I called him on that bullshit pretty quick. Knew his birthday was the first of April, though.”

Gerry shook his head, looking worried. “Little kids like that are probably at the most risk from the Fourteen. The Lonely especially, but any of them can get at them. You think he’s okay?”

Tim sighed. “I think he’s survived this long. I’m not taking bets on whether he’s come up on any of the Fears.”

A few more turns, and Tim spotted their destination—a shop in the middle of a street with a sign matching the banner on the business card. He found a place to park, put the top up, and made sure there was no one coming before climbing out of the car. He slid his sunglasses to the top of his head and looped his arm through Gerry’s. “Let’s go find out what kind of a place this is.”

The answer was obvious before they’d even walked through the door. Floor to ceiling windows displayed flashy toys, movie posters, cheap props, and a full-size soft-bodied sculpture that looked vaguely familiar. Gerry raised his eyebrow at it. “What the hell is that?”

“Not sure, but I think it’s from some sci-fi show or other.”

“If it comes to life, I’m setting it on fire.”

“Agreed. Let’s try to talk to Rook first, though.” Tim pushed the door open.

The bell jingled overhead. A round-faced man with thick, wavy silver hair and clothing that looked like it had been purchased from the same shop as Tim’s winter hat was going over something on a clipboard with the youngish-looking person standing behind the counter, and both looked up when Tim and Gerry entered. The older man smiled brightly. “Welcome to Potter’s Field. Let us know if there’s anything we can help you with.”

Tim matched the man’s smile—he hoped. “Hi! I really hope you can. I’m actually looking for Rook Stevens?”

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when the man’s smile slipped, just a little. “Do you have an appointment with him?”

“No, just an old friend in town for a few days.” Tim stuck a hand in his pocket and hoped he looked sufficiently nonthreatening.

“Jojo and Janet sent us,” Gerry said, helpfully waving the business card they’d been given. “We’re actually looking into something, but then Tim said he knew Rook. Maybe. Can’t be that common of a name, right?”

The two workers exchanged glances, and the older man continued to press. Tim got the impression he’d taken something of a fatherly interest in Rook Stevens. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Visited the San Joaquin area once, a while back.” Tim recalled something that might help. “Uh, if it helps, tell him it’s the Fuzzy Duckling guy.”

The man raised an eyebrow, but disappeared through a door that looked like the TARDIS. Gerry turned to Tim, looking like he was struggling not to laugh. “The Fuzzy Duckling guy?”

Tim had a feeling he was blushing. “It was Danny’s favorite book as a baby. I read it to him so many times that I had it memorized. Rook got his foot caught in the recoil from one of the midway games and I was trying to keep him still while they untangled him so he didn’t hurt himself. Must’ve recited that story six times, end to end, before he was free.”

A few moments later, the door opened, and the older man came through. Behind him was a long-limbed, lanky figure in an outfit not dissimilar to Gerry’s. Rook Stevens had been a cherubic urchin—or at least cherubic-looking—and had grown into an undeniably pretty man, with a roguish grin that reminded Tim painfully of Danny’s. His eyes were the same as he remembered, one green and the other hazel.

“Jesus, you got tall,” Tim blurted without thinking.

“Tall? Me?” Rook looked down at himself, then back up at Tim with a raised eyebrow. “How long’s it been since you saw me?”

Tim counted back. “About twenty years.”

“I was like seven years old. Did you think I was going to shrink?”

Gerry snorted. Tim grinned. “Same old Rook. I don’t know how well you remember me—”

“Well enough to remember the Fuzzy Duckling thing, but I don’t remember your name,” Rook interrupted. “Wait—Stoker. I remember that because I knew Dracula even back then and thought it was cool. Danny, right?”

“Tim. Danny was my younger brother.” Tim swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you, too.” Rook smiled like he meant it. “Manny also said you were looking into something? That JoJa sent you?”

Tim nodded. “They had a poster and a ‘haunted’ clown doll?”

“Oh, yeah, fuck that thing. Creeped me right out. Dante swore it wanted to eat his face.” Rook grimaced. “That’s the only one I had, though, so if you’re looking to buy it—”

“No,” Tim and Gerry said in unison. The kid behind the counter dropped his pen.

Gerry squeezed Tim’s hand lightly and explained to Rook, “We mostly just need to know where you got it. And if you know where it’s from. It might be trying to kill us.”

Under any other circumstances, that would have been an extremely inadvisable thing to say. Tim had to admit, though, that it was probably the right thing here. Rook gave a tuneless whistle. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Not even recently. Okay, I think I have that upstairs. Tell you what, why don’t you two come up? I’ll get the papers out and call for takeout, and we can catch up while we’re at it. That okay with you, Manny?”

“I keep telling you I have this, mijo.” The older man, presumably Manny, gave Rook a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Go on. Nice to meet you boys.”

“Nice to meet you, too, sir.” Tim shook Manny’s hand before following Rook through the blue build-out.

The other side of the door led to a short hallway leading to the outside alongside a flight of stairs. As Rook started up them, he tossed casually over his shoulder, “By the way, you didn’t introduce your guy here.”

“Oh, sorry. Rook Stevens, Gerard Delano.” In the months they’d been traveling, Gerry had more and more taken to using his father’s surname when he introduced himself. He’d confessed to Tim, staring into a mirror in a hotel bathroom in North Augusta, South Carolina, that the reason he’d chosen not to start dyeing his hair again—yet, anyway—was that it was the same color he remembered his dad’s being, and he was more and more starting to feel like Eric Delano’s son instead of Mary Keay’s. Tim was ready to support him no matter what he chose. He was just glad to see him happy and healthy. “We met at work. Kind of. Gerry doesn’t get paid for it.”

“What can I say, I’m a nosy bastard,” Gerry deadpanned. Rook laughed.

The apartment above the shop proved to be an open, airy loft, with enormous double doors. As Rook tugged them open, he explained, “This used to be a dance studio. No fucking clue why these doors are so thick, but it pays off sometimes. And it’s an easy commute to the shop, so what the hell. Come on in, get comfortable. I’ll put in an order. You like Thai?”

Half an hour later they were seated around a black lacquered kitchen table, papers spread out across them. Rook looked a bit sheepish as he discarded another stack. “I swear it’s all here. It’s just that I sold the whole lot, so I didn’t think I’d need it until tax time rolled around, and then it doesn’t have to be in any special order. I just give it all to my accountant, he gives me a number, and I pay it.”

“It’s fine,” Tim said for at least the third time. “It’s like a scavenger hunt, you know? Trust me, we do this sort of thing all the time. It’s fine.”

“What, sift through five years of receipts and shipping orders looking for random circus memorabilia?”

“Sometimes it’s antique medical equipment,” Gerry said, turning over one of the pages. “Seriously, though. Archival assistant. Tim spends half his life telling papers to make sense.”

Rook snorted. “What do you do the other half of the time?”

“Gallivant around the world charming people out of information they don’t know they have.” Tim took a swig of coffee.

The door to the loft swung open almost, but not quite, silently. “I know you’re a bottomless pit, cuervo, but did you mean to order this much food?”

Tim looked up to see a handsome man who would probably not look dissimilar to Manny when he got older, shrugging out of a brown jacket and clutching an outsize takeaway bag. He checked briefly at the sight of Tim and Gerry, but Rook was already greeting him with a bright smile. “Hey, babe. Good shift?”

“As good as they get.” The man resumed taking off his jacket and hung it on a hook, then bent to pick up the jacket Rook had casually tossed aside and hung it up as well. “You didn’t mention company when you asked me to pick up the Thai on my way home.”

“Yeah, forgot, sorry.” Rook shrugged, but Tim guessed he was completely unapologetic. “Tim’s an old friend of mine.”

“Old friend, huh?” The man’s attitude was casual, his smile never wavered. Still, under any other circumstances, Tim would have thought he was being measured up as a rival, a past lover come back to snatch Rook up again. But the holster and badge weren’t hard to miss, even as the man locked them up, and Rook bore all the hallmarks of a reformed thief, which meant that instead he was being judged by a cop as a former associate.

“Hutchinson’s Carnival,” he said, getting to his feet politely as the man came closer. “My brother and I ran away to join it and hung around with Rook for the week we were there. I’m Tim Stoker.”

The man relaxed infinitesimally—just enough for Tim to know that, yes, that was what he’d worried about. “Dante Montoya. It’s good to meet you.”

Gerry stood politely and introduced himself as well, and Dante shook hands with both of them. “What’s all this?” he asked, looking down at the papers spread across the kitchen table.

“You remember that box of circus stuff I got last fall?” Rook tilted his head back for a kiss. Dante hummed in evident affirmation. “These guys are looking for where I got it. It might be trying to kill them.”

Dante lifted an eyebrow at them. “The circus memorabilia, or the doll specifically?”

“No, the circus itself.” Tim thought about giving them everything, then decided that would be too much and dialed it back a little. “I work for the Magnus Institute in London. We investigate the paranormal and the supernatural and that kind of thing. My boss has me working a really big project involving the Circus of the Other—there are all kinds of spooky rumors about it—and honestly, that poster you sold to JoJa is the best lead we’ve had yet. I’m hoping that if we can trace where you got it from, we can get more information. Probably belonged to an expert, maybe even a former worker.”

Dante slid into the seat next to Rook and began helping them sift through the papers. “Let me help you get through this so we can eat.”

It was probably another twenty minutes before Dante triumphantly held up a receipt for six circus posters, a lion tamer’s whip, three riding girl costumes, a ringmaster’s top hat, two elephants (wooden), one tiger (cloth), and one Pierrot (cloth and porcelain, antique). Rook frowned at that last notation. “I don’t remember a parrot.”

“Pierrot. That’s your creepy clown doll,” Tim told him. “It’s an old tradition from the Commedia dell’Arte. The Pierrot was the straight man to the Harlequin, kind of stern and trying to temper Harlequin’s more lighthearted antics.”

“So like Abbott and Costello, then?” Rook handed Tim the papers that had been clipped to the receipt.

“No, they’re more the modern take on them. The Pierrot was sort of the precurser to the whiteface clown—Joseph Grimaldi developed that in the 1800s and introduced the Clown, who was a little harsher and meaner than Pierrot, as a foil to Harlequin. And since Pierrot and Harlequin were more stage characters and had spoken dialogue, when you went over to the circus and were pantomiming for a crowd rather than doing verbal jokes, you got the whiteface and the auguste, or the red clown. Bud Abbott would’ve been the whiteface and Lou Costello would’ve been the auguste.”

Rook raised an eyebrow. “How do you know all that? I was a carnie and I didn’t know all that.”

“I’ve…done a lot of research into clowns.” Tim glanced at Gerry, wondering how much to say. Finally, he admitted, “I know this is going to sound stupid, but a clown killed my brother.”

Something flickered through Dante’s eyes, just for a moment. Rook winced. “Dude, I’m sorry. Did they catch the one who did it?”

“He’s dead,” Tim said, which was true. Probably. Mostly. He really didn’t feel like getting into all that. Instead, he picked up the sheaf of paper with the detailed descriptions of the objects that had been in the lot.

Three of the posters had been from Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey, and were—surprisingly—valued less than the others; Tim guessed because they were more common; the other three were from the Russian Circus, a turn of the century Italian circus he didn’t recognize the name of, and of course the Circus of the Other. The whip and the cloth tiger had also come from the Circus of the Other, which made him a bit nervous, especially since Rook had mentioned he’d already sold everything in the lot. The remaining items were all Italian, and the Pierrot dated back to the eighteenth century.

“Seems like this guy was more interested in Italian circuses than Russian ones,” Gerry said, picking up one of the pages Tim had set aside.

Tim turned to the last page and shook his head. “The Italian ones were just easier for him to get to. Look.” He pointed at the address printed next to the seller’s name. “That’s in Sicily.”

“Shit, yeah, I forgot.” Rook snapped his fingers. “He was just visiting for a couple of weeks—with his friend, he said—and I remember the other guy didn’t speak much English, so he did all the talking. He asked if I ever bought circus stuff, and when I said yeah, he offered me the whole lot blind. Got a good deal on it, honestly. He shipped it to me about a month later.”

“A dead end, I suppose,” Dante said softly. “Going to be hard to talk to him, even if you can get to Italy.”

“I speak Italian.” Tim spoke absently as he reached into his pocket for his notebook and pen. Carefully, he copied out the name, address, and telephone number, then clipped the papers back together and handed them to Rook. “Thanks. That’s a big help, actually. From his notes, he definitely knows something about the circus we’re looking into, so it’s still the best lead we’ve had yet.”

Dante looked surprised. “You’re actually going to Italy?”

“It’s not that much more expensive than flying back to London would be,” Gerry pointed out. “And honestly, once we’re there, it’ll be cheaper getting back to London. Besides, it’s work-related.”

Rook changed the subject as they cleared off the table, and they spent a couple of hours catching up on the past twenty years over Thai and beers. Eventually they parted with a promise to meet for coffee and breakfast at a nearby diner the next morning before Dante went on shift, and Tim and Gerry headed for their car and the hotel they were staying in. Fortunately it wasn’t too far away, relatively speaking, but it still took almost a half hour in the traffic that permeated Los Angeles even well after dark.

Gerry waited until they were pulling up to their parking spot before he said, “So, I take it we’re off to Italy after breakfast.”

Tim turned off the car. “Maybe. I want to call Gertrude first.”

“Call her? She’ll think we’ve stumbled into the Unknowing itself and you’re asking for her help in stopping me from becoming part of it.”

“I know, but…” Tim struggled with how to explain it. “She trusts us. Everything up to this point has been me telling her where we’re going next and just…going. But Italy…fuck, even if the Venetian Carnival is over, that’s still going to be a tricky one. And you were telling me about that woman you met who’d been Marked by the Lonely in Genua a few years back. Besides, technically this has all been based in the United States. If we’re going to be traveling around Europe for any length of time, I’d rather clear it with her first.”

“Good point,” Gerry admitted. “That might put us off another day, though.”

Tim shook his head as he opened the door of the car. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“Wait, you’re calling her now? Tim!” Gerry cursed under his breath as he struggled out of his seatbelt and got out of the car, but he didn’t continue the argument until they had reached their room. “It’s the middle of the night. I know she keeps odd hours, but if you wake her up at midnight she will think it’s an emergency, and she’ll skin you alive.”

“It’s six in the morning, London time,” Tim pointed out. “She gets up by five. And we’re going to need to check out in the morning before breakfast if we’re leaving tomorrow. I just…don’t want to wait on this one. It feels important. It honestly feels like the best lead we’ve had so far.”

“Good point,” Gerry admitted. “Okay, go ahead.”

Tim sat down at the tiny table, pulled out his cell phone, and added the additional steps to call an international number. He waited while the call connected, twisting his ring idly around his finger. He wasn’t surprised when Gertrude answered on the second ring, sounding as alert and aware as ever. “Tim. What is it?”

“Think we’ve got a lead, boss,” Tim said seriously. “Best one we’ve had yet. We found a guy who knew a guy who bought a lot of circus stuff from a guy in Italy. We were going to go out there and have a look around, but…I wanted to clear it with you first.”

Gertrude was silent for a long moment. “Tell me what you have.”

Tim did. He trusted that Gertrude wouldn’t ask him for that information if she thought there was a risk of being overheard, or it getting out dangerously, so he laid everything out for her—the poster, the memorabilia, the address in Sicily—even though he didn’t feel the slight prickle of static he was accustomed to on the rare occasions when she attempted to compel someone. He could hear the faint clicking of keyboard keys in the background, but otherwise, she was quiet as he explained.

“How familiar are you with the area of the address?” she asked when he was finished.

“Pretty familiar. The family vineyard is only about twenty or thirty miles away, and I spent a good few summers there. And I know circuses used to come through there at least occasionally, since my mum and her brother ran away with one once.” Tim drummed his fingers lightly on the tabletop. “It’s not anywhere near Venice, so even if there were lingering issues from the Carnival, we should be well away from them.”

“If you do need to go to Venice, take precautions. And do keep an eye out for any other of the Fourteen you notice stirring. Remember that a higher concentration of encounters in a short period of time is likely to be indicative of a gathering power, which is why you’ve also seen more Dark statements.”

“You think they’re going to go first?”

“It’s possible. No more than that. If I hear anything, I will reach out to you, as previously promised. For now…I’m keeping an eye on a few things. I need you to stay on the trail of the Dance.”

“That reminds me—should we be looking into ballet companies, too? I figure that when you say ‘dance’ you’re not talking about ballroom.”

There was another pause from Gertrude. Tim flexed his hand slowly to alleviate the swelling he’d begun feeling sometimes after periods of inactivity—it must be something he’d had trouble with for years, but the only reason he noticed it was the way his ring sometimes felt randomly too tight—as he waited for her to answer. At last, she spoke in a careful sort of voice. “I’m not sure how much information you think I have about something literally called the ‘Unknowing’, Tim.”

“I thought that was about making the world unknown, but I take your point,” Tim allowed. “Anyway, if you’re fine with us going to Italy—which I assume you are, even though you haven’t said so outright—depending on how much time we have before our flight out tomorrow, maybe we’ll stop by the ballet company in town and see if there’s been anything odd going on around there.”

“Your flight leaves at five-thirty P.M. Pacific standard time tomorrow, and I’ve booked you into a bed and breakfast in Messina for the day after,” Gertrude replied. “The details should be in your email shortly. If I am the one asking for reimbursement on this one, it will seem less like you’re using Institute funds to visit your grandfather.”

Tim grinned. The old bat thought of everything. “Thanks. I’ll send you a follow-up written report here in a few minutes as usual.”

“Please do. And Tim—do take care of yourselves.” Gertrude’s voice, unaccustomedly, softened slightly. “I should hate for anything to happen to you.”

“We will,” Tim said seriously. He recognized what a big deal it was that she even brought that up. “You, too, okay? We don’t want anything to happen to you either.”

“You have my word. I’m old enough that I’ve developed the habit of living, and I’m too set in my ways to give it up now,” Gertrude said with dry humor. “I’ll be looking for your report. Let me know when you’ve arrived in Messina.”

She hung up without further pleasantries.

Tim set down his phone and reached for his laptop, smiling over at Gerry. “We’re good to go. She’s already made all the arrangements for us. We leave tomorrow night.”

Gerry nodded. “What was that about dancing?”

“The Unknowing. Another name for it is the Dance. She didn’t tell you that?”

“Never came up, I guess. So yeah, I guess we’re stopping by the Los Angeles Ballet tomorrow?”

“And the opera, I think, if we can get both in. I just want to see.” Tim pulled up his email to see the tickets waiting for them. “Meanwhile, let me get this report to her, and then we can get some sleep. I think we’re going to need it.”