What the Night Knows (18 page)

In the library, Zach and Naomi and Minnie sat at different tables, and Leonid Sinyavski cycled from one to the other, providing different levels of instruction, yet making them feel as though they were a class of equals.

Math was a sport to Zachary. The problems were games to be won. And good math skills would be crucial if he became a marine sniper targeting bad guys at two thousand yards. Even if he didn’t qualify for sniper training or if he decided against it, military strategy was intellectually demanding, and knowledge of higher mathematics would always be super-useful no matter what his specialty.

He liked Professor Sinyavski: the cartoony white hair bristling every which way, those bizarro eyebrows like huge furry caterpillars predicting a hard winter, the rubbery face and the exaggerated expressions meant to drive a point home, the way he made you feel smart even when you were stuck in stupid. But this time Zach couldn’t concentrate on geometry. He wished away the two-hour session with such intensity that of course it crawled past like twenty hours.

All that he could think about was the encounter in the service mezzanine. The bent shank of the fork. The braided tines. The low, hoarse whisper:
I know you, boy, I know you now
.

The incident either happened or it didn’t.

If it happened, some godawful supernatural presence lurked in the mezzanine. No real person could be stabbed and not bleed. No real
person could twist the stainless-steel prongs of a big old meat fork as if they were blades of grass.

If it
didn’t
happen, then Zach must be mentally ill.

He didn’t believe he could be flat-out insane. He didn’t wear an aluminum-foil hat to prevent telepathic aliens from reading his thoughts, he didn’t eat live bugs—or dead ones, either—and he didn’t think God was talking to him and telling him to kill everyone he saw who wore blue socks or something. At worst, he might be having delusions, moments of delirium, like because of some stupid blood-chemistry imbalance. If that was true, he wasn’t really even halfway nuts, he was just the screwed-up victim of a medical condition, and no danger to anyone except maybe to himself.

The damaged meat fork seemed to disprove the delusion theory. Unless he imagined the fork along with everything else.

To accept the supernatural explanation would be to acknowledge that there were things you couldn’t deal with no matter how strong and smart and brave and well-trained in the art of self-defense you might become. Zach loathed admitting such a thing.

But to accept the mental-illness explanation, he would have to admit a similar and even more distressing fact: that no matter how smart and courageous and well-intentioned you were, there was always a chance that you would not become the person you envisioned yourself being, because your own mind or body could fail you.

In either case, a supernatural invasion of the service mezzanine or some half-assed madness, sooner or later he would need to have a conversation with his parents about the situation, which was dead sure to be almost as just-kill-me-now mortifying as the conversation he had with his dad about sex a year or so previously.

Before he sat down with his folks to reveal that he was either a
superstitious idiot or a foaming-at-the-mouth lunatic in the making, Zach wanted to think further about what had happened. Maybe he would arrive at a
third
explanation that would obviously be the correct one and that would spare him embarrassment.

To make a point, Professor Sinyavski pulled a small red ball from Minnie’s left ear, turned it into a trio of green balls in front of their eyes, and juggled the three until somehow they all became yellow without anyone noticing when it happened.

To Zachary, this kind of prestidigitation no longer qualified as magic. His world had changed a little while earlier; and now reality encompassed things that once seemed impossible.

Naomi doubted that any human being really understood math, they simply all pretended to have it down pat, when in truth they were every bit as confused by it as she was. Math was nothing but a giant hoax, and everyone participated in it, everyone
faked
a belief in math so they could be done with the hideous classes and the drudgery of the hateful homework and get on with life. The sun came up every morning, so the sun was real, and every time you inhaled you got the air you needed, so the atmosphere was obviously real, but half the time when you tried to use math to solve the simplest problem, the math absolutely
would not work
, which meant that it couldn’t be real like the sun and the atmosphere. Math was a waste of time.

Not only was math a waste of time, it was also immensely boring, so she pretended to understand what dear Professor Sinyavski prattled on about,
and
she pretended actually to listen to the sweet man. Mostly she had him bamboozled, which suggested a future as an actress might indeed be in her cards. While she handily deceived the genius Russian into believing he had her attention, Naomi actually
thought about the enchanted mirror they had secreted in the storage room, and she wondered if they had been too hasty about removing it from their bedroom.

I know you now, my ignorant little bitch
.

In memory, as clear as anything on a CD, she could hear the creepy voice that had spoken to her and to her alone, and it still scared her. But she realized now that she should not have judged the nature of the entire vast and fabulous land beyond the mirror from evidence consisting of merely eight words spoken by a perhaps evil but certainly rude individual. There were many rude people on this side of the looking glass, too, and evil ones, but this entire world wasn’t rude and evil. If a magic kingdom truly waited beyond the mirror—a real magic kingdom, not just another Disney World—it would be populated by all kinds of people, good and bad. She had probably heard the voice of a wicked wizard, perhaps the sworn archenemy of the kingdom’s good and noble prince, in which case he had probably spoken to her with the sole intention of scaring her off, chasing her away from the prince, who needed her at his side, and from her glorious destiny.

For more years than she could remember, for
eons
, Naomi dreamed of finding a doorway to a more magical world than this one, and now that she finally discovered precisely such a portal, she allowed a typical eight-year-old booby with a still-developing brain to spook her from pursuing the adventure for which she’d been born. You had to be so careful with peewee siblings. In spite of their laughable big-baby ways, they could be so convincing that they infected you with fraidy-cat flu before you realized it was contagious.

Later, this evening, after Minnie went to sleep and could no longer spread her plague of panic, Naomi would return to the storage room to investigate the mirror further. She wouldn’t try to step into it or
reach through it. She wouldn’t even touch it. But she owed it to herself, to her future, to see if she could contact the prince who might wait for her in the world beyond. The wizard—or whatever he might be—had essentially phoned her through the mirror, and she had received his call. Maybe if she placed the call, if she faced the mirror and asked for the prince, for the rightful ruler of that land, he would speak to her, and her life of great magic would begin.

Minnie could see that Naomi schemed at something. She could tell that Zach worried about something.

Some kind of big trouble was coming. Minnie wished that good old Willard, the best dog ever, were still alive.

26

THE INTERIOR OF THE LUCAS RESIDENCE SEEMED LESS BRIGHT than it should have been, as though the sin of murder so thickened the air that sunshine could pierce only inches past the windowpanes.

Room by room, John turned on every light for which he could find a wall switch. He could not bear to tour the house in shadows again.

The living room, converted to a bedroom for wheelchair-bound Sandra, had not interested him before because no one had been killed there. Now he circled through it in search of items that might have been purchased at Piper’s Gallery, and he found them everywhere.

On her nightstand stood a crystal cat. In a semicircle around the animal were three green candles of a kind sold by Annalena.

The nightstand drawer contained a dozen bottles of various herbs in capsule form. There were sticks of incense, a porcelain holder in which to fix them, and a box of wooden matches.

John saw the corner of something dark protruding from between Sandra’s two bed pillows. A red sachet plump with a perfumed cloth.

He assumed the sachet would smell sweet, but the scent proved to be faint and vaguely unpleasant. He could not identify the fragrance,
and the more often that he held it to his nose to inhale, the more his stomach turned with incipient nausea.

Bookshelves surrounded a fireplace above which a flat-screen TV was mounted. Instead of books, the shelves held crystal cats of different kinds, crystal spheres and obelisks.

The Lucases owned two real cats that had fled the murder house on the night: British spotted shorthairs named Posh and Fluff.

On an end table stood a geode, its hard black crust filled with red crystal spears. In the shop, it would have dazzled, but here it looked like a snarling maw bristling with hundreds of bloody teeth.

What had sparkled in the Fourth Avenue store instead darkled in this house. What had been cheerful there had here become cheerless.

Across the width of the mantel were clear-glass cups holding fat candles, most of them green, a few blue, and one black.

Elsewhere on the ground floor, he found Piper’s Gallery items in the kitchen. A pantry shelf crammed full of double-stacked jars of exotic dried herbs. A crystal sphere on a redwood stand at the center of the dinette table, three half-melted candles encircling it.

In the study, where Robert Lucas was murdered with a hammer, there were no candles or crystal pieces, nothing from the gallery.

Upstairs, the grandmother’s room was also free of Annalena’s merchandise.

John dreaded returning to Celine’s room, where to his mind’s ear the bed was as saturated with screams as with blood. But he needed to know if she possessed items from Piper’s Gallery. He would have overlooked them on his previous visit, unaware that they might be significant.

He found nothing, and he was further convinced that the calla lilies had been left there by Billy after he rang them over his sister’s corpse. Celine was his fourth and final victim.

In Billy’s room, among the shelves of paperbacks nestled a pair of crystal lizards—one green, one clear—and a blue obelisk. On his nightstand a volcanic-rock geode featured deposited purple crystals of amethyst. A pair of three-inch-diameter scented blue candles in glass holders stood on his desk.

None of those things had seemed significant before. Now they intrigued John.

Apparently only the disabled mother, Sandra, and her son—who supposedly adored her—had bought in to Annalena’s theory of natural therapies that would help them to “prosper in all ways.”

This mattered, but John could see no reason that it should. He sensed that these objects had not brought the Lucases into greater harmony with nature but, to the contrary, had in some mysterious way endangered them. If he could discover
why
that was true, he would better understand the threat to Nicky and the kids, and he would have more hope of protecting them. His intuition told him as much, and intuition never failed him.

Throughout this second search of the house, he half expected to hear the silvery ringing of the calla-lily bells. The sound did not arise, perhaps because the entity that came with him from the state hospital the previous day was no longer his fellow traveler, but waited for him at home.

As John pored through the boy’s desk drawers again, a voice that was not otherworldly said, “Breaking and entering, Calvino?”

27

KEN SHARP WAS ONE OF THE DETECTIVES WHO HAD CAUGHT the Lucas call. The case belonged to him and his partner, Sam Tanner, and of everyone in Robbery-Homicide, they were the most jealous of their turf.