I gave him one of my gray contact lenses for camouflage until he could buy some brown sets. Ric accepted my vague excuse of a “small anomaly” because he knew I was too heartsick to explain anything. He should always carry spares, I told him, because of his active lifestyle.

“You mean fighting zombies and mummies and vampires and werewolves and assorted other supernaturals?”

I nodded.

“And then there’s you and me in bed.”

My smile was faint, although I did wonder if his silver iris would affect any intimate action too.

“Seriously, we need to discuss this eye thing of mine,” he murmured after kissing me good night on the cottage steps like the prom date I’d never had, sweet and simple.

I nodded, too weary to speak, and he kissed me again.

The cottage seemed unbearably empty, but I’d asked for that. I stopped at the mantel, cupped my hands around Achilles’ vase, and laid my cheek against the sandblasted five-toed imperial dragon on the slick black surface.

“I don’t even have a vase for Quicksilver,” I whimpered aloud.

Lord! That was lame! The cottage’s many helpers remained undercover. Upstairs, I changed my indestructible patent-leather catsuit for a roomy tee and went to bed. When I couldn’t sleep after an hour, I called the main house.

“Miss Delilah!” Godfrey answered. I guess CinSims never sleep. “We were worried by your long absence and much relieved to see Mr. Montoya bring you home safe.”

Nightwine and his obsessive security and voyeur issues!

“‘Safe’ is a shaky concept, Godfrey.”

“Ahem, yes, indeed. Mr. Nightwine was about to have his three A.M. cup of cocoa. Is it possible you’d care to join him?”

“Cocoa? Nightwine? What is it really, Godfrey?”

“I don’t know, Miss, but I would ensure that you get the finest Colombian cocoa.”

“I don’t know. I’m not in a… good mood.”

“What a pity, Miss.”

“I would like to see you.”

“As I you. You’re always a welcome sight.”

“Godfrey. Quicksilver is gone.”

There I was, gone again myself, with the silence long enough for Godfrey to sense my strangled sobs.

“I will instruct my master to be… careful. He is really a lonely individual, you know. Always outside looking in.”

I was still alert enough to notice that Godfrey had not called Hector Nightwine a “man.” A lonely man. It was a common phrase. Of course, Godfrey was a proper butler and tended to formal phrases.

Still…

Where I couldn’t in good conscience keep Ric up late tending my wallowing state, I had no trouble bothering Nightwine. In fact I’d enjoyed it, back when I’d been able to enjoy anything. There I went again! I needed to knock myself out of this depression if I was going to look for Quicksilver in the morning.

I dressed in a gray workout outfit and slipped across the dark yard, not looking toward Sunset Road. Godfrey met me at the kitchen door, still attired in his butler’s eternal white tie and tails.

Can you say a guy looks radiant? Maybe, if he’s a CinSim. That silver nitrite they used in the process of making the classic black-and-white films offered a vibrant array of silvers and grays along with deep, dark black. To Depression-era audiences of the 1930s it whispered “security” and “elegance.”

Okay, maybe Godfrey wasn’t “radiant.” With his slightly wavy hair and pencil-thin mustache and evening dress, he was elegant, though.

“I am most distraught to learn that Master Quicksilver is absent without leave, Miss Street,” he said immediately. “I am sure that all involved will correct that situation as soon as possible.”

“I intend to tear this town apart looking for him and Ric will too, but Quick plunged down a pit underneath the Karnak Hotel in defense of my life, and it doesn’t look good.”

“A pit? Pish. A mere sidewalk crack for a canine-lupine of Master Quicksilver’s brain and heart. You mark my words, Miss Street, he will return from his misadventure smarter and stronger than before.”

“You’re not talking any miraculous return over the Rainbow Bridge?” I asked suspiciously.

“Rainbow Bridge? Far too tame an exit for the likes of him. Or you, I think.”

“Hmph.” I wanted to snivel but Godfrey was so bracingly sensible and formal that self-pity just didn’t work in his presence.

Which was good. I hated self-pity. I just couldn’t accept losing another dog who’d died in my defense. And I wouldn’t now.

“The master is awaiting you in the study.”

Nightwine didn’t have an “office.” He had a study.

Godfrey led me up the back stairs to the main rooms and Nightwine’s lair. Just the idea of matching wits with the carnivorous old fox was perking me up.

Godfrey announced me and I entered to the sight of Nightwine in a nightcap. It was claret-colored velvet with a gold tassel nestling against his black-bearded cheek.

He also wore a satin-quilted-lapel burgundy robe and all in all resembled an Edgar Allan Poe Santa Claus.

“Dressed informally, I see, Miss Street,” he greeted me. “I am glad to note that you agree that mourning isn’t called for. You must keep yourself busy while we conduct the search for your delinquent dog.”

“‘We’?”

“Well, of course. You and your shadow, Lilith, are valuable employees of Nightwine Productions. I have extensive security contacts in Las Vegas beyond the limits of my estate. Nightwine Productions is the most powerful global digicast network in the post-Millennium Revelation world. The scenes of your recent cameo on CSI V: Las Vegas are brilliant, if I say so myself. You definitely have a career ahead of you in film if you will but follow my instructions.”

Now was not the time to tell Nightwine I was using him, not vice versa. Once I determined whether Lilith was alive or dead and could interview her in either state, in my mirror or real life, my “acting” career was over.

Today’s psychotic paparazzi and groupies made any public or unusual private life hell. With the ghost of twice-bereaved Loretta mirror-caught in fey chains of my doing, I really didn’t want to try mirror-walking right now or staying on this topic with Nightwine.

“I can’t believe you’d search for Quicksilver for me, Hector.”

“Tut-tut, my dear,” he said, inadvertently reminding me of my painful Egyptian encounters. “We can’t have our budding star moping around in shapeless gray long johns. Nothing is too good for a Nightwine Productions starlet. And you share my fondness for CinSims. Really, we are so simpatico that we should consider marriage.”

I was about to gag when he added, “Sadly, I am a committed bachelor.”

Jeez, Irma said, Vegas is crammed with guys who like to look and not touch. Lucky for us, in certain cases.

“I’m sure,” Hector went on, chewing something amiably, “that the Cadaver Kid will be on the case 24/7, and you’ll be looking high and low. However, I’d advise you to occupy your mind with other matters.”

“I don’t have any cases at the moment.”

“I’m sure something will show up. It always does. Or you can join me for meals here at the house.”

I would never again be able to watch Nightwine chow down on his constant exotic snacks without hearing the crunch of beetle shells and mummified crocodile hide in every bite.

“Thanks,” I said, rising quickly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

WHAT I DID was rev up Dolly and drive the mostly empty desert highways like Ric until the sun came up.

When I wasn’t puzzling over how to retrieve a loved one who had been swept away by Osiris, God of the Dead, to the Egyptian Afterlife, I estimated the hours since Quicksilver had pushed me out of the arrow’s way and vanished into the pit.

I was somewhat consoled that Shezmou, grateful to me for freeing him, had viewed Quick as part of my party of friends and witnessed his heroism. Surely he would speak up for Quicksilver on the other side. If the fall had killed Quick, perhaps his spirit would remain in the Egyptian Paradise, where afterlife was supposed to be luxe and full.