3:00 p.m.

The bedroom continued the maroon motif, but with highlights in gray rather than white. More books, more flowers, and on the dresser the photo of a sad-eyed woman in the dress of the 1940s. An enormous walk-in closet filled with clothes, a riot of color. Tachyon, seated in a chair by the window, eased off one high-heeled boot. The air conditioner set the crystal and silver wind chime above his head to ringing.

"Let me." She knelt before him, and pulled off the second boot noting how small his feet were, contrasting it with Josiah's size-twelves.

"I should be undressing you."

She dropped the boot. "How about we move things along, and undress ourselves."

"I am either flattered that you're so eager, or worried because you're simply anxious to have the deed done."

Her fingers froze on the buttons of her blouse, and she watched in the mirror while the color drained from her face leaving behind that strange gray quality that affects black skin.

She hurriedly stripped off her clothes, and stared at the slender reflection in the glass. The crystals in her braids gave back the light, sparkling against the ebony hair.

"Madam, you are beautiful." He made an ivory and carnelian figure next to her. His head with its tumbled red curls just topping her shoulder.

Her lips skinned back from her teeth in a travesty of a smile. "Come on. I'll thank you in bed."

The mattress gurgled and swayed as they settled beneath the coverlet. He reached for her, then rolled away and unplugged the bedside phone. With a wink and a leer he snuggled against her, his hands and lips played expertly across her body finding the pleasure points, dissolving her nerves into a wash of sensation. This time it was not an obligation to be bitterly endured. He was an accomplished lover, seeming almost to worship her with his body. His fingers swept aside the moisture-matted hair of her mons, and his tongue teased along the lips of her, tantalizing her clitoris. She tangled a hand in his hair, and pulled him closer. For a moment past and future were forgotten in the all-enveloping sensation of the moment.

He wriggled up the length of her, his penis hot, stiff, and moist against her thigh. The head of his cock probed like a nuzzling foal at her mons; she sighed, spread wide welcoming him. But he continued to tease, his arms rigid on either side of her body, teeth worrying at her nipples, the maddening almost-penetration a hot presence against her clit. She growled, and jerked him down to her, capturing his mouth as he slid smoothly into her.

And she sensed several things simultaneously: the featherlike brush of his mind sliding harmlessly off the shields that had been erected by the Astronomer to prevent just this sort of penetration, and the surging weight of the poison advancing like a questing hunting dog with tiny half starts and halts, waiting for permission.

A permission that she withheld, justifying the decision in a half-formed thought that she would toy with him, promise him love, so the betrayal would be all the more devastating for him. Her arms and legs twined about him, and she met each thrust with an uplift of the hips. His cries were punctuated with gently murmured endearments, but she bit back any sound, as if by silence she could deny the pleasure. He came, semen fountaining within her, gave a harsh cry, and collapsed across her chest, crushing her bosoms between them.,

"Roulette, I think you're an ace." The words punctuated by pants.

"No!" She pushed him aside, and he lay blinking bemusedly up at her.

"Your shields are not the inchoate shields formed by normals. These are very sophisticated."

She knelt, swaying on the bed, hands clenched between her thighs, the sweat growing clammy on her bare skin. "I can't explain it."

"If you will permit me to probe I might be able to explain it."

"No, no! It frightens me. I don't want you to! I won't let you!" The shrill tones drilled through her, sending a stabbing pain behind her eyes.

"All right. All right." His hands soothed her as one would a restive horse. "Your body and mind are yours to command. I would never violate you."

She flung herself down next to him, burying her face against his side, tasting the salt sweat, inhaling the scent of man, and sex and aftershave. "Hold me. I don't want to think anymore."

"Hush, hush. You're safe with me."

And he again stared in confusion as her laughter filled the room, mad splinters of sound that seemed to cut at her throat, and fill her chest with pain.

"Suzanne!"

"I'm cool. It's okay." Bagabond had sat back and taken a deep breath. "So strong…"

"What is it?" Rosemary's voice had been filled with genuine concern.

Bagabond looked back at her. "He's got the books-I think. The notebooks."

"Jack? How?" Rosemary spread her hands in confusion. "He ate them."

"Then, they're mine." Rosemary's eyes shone and she bit her lip in thought.

The conversation stopped abruptly as four men walked into the office and Rosemary was pulled into a quick conference with the NYPD's Organized Crime Task Force on where hot spots were likely to develop. To Bagabond, the men were cyphers, administrative types.

With the police already spread thin, no one needed a major gang war. It was all too possible, according to Rosemary. The other Families were likely to strike at the Gambiones, but they would move slowly, testing for the Gambiones' strength and leadership. The Immaculate Egrets were the greatest danger, outdistancing the Colombians, the bikers, and even the Mexican Herrera family. The Egrets were not known for caution, restraint, or patience. If the Gambiones did not reestablish their power very quickly, they would be destroyed.

None of the men liked the Gambiones, but they all feared the alternative.

While Rosemary discussed the reaction of the Five Families, Bagabond sat quietly on her chair in a corner behind Rosemary's desk. Eyes closed, allowing the conversation to weave around her, she tracked Sewer Jack. He had retreated to the tunnels where he felt safest, but every time Bagabond attempted to influence him to stop moving, he resisted. Although the alligator did not understand precisely why he searched or for what, he kept looking. Tracing the quest further into his brain, Bagabond found that the alligator had made a connection between Cordelia and a particularly tasty bit of food. Discovering that, Bagabond nearly lost contact as the humor of it overcame a portion of her concentration. Wait until she told Jack. Bringing herself back into sync with the reptile, she moved through his brain and carefully changed a few of the neurochemical connections between his legs and his brain, modifying the resistance in the neurons. This done, the alligator moved virtually in slow motion.

Bagabond blinked and brought Rosemary's office back into focus, beginning with the portrait of Fiorello La Guardia on the far wall. The men had left. Rosemary sat at her desk, reviewing a file.

"Welcome back to the real world." Rosemary closed the file. "So where's Jack?"

"Somewhere under the Bowery, as best I can tell." She blinked. "Do you really think it is-the real world?" Rosemary looked out the window. "It's the only one I have." She looked back at Bagabond. "Did you catch much of that conversation?" At Bagabond's shrug, she continued, "I'm supposed to contact my 'sources' and find out what's happening now. After that, I want to go get those books. I'll figure out what I'm going to do with them when I get them." She picked up the phone and began punching buttons.

Bagabond watched silently.

"Max, this is Rosa Maria Gambione," Rosemary said into the receiver. "I heard there was trouble today, Don Frederico…" She reached out and placed the phone on the speaker.