The blonde blinked as the shimmery dimness lifted. “He dead, d’you think?”

“Any minute now,” Preach said.

The blonde clucked her tongue. “That’s a shame.” She reached for his plate of ruined eggs. “I’ll have Hector quick-fry you up a fresh breakfast.”

“Don’t bother.”

“On the house.”

“The eggs served their purpose.”

She regarded him with curiosity, shrugged, “Just as well, I suppose. I’m gonna have to call the cops.”

Preach rose, digging out his wallet, but the blonde shook her head. “Like I said, your money’s no good here. I never charge family.”

Preach nodded. “Much obliged.”

“Careful on your way out,” she called. “Bound to be slippery out there.”

“Always am, ma’am.”

When he was gone, the blonde gathered her courage to peer into the far corner. The shadowy figure had vanished. As she sighed her relief, the light above the booth snapped on. She turned away and, shuddering, picked up the phone to call the police.

Chapter 43

43

The casualties from the Mobius Project arrived at the Well around noon. Albin White supervised their entry and subsequent incarceration. It was as well that he was busy; it kept his mind from dwelling on the imminent arrival of Preach.

Summoning Preach was a calculated risk; he knew that from the get-go, but he also knew that Preach’s involvement was a necessary evil—just as the Well was a necessary evil—for Mobius to be successful. Lindstrom had been a brilliant researcher—they never could have gotten anywhere without his breakthrough with Papaver laciniatum. For that alone White would be forever grateful to the scientist, but now that he was dead, only Preach would be able break down the complex alkaloid to rid it of its pernicious side effects.

Down the darkly gleaming corridors he went, emerging into one of the vertiginous chambers. Three of the casualties were on their knees, wrists tied behind their backs, gas masks with the eyeholes blacked out over their faces. They were all bleeding from beneath the ears and the chin, depending on how badly they had clawed at their faces before they were sedated. All had bloody crescents beneath their fingernails, some of which were ragged and torn. Their chests beat in the threadbare pulse of the panicked and the despairing.

Lucy was already in the chamber, which was adjacent to the waterfall with its ages-old cenote.

“Well,” White said, regarding her with both care and precision, “will you have difficulty killing them?”

Lucy pointed. “Look at them. Would you want to live like they’re living?”

“Not a second more.”