The Gates of Life but to give us

What we desire most, what we live for:

The blood of all.

“That was two thousand years ago, Kathryn. And we’re no different. Not a bit. Car races, downhill skiing, rugby, boxing, bungee jumping, football, hockey, air shows—we’re all secretly, or not so secretly, hoping for death or destruction. NASCAR? Hours of cars making a left turn? Would anybody watch if there wasn’t the chance of a spectacular, fiery death? The Colosseum back then, Madison Square Garden last week. Not a lick of difference.”

She noted something else. “The poem, the line about hand and heart… The name of your website. Sword in the hand, piercing the heart. Little different from humanitarian aid.”

A shrug, and his eyes sparkled again,

“I’d like to know more about your clients. Are they mostly in the U.S.?”

“No, overseas. Asia a lot. Russia too. And South America, though there the clientele isn’t as rich. They couldn’t pay for the big set pieces.”

It would be a tricky case against many of these people—men, nearly all of them, Dance supposed. (She guessed the sexual component of the Get was high.) Intent would be an issue.

“The man who hired you for this job, in Monterey?”

“Japanese. He’s been a good customer for some years.”

“Any particular grudge with this area?”

She was thinking of Nashima and the relocation center at Solitude Creek.

“No. He said pick anywhere. Chris Jenkins liked the inn in Carmel. So he sent me here. It has a good wine list. And comfortable beds. Nice TV too.”

She began to ask another question. But he was shaking his head.

“I’m tired now,” he said. “Can we resume tomorrow? Or the next day?”

“Yes.”

She rose.

March said to her, “Oh, Kathryn?”

“Yes?”

“It’s so good to have a kindred soul to spend some time with.”

She didn’t understand for a moment. Then realized he was speaking about her. The chill pinched once more.

He looked her up and down. “Your Get and mine… So very similar. I’m glad we’re in each other’s lives now.” March whispered, “Good night, Kathryn, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night.”

TUESDAY, APRIL 11

The Last Dare

Chapter 86

Real, dude.”

Donnie and Nathan bumped fists. Wes nodded, looking around.

They were in the school yard, just hanging on one of the picnic benches. There was Tiff; she looked Donnie’s way and lifted an eyebrow. But that was it. No other reaction.

Some of the brothers, and there weren’t many of them here, were hanging not far away. One gave him a thumbs-up. Probably for track. Donnie’d just led the T and F team to victory over Seaside Middle School, winning the 200 and 400 dash (though, fuck, he’d gotten the branch once he’d gotten back home because he was one second off his personal best on the 400).

That was Leon Williams doing the thumbing. Solid kid. Donnie nodded back. The funny thing was that Donnie didn’t hate on the blacks in the school at all, or any other blacks, for that matter. Which was one of the reasons that tagging black churches in the game was pretty fucked-up. He disliked Jews a lot—or thought he did. That too was mostly from his dad, though. Donnie didn’t know that he’d ever actually met somebody who was Jewish, aside from Goldshit.