Blackwood watched out the window, his manner intense but cool. Odessa was distraught about Solomon, and Blackwood’s steady demeanor pissed her off. With anger came a sudden clarity.

“The Hollow didn’t come for Solomon,” she said. “It’s coming for you. Using him to get to you. And you knew it.”

“Did I?” he said, without looking at her.

“You knew he was vulnerable.”

Blackwood turned his head her way, still not meeting Odessa’s eyes. “I suspected it,” he admitted. “Nothing like this ever occurred to me…until I saw him in that hospital bed.”

“It’s drawing you out. All this…the Peters shooting, the Long Island spree…there was no pattern. It was designed to summon you…to bait you into coming out into the open. Thanks to me. Thanks to my letter.”

Blackwood met her gaze finally. No words, but it signified that she was right.

“And you’ve seen it this whole time. You knew it was wanting a confrontation…and you didn’t care who got in the way. Even Solomon, a dying man, now leading you to your appointment. You wanted him taken.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But you were okay with it. So long as it got you where you need to go. So long as you can catch your fourth Hollow and install it in your trophy room.”

“Your oversimplification of this matter is absolutely astounding,” said Blackwood. “Have you learned nothing? Or is this simply a willful attempt at imposing guilt?”

“I’m learning plenty,” Odessa said. “Solomon tried to warn me about you. He said you’ll let nothing and no one get in your way. He saw it coming but he was too frail to stop it. Well, I’m not going to let him go out a casualty of some horrible supernatural imp. You need to save him. You can’t let him die like this.”

Blackwood said sharply, “You assume I have a choice.”

The flash of anger in his face was startling. Odessa became quiet, her eyes staying on him, wondering what sort of monster she had gotten herself paired up with.

The Phantom swerved hard left past a head-on collision in which one vehicle’s engine had burst into flames. Mr. Lusk said, “He’s heading for the Queensboro Bridge!”

They trailed the wailing cruiser by at least a full city block, all the way onto the upper-level, two-lane inbound side of the bridge. The blue lights swerved madly up ahead, the Phantom snaking around spun-out automobiles left in its wake, crossing the East River over Roosevelt Island into Manhattan.

Odessa gripped her seat, bracing her shoulder against the side of the car as they careened off the bridge, emptying onto Second Avenue and continuing a block west before turning hard left, heading south on Third Avenue, driving the wrong way.