“And?”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what, Jack?” She watched him run a hand through his hair and noticed that his palms were dirty and bloody. “What happened to your hands?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he walked past her and stepped down into the living room. He sat on the couch. Without looking at her, he began to speak in a dull monotone.

“I followed Kusum from the U.N. to this boat on the West Side—a big boat, a freighter. I saw him in one of the cargo holds leading some sort of ceremony with these”—his face twisted with the memory—”these things. They were holding up pieces of raw flesh. I think it was human flesh. And I think I know whose.”

Strength flowed out of Kolabati like water down a drain. She leaned against the foyer wall to steady herself. It was true! Rakoshi in America! And Kusum behind them—resurrecting the old dead rites that should have been left dead. But how? The egg was in the other room!

“I thought you might know something about it,” Jack was saying. “After all, Kusum is your brother and I figured—”

She barely heard him.

The egg…

She pushed herself away from the wall and started toward Kusum’s bedroom.

“What’s the matter?” Jack said, finally looking up at her. “Where are you going?”

Kolabati didn’t answer him. She had to see the egg again. How could there be rakoshi without using the egg? It was the last surviving egg. And that alone was not enough to produce a nest—a male rakosh was needed.

It simply couldn’t be!

She opened the closet in Kusum’s room and pulled the square crate out into the room. It was so light. Was the egg gone? She pulled the top up. No… the egg was still there, still intact. But the box had been so light. She remembered that egg weighing at least ten pounds…

She reached into the box, placed a hand on each side of the egg, and lifted it. It almost leaped into the air. It weighed next to nothing! And on its underside her fingers felt a jagged edge.

Kolabati turned the egg over. A ragged opening gaped at her. Bright smears showed where cracks on the underside had been repaired with glue.

The room reeled and spun about her.

The rakosh egg was empty! It had hatched long ago!

5

Jack heard Kolabati cry out in the other room. Not a cry of fear or pain—more like a wail of despair. He found her kneeling on the floor of the bedroom, rocking back and forth, cradling a mottled, football-sized object in her arms. Tears were streaming down her face.

“What happened?”

“It’s empty!” she said through a sob.

“What was in it?” Jack had seen an ostrich egg once. That had been white; this was about the same size but its shell was swirled with gray.

“A female rakosh.”

Rakosh. This was the second time Jack had heard her say that word. The first had been Friday night when the rotten odor had seeped into his apartment. He didn’t need any further explanation to know what had hatched from that egg: It had dark skin, a lean body with long arms and legs, a fanged mouth, taloned hands, and bright yellow eyes.