That was why the third panel had not surfaced, why Mormo didn’t know where it was. Because twenty years ago, before Iago’s search had fairly started, Sir Michael—without fully understanding why—secured the only one of the panels that was in the west. At his wife’s request, knowing only that the man who wanted it had seduced her, knowing only that this was his single avenue of revenge, he secured the panel through his secret sources. And he hid it away.

Which left Ann to complete a task of her own: the task of destroying herself. Because she would have been carrying his baby, Iago’s baby. He would have made sure of that. And she would have known now what he was planning to do to it. And she would have destroyed herself, and the child, rather than let the infant fall into Iago’s hands.

As well as she could with the siren blaring, Harper brooded on these things in silence. And she brooded as well on Richard Storm. She reproached herself for understanding it all too late. She had sent Storm out to Belham to complete her information. She had thought it a task of relative safety, had thought it would keep him away from her dangerous gambit with the Madonna. She had hoped he would be able to help Sophia find the answers to her life, and would then be able to retire from the fray in peace.

Instead, she had sent him right into the thick of it. And Iago, as always, was one step ahead of her.

The car raced on and the four sat without speaking, enveloped by the noise.

Then Bernard said, “Is it real, do you think?”

Harper glanced over to see him watching her. His eyes half open, looking out through lowered lids. He hardly raised his voice, but it reached her clearly.

“I would like to know, after all. It would help me to know.”

“What?” she said.

“Can he really … If he gets the third painting, if he has the triptych complete, will he really be able to recreate the crystal? Will he really be able to live forever on the blood of his own children?”

Harper extended a hand, patted the factotum on his knee. “Believe nothing,” she told him. “It’s the only defense.”

The flasher’s red glow slipped over his features. Harper saw him smiling bitterly. “If I believe nothing, darling,” he said dryly, “then what will defend me against myself?”

Harper frowned, replaced her hand on the dragon’s head, lowered her chin to the back of her hand.

“Believe nothing,” she murmured again, “and trust to the Everlasting Thing.”

Then the four sat silently, as the car raced on.

23