7

“In theory,” the Lady said, leaning forward in the wingback chair, “when Opus Omega is completed, I will die.”

Weezy felt a pang of dread as she stared at her. She’d known the Lady before as Mrs. Clevenger, simply another of the town’s eccentrics. But now she felt a deep kinship, an intimate connection.

“Why do you say ‘in theory’? Is there doubt?”

“Of course there is doubt. Opus Omega has yet to be completed and may never be completed. So until it becomes fact, it must remain theory.”

Jack leaned on the round oak table. “But those scars on your back . . . don’t they mean that it’s working, that burying those columns damages you?”

“They do.”

“And that hole straight through you—”

“The Florida incident,” she said with a curt nod.

Weezy was confused. “The Florida—?”

“Long story,” Jack said, then turned back to the Lady. “Weren’t you ‘killed’ then?”

“So it appeared. I cannot be harmed by anything of this world, but the creatures that devoured me were from the Other place.”

. . . devoured . . . the Other place . . . what were they talking about? Weezy was dying to know the details.

“How did you come back?”

The Lady shook her head. “That I do not know. It should have been the end of me, but I survived. Perhaps if Opus Omega had progressed far enough along, I would not have come back.”

Jack looked grim. “But the Fhinntmanchca is a product of Opus Omega. It might succeed where the chew wasps failed.”

Chew wasps?

“True,” the Lady said. “That is troublesome.”

“But why attack you at all?” Weezy said.

“As the physical manifestation of the noosphere, I act as a beacon, proclaiming to the multiverse that this is a sentient planet. Should I be extinguished, this sphere will be seen as lifeless. The Ally, already rather neglectful, will lose all interest and turn entirely away.”

“Giving the Otherness carte blanche.”

An idea popped into Weezy’s head. “What about an end run? Why doesn’t it attack the noosphere?”

The Lady shook her head again. “By its very nature, the noosphere cannot be directly attacked. It is the product of all the interactions between the sentient beings on the planet. The only way to weaken it is to damage its population base—a deadly pandemic, a nuclear winter, that sort of thing. But that runs counter to the ends of the Otherness. The lower the population, the less fear and misery to feed on.”

Jack chimed in. “But we know nothing about this Fhinntmanchca. Maybe it can disrupt the noosphere.”

The Lady appeared to consider that. “I don’t see how, but . . .”

“Let’s just say it can,” Weezy said.

“What would be the result?”

“A disrupted noosphere would disrupt me. I would vanish.”

“And the beacon would go out.”

The Lady nodded. “Leaving the Adversary a clear field.”

“That’s got to be it,” Jack said, straightening. “Suck the life out of you by disrupting the noosphere. Looks like someone’s got to disrupt this Fhinntmanchca first.”

“You?” Weezy said, her heart clenching.

He looked at her. “Well, yeah, I guess. Don’t see that there’s much choice. If you can think of someone else, I’ll be happy to step aside.”

“What about Mister Veilleur?” “In case you didn’t notice, Mister V isn’t too agile these days.”

“But you told me Diana said the Fhinntmanchca was dangerous and deadly.”

He pointed to the Lady. “To her, we have to assume so. To us mere mortals . . .” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Do you know where it is?” the Lady said as Jack headed for the front closet.

“Got a pretty good idea.”

Dread filled Weezy as she watched him take the pistol from the shelf and stick it in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

“You don’t really think that’s going to be of any use against this Fhinntmanchca thing, do you?”

Another shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. But it works against people, and people brought that thing into this world, so maybe they can be persuaded to send it packing.”

He disappeared into his room for a few minutes, then emerged stuffing things into his jeans pockets.

“You two wait here while I see what I can do.”

Weezy had a sick, bad feeling about this. Something awful was about to happen.

“Be careful, Jack.”

He gave her a tight smile. “Always.”

And then he was out the door.

Weezy held back tears. “Will he be all right?”

“I cannot say,” the Lady said, “because I do not know. This is all new.”

“But why him? Why can’t somebody else—?”

“Because there is no one else, and he knows that. So he does what needs to be done, or at least tries to. Though he hates it, though he wants no part of any of it, that is what he must do, because that is the way he is. That is the only way he knows, the only path he can see. That is why he was chosen as the Heir.”

Jack . . . her Jack . . . skinny, funny Jack from Johnson . . . she still couldn’t accept it.

The Tracfone started ringing. She saw Eddie’s number in the window. She thumbed the power off and put it back on the table.

“Your brother?” the Lady said.

Weezy nodded. “My brother, the Septimus.” The word tasted like poison.

“Perhaps you should speak to him. He is blood, after all.”

“I’ve spoken to him. And I’ll speak to him again. But right now . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Possibilities and probabilities collided in her brain, producing an awful scenario: Eddie helping the Order track her through the phone. She opened its rear compartment and disconnected the battery. Just to be sure.

“Come, then,” the Lady said, rising and patting her hair. “We will walk. The air will be good for you.”

“But Jack said—”

“I am the Lady. I go where I please.”