him to be the man he needs to be to wield such responsibility.'
Jake laid a hand on Martinez's shoulder.
'I hope that you will not be a stranger,' he said. 'There is a lot of work ahead of me. There are a lot of things that I don't know. Snake was a very strong leader — I'm a little different. I'm going to need advice.'
'I will be here when you need me,' Martinez said. He smiled. 'I'll have to be certain the boy is receiving the proper care and education, after all.'
Jake glanced over his shoulder
'Speaking of that, I'd better get back in there. I'm going to sit up with him. I'll catch some sleep in the chair, but I want to be there if he wakes up. I don't think he should be alone.'
'Agreed. I will return after sunrise. He'll need to rest, and he'll need to eat. We'll want to start for DeChance's home as soon as possible. I believe he trusts me, but he has good reasons not to. I want this to end as quickly as possible.'
'What about Los Escorpiones?' Jake asked.
'I don't think we'll hear much from them for a while. I also believe that, if any of Anya Cabrera's people remain, they will remain quiet as well. There is no trace of what she summoned left in The Barrio. I would sense it. Now will be a time of healing on all sides. We must work to make that happen as quickly, and as completely, as possible.'
'You can count on it,' Jake said, turning. 'I've had enough battles and losses for a lifetime.'
Martinez watched the big man until he was out of sight. When he was alone, he rolled the painting up carefully and tucked it into a pocket in his jacket. When he was sure it was safely stowed, he returned to the main room of the clubhouse, found an old, leather armchair, and sank back into it — exhausted.
When he closed his eyes, the colored spheres strobed softly, just once. He slept immediately, and deeply. He did not dream.
Chapter Forty-One
Martinez rang the buzzer and was admitted to Donovan's building the next morning around ten. Donovan had been cataloguing a small pile of new manuscripts, preparing them for storage. Amethyst had left about an hour earlier, after staying the night to recuperate. She had her own affairs to sort out, and the past several days had left her with a lot of catching up.
Donovan ushered the old man inside. Salvatore followed more slowly. The boy didn't drop his eyes, as he had during earlier encounters. He met Donovan's gaze levelly and gravely, and he took the offered handshake with a firm grip.
'Good morning, Sal,' Donovan said. 'You all right this morning?'
'Yes, Sir,' he replied. 'I am a little tired.'
'That was a brave thing you did in the park yesterday,' Donovan said. 'Most men would have run, given the chance. I'm pretty sure you saved all our lives. I won't forget that.'
'I only did what I thought was right. I have always tried to do that. Sometimes, it is hard.'
Donovan chuckled.
'You couldn't be more right about that.'
He offered the two a seat on the dark brown leather sofa. He brought Martinez strong black coffee, and a glass of sweet iced tea for Salvatore, who took it gratefully. The boy still looked pale, and Donovan saw that his hand shook when he took the drink.
'What happened after I left?' he asked, sitting across from them in a wing-back chair. 'Did you paint?'
Salvatore nodded. It took him a moment to form the words in his mind, and he didn't speak in haste. Whatever he was about to say, or explain, it was very important to him.
'I painted the city of the dragons,' he said finally. 'It is another place — a place I have visited when I paint. It is where I found Senor Snake's dragon, and Jake's.'
Donovan didn't reply, but his heart raced. He'd read similar stories in a few of the oldest of his books, but the information was spotty. He wanted to be certain he understood what Salvatore was telling him.
'You mean you had visions of another world?' he asked.
'No, Senor Donovan, I was there. When I painted Senor Snake's dragon, I stood on a beach. There is a city there with walls that stretch to the sky. There was no gate in the wall, at least not that I could find, and there were towers.'
'My God,' Donovan said.
'It happened more than once,' Martinez cut in. 'Last night, he spoke with…well, I'd better let Salvatore tell the story. He painted this.'
Martinez pulled the rolled painting from his pocket and handed it to Donovan, who unrolled it carefully and flattened it out on his lap. He stared at the colored spheres and the perfectly symmetrical walls for a long time. The image gave him a strange sense of vertigo. Though it was easy to see what Salvatore had painted — the details were eerily clear — it was impossible to reconcile the scene to his understanding of the universe.
There would be no way to enter such towers except from the air. If there were streets, it was impossible to make them out in the deep shadows, and somehow Donovan knew they weren't there. They weren't necessary. What kind of creature didn't need the ground? What would it be like if your entire world existed in, and just beneath, the clouds and the storms?
He rolled the painting carefully and glanced over at Salvatore. The boy watched him carefully, and Donovan got the distinct impression he was being measured in some way. Once the painting was rolled, Donovan rose and carried it carefully to his desk. He grabbed a bit of ribbon, held it up, and breathed on it. He spoke a couple of words so softly they were barely perceptible. He wrapped the ribbon carefully around the painting and tied it in an intricate knot. When he was satisfied it would hold, he turned back to Martinez and Salvatore.
'This is very powerful,' he said. 'I suspect you know that. Do you know what it is, Sal?'
'The man — the dragon — told me it could be a portal,' Salvatore said slowly. 'I did not understand everything that he said, but he told me that it must be kept safe. He said that if we destroyed it — it was bound to his city. He did not know what might happen. He told me that I am bound to the painting, and to his world.'
Salvatore fell silent for a moment. Donovan was about to break the silence, when the boy spoke again.
'He called me a Worldwalker.'
Donovan grew very still. Martinez didn't react, but Donovan suspected that he'd already heard this story, and was better prepared.
' Worldwalker,' Donovan said softly. 'So it's true.'
Salvatore looked confused. Donovan walked over and squatted, so that the two of them were eye to eye.
'I have documents here,' he said, 'that speak of Worldwalkers. The references are very rare, and the information that remains reads more like legend than fact. To my knowledge, there have been three Worldwalkers in the history of our world. You would be the fourth. It is an awesome responsibility…and an amazing gift. Do you understand that?'
Salvatore nodded. 'The dragon, he told me there might be other worlds. That I might paint other portals.'
'If you do,' Donovan said, 'you must promise me that you will not do so alone, and that you will prepare properly. There are ways to protect yourself, and those around you. There are ways to seal such a portal. Martinez can help you — and I will be honored to help, as well, if I am needed.
'I don't know if Martinez has explained what I do. I have been gathering books and manuscripts, documents and secrets — and archiving them. When I began, I had books and shelves and paper. Now I use computers, and technology, which are a kind of magic themselves. It is important to know as much as we can about things of power. Much has been learned, forgotten, and relearned over the years. I am trying to provide…stability.'
'I told him you'd be the one to hold the painting,' Martinez said. 'If there is a place in this world where such a thing could be considered safe, it is in your hands.'
Donovan stood up and nodded.
