Match point at the Mount Holly Lawn Tennis Club:
Jack was drenched with sweat. He and his father had scraped through the first elimination on a tiebreaker: 6-4, 3-6, 7-6. After a few hours of rest they started the second round. The father-son team they now faced was much younger—the father only slightly older than Jack, and the son no more than twelve. But they could
So with one set apiece it was now 4-5 with Jack behind in his serve: deuce with the advantage to the receiver.
Jack's right shoulder was on fire. He’d been putting everything he had into his serves but the pair facing him across the net had returned every single one. This was it. If he lost this point, the match was over and he and Dad would be out of the tournament. Which would not break Jack's heart. If they won it meant he'd have to return next Sunday. As much as he didn't relish that thought, he wasn't going to throw the match. His father had a right to one hundred percent and that was what he was going to get.
He faced the boy. For three sets now Jack had been trying to find a weakness in the kid's game. The twelve- year old had a topspin forehand, a flat, two-handed backhand, and a blistering serve. Jack's only hope lay in the kid's short legs, which made him relatively slow, but he hit so many winners that Jack had been unable to take advantage of it.
Jack served to the kid's backhand and charged the net, hoping to take a weak return and put it away. The return came back strong, forcing Jack into a weak volley to the father who slammed it up the alley to Jack's left. Without thinking, Jack shifted the racquet to his left hand and lunged. He made the return, but then the kid passed Dad up the other alley.
The boy's father came up to the net and shook Jack's hand.
'Good game. If your Dad had your speed he'd be club champ.' He turned to Jack's father. 'Look at him, Tom— not even breathing hard. And did you see that last shot of his? That left-handed volley? You trying to slip a ringer in on us?'
His father smiled. 'You can tell by his ground strokes he's no ringer. But I never knew he was ambidextrous.'
They all shook hands, and as the other pair walked off, Jack's father looked at him.
'I've been watching you all day. You're in good shape.'
'I try to stay healthy.' His father was a shrewd cookie and Jack was uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
'You move fast. Damn fast. Faster than any appliance repairman I've ever known.'
Jack coughed. 'What say we have a beer or two. I'm buying.”
'Your money's no good here. Only members can sign for drinks. So the beer's on me.' They began to walk toward the clubhouse. His father was shaking his head. 'I've got to say, Jack, you really surprised me today.'
Gia's hurt and angry face popped into Jack's mind.
'I'm full of surprises.'
8
Kusum could wait no longer. He had watched sunset come and go, hurling orange fire against the myriad empty windows of the Sunday-silent office towers. He had seen darkness creep over the city with agonizing slowness. And now, with the moon rising above the skyscrapers, night finally ruled.
Time for the Mother to take her youngling on the hunt.
Though not yet midnight, Kusum felt it safe to let them go. Sunday night was a relatively quiet time in Manhattan. The stores closed early, the theaters had no evening performances, and most people were home, resting in anticipation of the coming week.
The Paton woman would be taken tonight, of that he was certain. Kolabati had unwittingly cleared the way by taking the bottle of rakoshi elixir from Jack and disposing of its contents. And had not the Paton woman eaten one of the treated chocolates as she spoke to him on the phone this morning?
Tonight he would be one step closer to fulfilling the vow. He would follow the same procedures with the Paton woman as he had with her nephew and her sister. Once she was in his power, he would reveal to her the origin of the Westphalen fortune and allow her a day to reflect on her ancestor's atrocities.
Tomorrow evening her life would be offered to Kali, and she would be given over to the rakoshi.
9
Good gracious, what is that smell?
Nellie had never thought one could be awakened by an odor, but this...
She lifted her head from the pillow and sniffed the air in the darkened room...a carrion odor. Warm air brushed by her. The French doors out to the balcony were ajar. She could have sworn they’d been closed all day, what with the air conditioner going. But that had to be where the odor was coming from. It smelled as if some dog had unearthed a dead animal in the garden directly below the balcony.
Nellie sensed movement by the doors. No doubt the breeze on the curtains. Still...
She pulled herself up, reaching for her glasses. She found them and held them up to her eyes without bothering to fit the end pieces over her ears. Even then she wasn't sure what she saw.
A dark shape was moving toward her as swiftly and as soundlessly as a puff of smoke in the wind. It couldn't be real. A nightmare, a hallucination, an optical illusion—nothing so big and solid looking could move so smoothly and silently.
But no illusion about the odor that became progressively worse with the shadow's approach.
Nellie was suddenly terrified. This was no dream! She opened her mouth to scream but a cold, clammy hand sealed itself over the lower half of her face before a sound could escape.
The hand was huge, it was incredibly foul, and it was not human.
