“Hello?” she answered.
“Hi, Mrs. Zimmerman. My name is Dr. Olive Kennedy. I worked with your husband not long ago, and I wondered if I might speak to him?”
“Yes, I remember you,” she said, though I couldn’t mistake her unfriendly tone. “Zack isn’t here.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked.
“No, sorry. You misunderstand. He’s gone. He doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Oh. I see.” This complicates things.
“I tried his cell, and he didn’t answer. Is there another number I can reach him at?”
“Sorry. If he has another number, I don’t have it.”
“I see. Thank you for your time.”
“Of course.”
She hung up without another word. I stared at my phone, wondering what had happened to Mr. Zimmerman. Had he split from his wife? It seemed the logical assumption. If that were the case, how would I ever find him?
Scanning his files again, I tried not to let my frustration win out. There had to be some way to get into contact with him, but as I looked from one page to the next, I couldn’t find a single clue to help me. If I didn’t find him, then I’d have no way to locate the vachonette egg, and my stepfather would be lost to me forever. I couldn’t let that happen. Not only would the entire continent of Faythander suffer because of his absence, but my heart would be irreparably broken. He was the only being who’d ever been a parent to me, and if he died on my account, I would never forgive myself.
A hard lump formed in my throat as I searched desperately from one page to the next. I bravely tried to keep from crying, but deep inside, I knew the reality of my situation. The silverwitch wouldn’t let my stepfather live a moment longer than necessary, and unless some miracle happened, I didn’t know where else to turn.
The phone rang on my lap, startling me, and I was surprised to see Mrs. Zimmerman’s number on the screen.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Dr. Kennedy, this is Andrea Zimmerman again. I called back because I thought you’d like to know something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Zack is still working at the station. You may be able to catch him there.”
She gave me the address, and I found a scrap of paper and scribbled it down, thanking God for small miracles.
“He’s there until noon working on the hurricane story, so you may be able to catch him today. Also, there’s something else,” she said.
“Yes, what is it?”
“I’m not sure how to say this, but… we’re expecting another baby. He was so excited when I first told him. He—he’d always wanted a big family. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but if you can get through to him, will you tell him we love him? Will you… will you tell him I love him?”
“Yes, I’ll tell him. I promise.”
“Thank you so much. That means a lot to me.”
She ended the phone call. I didn’t want to waste another minute, so I grabbed my keys and mirror case and then rushed to my car.
Outside, gray soupy clouds blanketed the sky, casting a pall over the cracked asphalt parking lot. I found my car, a 1971 T-bird, black with yellow stripes down the sides. I’d almost thought the thing would have been stolen by now, but I had no such luck. The car was a creature of deceptive beauty—a classic on the outside, a disaster under the hood.
The door squealed as I opened it and climbed inside. I sat in the car but didn’t crank the engine as feelings of nostalgia tried to overwhelm me. The car reminded me of my old life before I’d returned to Faythander. I’d been a different person then, before I’d met Kull, before I’d encountered Theht.
Yes, I’m changing you.
Pushing the voice out of my head as best as I could, I attempted to start the car. After half a dozen tries, some praying, and then some cursing, the engine cranked. I drove away from my apartment complex and onto Seawall Boulevard. Beyond the seawall, the Gulf was calm with only a few rippling waves moving the water, not enough to break its surface. The sea reflected the sky, a mirror of silver against gray. I’d only seen the water that calm a few times before, and it was usually followed by a hurricane.
Hadn’t Mrs. Zimmerman mentioned something about a hurricane?
I would have tuned into the local weather station, but my radio was busted. I figured since I was headed to a news station anyway, I was bound to find out what was going on. After merging onto the freeway, I made good time, even after crossing the Houston city limits. The traffic was unusually light, and I found myself wondering where everyone had gone. Had the storm scared them off?
I exited the freeway and drove into the heart of Houston’s downtown district. Skyscrapers overshadowed the narrow roads, keeping the streets hidden in their never-ending shadows. I finally made it to the news station and found a parking spot on the third level of the garage. By the time I grabbed my mirror case, rushed out of the car, and locked the door behind me, it was five minutes till noon.
“Please still be there,” I whispered as I dashed for the stairwell and made it down the steps, then to the bottom floor, across a street, and finally into the building’s lobby. The news station was on the fifth floor, so I searched for the elevators. I navigated across the marble floor in my scuffed Doc Marten boots, and then past the elegant indoor waterfall feature as it trickled down a modern-looking, glass-tiled backboard.
I pulled the knit scarf tighter around my neck, feeling inadequately dressed in jeans with holes worn through the knees and
