“Just me. It’s my spell.”

  Her lips trembled, and he wanted to hold her. Melt into her like the toy soldier and the little ballerina in the fairytale. She didn’t understand, or she thought it was a game he could stop playing anytime.

  He scrambled down to the sidewalk. “Pink says someone is out to kill me. I have to run, but I can’t. I’ve got six days left. I don’t even know—”

  Addy clapped her hands to her ears. “I don’t want to hear this crazy stuff. Tell me the truth.”

  Norval’s door opened behind them with a rush of air.

  “Raphael,” said Dreemont, “you’ve got to get back to Necrology.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He reached for Addy’s arm, but she pulled away.

  “Hey, you hear me?” said Dreemont. “We’ve got a Big D in the Big D. Let’s go.”

  “Give us a moment to talk,” cried Raphael.

  “Woo after working hours. Let’s go!”

  Ignoring the supervisor, Raphael again tried for her arm. She twisted from him. “Ask Pink, Addy. And ask her if ‘to be vile’ meant Toobyville.”

  “Toobyville?”

  “Who let it fall?”

  “Sure,” said Addy, backing away, in her eyes the disbelief and suspicion of all the girls before. She shook her head, swung away from him, but immediately stopped and dug through her purse. She turned back to him holding a Starbucks card and a fifty-dollar bill. She slapped both in his palm. “Thanks. But who the hell puts twenty-five thousand dollars on a Starbucks card?” She turned, shook her head, and walked toward Fairfax. Not even glancing back, she shouted, “It’s singular.”

  Raphael glanced at the colorful rectangle in his palm. Not even singular, but never. It had to be a card-reader malfunction. Nobody puts twenty-five thousand dollars on a Starbucks card, including weird coroners. He slipped the card in his pocket.

  Ignoring another Dreemont summons, he watched Addy skirt past a woman leading a miniature white poodle. A second woman leading an identical poodle appeared to be running after the first. As the second dogwalker closed in, she shouted, “Get him,” to her dog, which snarled and charged its twin.

  The second woman spun, cracked her leash like a whip, and kicked her dog into the fray. “Destroy that bitch! Have her ovaries for lunch!”

  “Hey, hey,” shouted Raphael, as the snarling poodles locked in combat, their owners paying out their dogs’ tethers to the maximum. Sprinting down the sidewalk, Raphael grabbed each poodle by its bejeweled collar and drew the furious animals apart, canine saliva striking his pant legs.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded of the dog owners.

  “Mind your own business,” said the first woman. She lifted her dog, clamped it under one arm, and scurried off.

  The other woman said, “Good boy. Truth will be proud of you.” She slipped her dog a treat, then strode off with her aggressive poodle.

  Truth? What the fuck?

  In the elevator, Dreemont bitched about the division’s employees getting a little too comfortable on the job, taking advantage of Maglio’s liberal work rules. “All day long, we’ve got personnel around the water cooler voting up or down on Bluetit.”

  “We don’t have a water cooler,” muttered Raphael.

  “You know what I mean. Spending more time on their own social media than they do on the dead’s. Getting too big for their applications. Your friend Jensy gave me her notice today—see how many Norval-quality opportunities come knocking on that blind bitch’s door. Nobody is irreplaceable, friend.”

  The elevator stopped.

  As they waited for the sluggish door to open, Dreemont added, “Ever since Klaes, I’ve been getting this weird vibe from you. Anything wrong? Anything you want to tell me?”

  “No, Mike. Everything is sweet.”

  “There, better. Happy workers, happy workplace.” Dreemont rolled his shoulders. “The Big D should get your juices flowing.”

  Raphael’s phone buzzed. The elevator doors opened. Dreemont glanced at the buzzing phone as if he were a middle-school teacher who might confiscate the forbidden goods.

  In the cubicle and facing away from the entrance, Raphael took Lily’s call.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  Raphael?”

  He pivoted on the ramp overlooking the museum’s Calder mobile to see a woman approaching. In jeans and a T-shirt, she was slender and athletic, her auburn hair bound in a short ponytail. He breathed.

  “Lily Faraday,” she said, upon reaching him, clapping her hand to her chest.

  “Raphael Lennon,” he replied, his insides fluttering. Here in this familiar place, Lily Faraday reminded him of his mother, which shook him to his bones. Oddly, Lily, too, gazed at him in an unsettled way.

  “Sorry I’m late. A delivery I’d been expecting for a week arrived just as I was about to leave. The mystery crate.”

  “Mystery crate?”

  “A big crate not to be opened until the night of the event.” She shrugged. “Jason’s orders.” Beneath her bright and inquisitive eyes hung blue crescents of sleeplessness. She pointed to the large mobile. “That’s the Calder, then?”

  “Yes. Three Quintains. It was my mother’s favorite,” he noted. “No trouble finding me?” he blurted.

  She shook her head as if coming out of a trance. “No, not at all. Tall, a resemblance to Bowie. But I was thinking—never mind. Sorry.” She smiled.

  “My letter must have sounded crazy.

  “I found it pretty damn intriguing.” She smiled. “Have they found your assailant?”

  “I didn’t report it.” He wanted to say more, but even if he did, he wouldn’t disclose everything. He would leave it a partial truth. He felt his face flushed at his hypothetical evasion.

  “I think I understand,” said Lily. “I was touched that you disclosed your phobia to me.”

  “It’s weird, but if it’s someone you don’t know, it’s … easier. Even my friend Matt—that’s the guy who met you at the hotel— doesn’t know what I told you.”

  Lily smiled. “He’s quite a character. He made me laugh.”

  Raphael pictured Matt, comforting him when he was sick. “Matt’s a good guy.” He scanned their surroundings. “Do you mind if we walk for a while?”

  They descended the ramp from the courtyard and walked along the path approaching the main tar pit. In the grassy open area to the left, a bare-chested young man threw a Frisbee. His collie scrambled after it, leaping to catch the toy in its teeth.

  “You must have been close to him. I mean, you’re in charge of the celebration.”

  “Jason and I were colleagues and friends. It was an honor for me to be responsible for the event.

  “So it was planned a long time ago?”

  “Not at all. On January 11, I received a package from Jason with instructions for the celebration and a cashier’s check to cover the costs. In the package was a personal letter to me apologizing for his death. That’s how I heard Jason was dead.”

  “And you’re certain he’s deceased?”

  Lily glanced up at a passing cloud. “He is.” She dropped her gaze to Raphael and intently studied his face.

  “I don’t want him to be dead,” said Raphael.

  “Why? I mean, aside from not wanting anyone to be dead.”

  “He sent me a message promising me something.”

  “When was this?”

  Raphael sighed. He couldn’t get around how ridiculous he would sound. “After he died.”

  Lily’s face registered no surprise. “May I ask what he promised?”

  “To set me free from my phobia.” Raphael shook his head. “For all I know, it could be an imposter with some weird agenda, I guess. The more I find out, the less I’m sure of anything.” He halted. “You know Maisie Sparod, don’t you?”

  “It’s fortunate I haven’t eaten lunch yet. You’re not a friend of Maisie, I hope.”

  “I met her once.”

  “And you still have all your limbs?”

  Raphael laughed, and Lily took up his laughter. Maybe today it would all start to make sense.

  Reaching the main pit, Lily walked over to the fence, gripped the links. “She tried to entice Jason with a project once. He wanted nothing to do with it, her, I should say.”

  Raphael stood beside Lily. “Sparod didn’t like Klaes’s attitude then?”

  “It went somewhat further. The green-eyed monster. Klaes could think. Maisie, as with many, could only regurgitate.” Lily gazed at the tar. “Jason was brilliant but careless. You put a worthwhile object near Maisie Sparod, you shouldn’t expect to get it back. She bankrolls many peer-reviewed journals, previews a lot of research. If she sees an interesting paper submitted by a person she’s antagonistic to, she’ll, let’s say, leak it to one of her vassals. It may surprise you how valuable research might be if it’s glimpsed a few minutes before public dissemination. Similar to automated trading systems on the stock market. A second here, a microsecond there, and the insider gets filthy rich. We’re talking prizes and grants, which can attract big money, multi-millions if your research warrants it. Sparod no doubt stole from Jason. Or tried.”

  “Did Jason ever mention a project called Personality Plus?”

  Lily pursed her lips, seemed to gaze inward, and shook her head. “Sorry. Jason worked on many projects. I was familiar with some, but Personality? No bells.”

  “They wanted it,” said Raphael more to himself than Lily. “I mean, Maisie and Maglio, my company’s CEO.”

  “If a rat smells cheese.” Lily twisted her toe into the grass. “If she’s after something, she persists until she gets it—legally or extralegally.”

  “If true—”

  “I wouldn’t give Maisie the benefit of an if.”

  Raphael glanced down at Lily’s foot sinking into the grass, black at its base. He pointed. “If you go any deeper, you’ll get tar on your shoes.”

  Lily nodded and drew back her foot.

  “A thousand feet down, there’s the Salt Lake Oil Field. Right where we’re standing, they pumped up oil.” He swept his hand outward. “Wells all over this place.”

  “Any chance of falling down one?” asked Lily.

  “I think it’s just your shoes in danger,” Raphael said with a smile.

  Lily laughed but inched back again.

  Was it just Lily’s shoes that were in danger? He had already spilled a lot to her, but could he trust her entirely? Sure, she looked like his mother, but she wasn’t: a stranger, Raphy. He should just walk away. But the fire to know burned in him, and he saw Lily as the one person who might have the knowledge he needed. He had to go for it.

  “I found a file of Jason’s with that name. It had a weird extension. I couldn’t open it. When I asked my supervisor for help”—he recalled when things soured—“he took me off Klaes and entombed the physicist.”

  “Entombed?”

  “It’s Norval-speak for locking down someone’s data.”

  From the nearby museum plaza came live music. For an instant, Raphael felt detached from his body. It was as though he saw the dawning on his own face—forehead smoothing, eyes flashing with insight. The words of that moment echoed. Dreemont had said, “You won’t open the file.” No, not a simple you, but an emphatic you. His supervisor didn’t want Raphael even to try. Dreemont realized right away the file was important, special.

  “Do you have access to the file?” asked Lily. “I’m no computer scientist, but I have friends who are. They might be able to do something with it.”

  Raphael shook his head. “They destroyed it. She and Maglio were hunting for the file, but it wasn’t what they’d hoped for. It contained a virus designed to consume the Norval database, Weblock’s too.”

  “I can see why it might be aimed at Maisie.”

  From behind them came a high-pitched scream. At the top of the slope surrounding the pit, children had gathered, gesturing toward the stone mastodons. The little tribe, each holding a phone or iPad and jostling each other, charged down the hill and rushed to the chain-link fence, encircling Lily and Raphael.

  One boy hocked through the fence. The phlegmy gob sat on the thick oil. The spitter turned his back to the fence, struck a cocky pose, and lifted his phone to take a selfie. The animatronic cat roared, and its foreleg snapped up, sending the boy stumbling forward in fright. He tumbled to the ground, which drew squeals of laughter from the other children, who turned their phones on him and relentlessly clicked away.

  Raphael slipped his fingers through the fencing. He remembered once scrambling to the top. Under the afternoon sun, the asphalt shone, its acrid odor potent.

  “Is your event going as you planned?” asked Raphael.

  Lily closed her eyes against the sun and breathed as if to take in its warmth. “I’m following Jason’s directions, that’s all. He left explicit instructions and the funds to make it happen.”

  Raphael pushed away from the fence. “Tributes from brilliant physicists, I suppose.”

  Lily bent to inspect her shoe. “Damn, I got some of your tar on it.”

  “Hey, not mine.”

  Lily laughed. “There will be some tributes. He also provided findings on his most recent research, yet unpublished, which we’ll distribute and discuss. There’s something else. An invention maybe, but I can’t be sure.”

  Lily described the mysterious crate that was not to be opened until the celebration, leaving the description as little more than its dimensions and weight. “So, Raphael, what is it you want from me?”

  “Would Sparod have murdered Klaes?”

  Lily pivoted and leaned her back against the fence. “Not Sparod in the flesh. She’d hire a pro. The darknet makes using assassins as easy as hiring a gardener to mow your lawn. I’m not saying she did, but the means are available. What does your company want?”

  “Profit,” snapped Raphael.

  Lily nodded. “There is little in science without application in the world of commerce. Would Maisie have stolen something allowing her to make a profitable deal? Sure.”

  “Worth enough for Maisie and Maglio to have Klaes killed?”

  “If the size of the prize was right.”

  He took a deep breath, held it a second, and let it all out in a slow huff. “Did Jason have it in him to murder?”

  She frowned and looked toward the tar pit. Raphael supposed she had become tired with his nonsense, but he persisted. “He made threats to people. And the people he sent them to are now dead.”

  Lips quivering, Lily scanned the pit as if for something other than the black oil and floating debris.

  She whispered. “Go on.”

  “If it wasn’t Klaes, there’s another possibility. Maglio and Sparod got into Klaes’s accounts after they killed him. They sent the emails to put me on a false trail, but one on which I might turn up something interesting, though not the truth about Klaes. They don’t want me sure if Klaes is alive or dead.”

  Lily pivoted to him. “If he’s alive, they’re guilty of nothing.”

  “Except stealing his work.” A drone appeared one hundred feet above them, hovering. He lowered his voice. “I met with Jonathan Mirsky … at a strip club.”

  Lily again dug her toe into the grass. “An awful end. But we predicted it would happen someday. Walk out from a bar into the streets …” She shook her head. “He was a special genius. Quantum mechanics and B-girls. Jon would have been at the celebration.” She caught her breath. “Jason, Jonathan—a lot to take in.” Eyes welling, she looked away.

  “I’m sorry,” said Raphael.

  She wiped at the tears. “What did Jonathan tell you?”

  “Vague talk of nonlocality, spooky action, being alive and dead simultaneously. Can you stick a pin in a doll and make a human grab his guts? Could nonlocality be what Maglio and Sparod are trying to nail down?”

  Lily shook her head. “It doesn’t work outside the quantum. Best to think of it as a metaphor.”

  “A metaphor, right. Not exactly what Norval would be interested in.”

  “Your company leverages data, right? Two years ago, I met Jason for a drink. He brought up neural networks. He said, he’d found what no one was looking for.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I asked him the same thing. He gave me a Mona Lisa smile, or should I say a Mary Sue smile? Whatever he meant, neural networks are the key to leaps in computer power, which translates into better manipulation of data for companies like yours.”

  “Yeah, that would get Norval’s attention.”

  The drone descended another five yards. Has to be the worst spy drone ever. He bent down and picked up a stone.

  “Would your company kill for better data?”

  “If they could get away with it.”

  “I’d rather believe that than think Jason took his own life.”

  “But it’s not out of the question?”

  “Jason was carrying something heavy.”

  Raphael’s heart pounded. “A crime?”

  Lily shrugged. “He never said that, but he was ashamed of whatever he did.”

  “So he could have—suicide that is.”

  Lily sighed. “I’m not helping, am I?

  He was back where he started: maybe Jason killed himself, maybe he didn’t.

  He tugged on his beanie and pushed his hair back. On the asphalt lake, a bubble formed, swelled, and burst. It was there and then not. Where had it gone? A balmy breeze swept across the tar—or had it arisen from within it? Impenetrable black became clear as water. Something touched his shoulder. He twisted to see Lily lifting her hand.

  “What—”

  “A fallen hair,” said Lily, pinching it between her fingers. “Don’t worry, you have plenty more.” She feigned dropping the strand, but it remained between her fingertips. Something significant had happened, but he didn’t have a clue what it was. She patted his arm. “I have to get back to the hotel. If you discover that Jason is alive …” She shook her head. “If I can think of anything that might help you …” Lines that hadn’t been there before creased her forehead. “‘I will be the machine in the ghost.’”

  “What?”