The gin tasted even worse all of a sudden, and Ruby pushed the glass away. “Tillinghast.” She looked around, half expecting to see the slender, elegant fellow leaning against the bar, watching her with those deep, perceptive eyes, but there was no sign of him. Ruby wondered if Sanford knew about Gloria yet. It made sense that Tillinghast would have an associate running errands for him. He’d always struck her as more of a “work from the shadows” type.

  “That’s the one.” Gloria cocked her head. “You say his name like it’s a swallow of sour milk. Is there anything I should know? He’s been a perfect gentleman so far, but I know some men come across that way so you’ll let your guard down, and then make a move you didn’t see coming.”

  Ruby shook her head. “No, he never… it’s nothing like that. He was fine. A little strange, like he was in on a joke nobody else could understand, but he’s rich, and rich men are all peculiar in their own ways. It was just… the job I did for him got a little hairy. He paid me for it, paid me a bonus even, for the trouble I saw, but…”

  “But money doesn’t erase your memory,” Gloria said. “I get that. He’s had me do some odd things since he hired me, but nothing I’d call hairy.”

  “He sent you to talk to me?” Ruby said. She nodded. “How did he even know I was here?”

  Gloria shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I ask questions, but he doesn’t usually answer them, and if I had more sense, I’d probably give up on trying to understand him entirely.”

  Tillinghast had possessed inexplicable inside information about the job Ruby did for him, too. He’d sent her down south to acquire some disgusting little relic called the “Horror In Clay.” The people who’d owned the lumpy statuette had been very attached to it, and exceedingly cross with her for liberating the object of their affections. Ruby still had dreams, sometimes, of torches flickering all around her in a dark swamp as she fled, wondering if the alligators or the cultists would get her first.

  She leaned back in the booth and took a closer look at Gloria. She was well put-together, relaxed, and friendly; dressed fashionably but not aggressively so; and she projected a sort of “we’re all in this together” bonhomie. Ruby never trusted first impressions. Too often, people were just putting on the costume they wanted you to see, knowing once you’d made up your mind about the kind of person they were, that impression would be established, and subsequently hard to shake. Ruby used that trick too often herself to let it work on her.

  But, damn it, Gloria was likeable, and there was no harm in listening. Sanford had tasked Ruby to track down Tillinghast and wriggle into his good graces, and here was an opportunity, served up on a platter. Sure, it seemed too easy, just like the job at the docks, but didn’t Ruby deserve an actual lucky break every once in a while? “What’s mister long, tall, and mysterious want you to tell me?”

  “He wonders if you’d meet with him to discuss a potential business arrangement.”

  Ruby hadn’t really enjoyed the last job she did for the man, though it had turned out all right in the end. Except for the nightmares. “Did he tell you what kind of business arrangement?”

  Gloria smiled, her dimples deepening. “He did! He said to tell you ‘the lucrative kind.’”

  She snorted a laugh despite herself. “The old man does know the way to my heart, I guess. Do you know what I used to do for him, Gloria?”

  “He told me you were one of the finest acquisition agents he’d ever employed.” She paused. “I assume that means you’re good at negotiating purchases.”

  “That’s an assumption, all right. Where and when does Tillinghast want to meet?”

  “At his shop,” Gloria said. “And now, if it’s convenient?”

  Ruby had a set of brass knuckledusters and a Derringer pistol in her purse, so she was as ready for a meeting as she’d ever be. Those were just the usual precautions, though. Ruby didn’t think she was in any danger – she didn’t have anything Tillinghast was likely to want, and even if she did, without knowing it, he knew she was easier to buy off than to threaten. Ruby considered ducking out to give Sanford a call, and let him know things were in motion, but the old man was such a meddler – he’d probably dispatch Altman or someone else to follow her around and muck up everything in the process. She decided to call Altman after, when she had something solid to report.

  “Let me settle up here, and then we can go,” Ruby said.

  “I’m delighted,” Gloria replied, and seemed to mean it.

  Dyer’s car was parked just around the corner, and it was a real looker: a long, sleek, canary-yellow convertible roadster with shining running boards and leather interior, and a hood ornament like a winged Viking helmet. Ruby whistled. “Is that the new Imperial 80?”

  “Fresh off the assembly line,” Gloria said. “It’s barely got a hundred miles on it. Shipped down from Detroit on a train, apparently. I found it in the driveway of the house I’m renting the day I arrived here, with a note from Mr Tillinghast that said, ‘To aid you in your errands on my behalf. You may keep it when our business is concluded.’” She laughed, a silver-bell tinkle. “Talk about a starting bonus, huh?”

  Ruby shook her head, impressed. Tillinghast was generous enough, in her experience, but then, if your personality doesn’t inspire loyalty, money can be a great help. She went around to the passenger side, climbing in while Gloria settled behind the wheel. The engine started up with a rumble, then roared like a barely tamed beast. “I found a nice straight empty back road that first day and pushed her up past eighty miles per hour.” Gloria patted the wheel affectionately. “She didn’t break a sweat or even start to shimmy. I call her Helios. My chariot of the sun.”

  “You’re a pretty bright and perky person yourself, aren’t you, Gloria?”

  Dyer put the car into gear and pulled around the corner, angling her way westward. “I’ve had my share of shadows in my life, so when I have a chance to stand in the light, I make sure to appreciate it. But maybe my fortunes are finally turning. Mr Tillinghast is being so generous, I might be able to pursue some of my own dreams for once, instead of just making other people’s come true.”

  Ruby leaned back, closing her eyes and enjoying the feel of the wind in her hair. For once, the breeze was blowing the right way, and didn’t even smell like tar and fish. “What dreams are those?”

  “Oh, now, a girl has to keep some secrets, doesn’t she?”

  “Amen to that, sister,” Ruby agreed. “Well, I hope you get everything you want and nothing you don’t.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Gloria replied.

  Ruby opened her eyes and watched the buildings slide past, Gloria deftly weaving around the inevitable double-parked delivery trucks and plodding, inattentive pedestrians. “We’re headed to Northside? Funny place to put a shop, isn’t it? It’s mostly offices and factories over there. Not likely to attract much passing trade.”

  “Mr Tillinghast is mostly open by appointment anyway,” Gloria said. “Though it’s unclear if he’ll actually settle in Northside. He’s had me show him so many different spaces. He’ll decide on one, only to change his mind and pack up the whole inventory and move to a better prospect. The local real estate agents are quite put out with me, I’m afraid.”

  “Tillinghast moves around all the time, huh?” Ruby mused. “Like some sort of fugitive, almost. Or a crime boss staying one step ahead of the G-Men.”

  “Oh, I don’t get that impression,” Gloria said. “More that he’s… very particular. He’s looking for perfection, and nothing less will do.” She glanced sidelong at Ruby. “Do you think he is involved in legally dubious activities? I’d hate to find myself embroiled in something unsavory. But I’m not stupid. Given how free Tillinghast is with his money, I’ve certainly wondered.”

  Ruby waved a hand. “Everyone who deals in ancient relics and artifacts operates in legally gray areas, Gloria. They pay off dockmasters, they bribe customs agents, they spirit away objects that probably ought to be in museums… even your ordinary book dealers cheat and connive and scheme and backstab, and when the texts in question get really rare, it all turns even nastier. But it’s not like Tillinghast is running the Capone mob or something. Even my boss–” She paused. It was entirely too easy to talk to this woman. Gloria had that trick of making you feel like the most interesting person in the world, gazing at you, all wide-eyed fascination. Ruby had used that technique herself often enough to make others tell her things they shouldn’t have, and it galled her a little to find herself falling for the same technique. Gloria seemed so genuine, but Ruby would proceed with caution anyway. “Let’s just say, even some of the most prominent and upstanding people in Arkham have hands that aren’t totally pristine. You don’t get money and power without getting a little dirt under your nails in the process.”

  “Surely you have to draw the line somewhere, though,” Gloria said.

  Ruby shrugged. “Sure. I don’t like violence. For one thing, working with violent people means you might find yourself the subject of that violence sometime, and that’s not for me.”

  “As good a limit as any, I suppose,” Gloria said. “We’re here.” She pulled into a narrow street, almost an alleyway, between a defunct cannery and a squat brick building that seemed to be held together more by inertia than mortar.

  “When I worked for Tillinghast, he had an office at the top of a private library,” Ruby said. “He’s gone down in the world.”

  “It’s nicer inside,” Gloria said. “You see the wooden door there, with the square window? It should be open, so just let yourself in.”

  “You aren’t coming with me?”

  “More errands to run,” Gloria said. “A helpmeet’s job is never done. Mr Tillinghast will get you a cab wherever you want to go, if I’m not back by the time you’re finished.” She offered her hand and shook Ruby’s briskly. “I hope we have the chance to chat again, or maybe even work together. I enjoyed meeting you.”

  “Same here,” Ruby said. “Us career gals have to watch out for each other, right?”

  Gloria gave her a wink, and Ruby slipped out of the car and watched her drive the purring convertible around a corner and out of sight. She looked around the alley, strewn with dried leaves and newspaper pages, and muttered, “I get to visit such nice places.”

  Ruby approached the ornate and polished dark wooden door, which seemed out of place set into the crumbling bricks. The square window was stained glass, mostly white except for a green triangle with a stylized eye in the center. She’d seen sigils like that before in various mystic texts – eyes and pyramids were common motifs among secret societies – but never one exactly like this; there was something sort of reptilian about this eye, though she couldn’t put her finger on what. She knocked once, said, “Hello?” and then put her hand on the copper doorknob when there was no answer. Gloria said to just go in…

  Ruby twisted the knob and pushed. There was a popping sound, like a seal being broken, and the door swung inward.

  The interior of the shop was much nicer than the outside, a cozy space with dark wooden floors scattered with colorful rugs in peculiar geometric patterns, lit by the soft glow of brass lamps. There were shelves everywhere, crammed with books bound in leather and cloth and less obvious materials, and other shelves that held curios and statuary and peculiar objects, and occasional freestanding pedestals with objects of presumably greater value displayed under glass.

  She stepped in, shutting the door behind her, and called, “Mr Tillinghast?” There was no answer, so she looked around, peering at some of the most eye-catching objects on the shelves: a figurine of a broad-hipped woman carved from white crystal; a sparkling cracked-open geode, the crystals inside the color of rich burgundy wine; a copper sphere surrounded by silver rings; an astrolabe and matching sextant that appeared to be made of solid gold; a squat statuette of a man with the head of a beetle; a book with a black binding that sported a snarling wolf’s face on the cover, complete with real teeth–

  “Ah, Miss Standish.” The voice purred from behind her, and Ruby made herself turn slowly, with a smile, instead of startling.

  Tillinghast was there, standing behind a long glass counter that she hadn’t noticed before, with a tarnished brass cash register at his elbow. He was the same as she remembered, down to the smallest detail: a tall, thin white man, probably in his sixties, with gray hair cut short and a gray Italian suit of an immaculate cut. He didn’t look at all like a humble shopkeeper; he looked like the patriarch of an aristocratic family, full of centuries of dignity. Except for that dark little twinkle in his eye, like there was a joke only he knew, but if you could understand it, you’d be just as amused as he was. The twinkle was only there when the man smiled, though. She remembered well that when his face went slack and impassive, the eyes became like black wells. “You’re looking well.”

  Ruby dredged up a smile. “Last time you saw me, I still had muck in my hair from running through a swamp. I should hope I’ve cleaned up since then.”

  “Your innate glory always shines through, my dear.” Tillinghast picked up a stool and carried it from behind the counter, setting it carefully on the floor. “Have a seat, would you?”

  Ruby sat on the stool, tucking her skirts around her. “Gloria said you had a job offer for me?”

  “Straight to the particulars, then? You don’t want a glass of brandy or a cup of tea first?” He was still half-smiling at that secret joke of his. Ruby just hoped the joke wasn’t on her.

  She didn’t want to be around Tillinghast any longer than necessary. He still made her skin crawl. She was only here because Carl Sanford had asked her to renew the connection, and he was the one providing her with martini money lately. “Maybe we can have a drink to seal the deal, if we make one,” she said. “What’s your offer, Mr Tillinghast? I trust you won’t waste my time.”

  “Nothing too strenuous, really,” Tillinghast replied, leaning against the counter. “I just want you to betray your current employer, Carl Sanford, and come work for me instead.”

  Chapter Six

  The Hourglass

  Altman was supposed to be off Tillinghast duty for the day. Sanford had spent the past two months tracing rumors and rumblings about a visiting professor of philosophy at the university, Reginald Detwiller, who was dabbling in matters best left undabbled in. The professor was supposedly messing with time, somehow, or trying to, and Sanford didn’t like people conducting occult experiments in his city unless he got to supervise and take a cut of any useful proceeds.

  So Altman was sitting in the professor’s apartment, in the dark, in an armchair, with a pistol in his lap, waiting for the fellow to get home. Sure, the whole setup was a little theatrical, and something of a cliché, but it really was pretty effective. Just being there in someone’s supposed place of safety tended to shake them up thoroughly, and shaken people were easy to push around. The only problem was, the technique required a lot of waiting, and a lot of patience, and that left Altman alone with his thoughts.

  Too often, lately, after a lifetime of placid calm, those thoughts had been troubled. Ever since the death of his brother Reggie, really. The elder Altman had always been a titan to his younger sibling, an unstoppable force, effortlessly deadly, a killer with panache, brute force with a bright mind… but he’d been bested and killed by cultists, and the surviving Altman hadn’t even been able to get revenge on them personally.

  Sanford had gotten that revenge instead, and Altman respected the man for it, and was even grateful, but Sanford had also been the one who led the older Altman into the cult’s clutches to begin with. Altman didn’t blame his employer for that – this was a dangerous business, messing with the occult – but it did make him a little nervous. Altman had no doubt that Sanford would sacrifice him, too, if it furthered his interests, or even enabled the magus himself to survive five minutes longer than he would otherwise. That was fine, too, honestly; you didn’t become the head of an organization like the Silver Twilight Lodge without a streak of ruthlessness as wide as the Yangtze River, and Altman knew what he was signing up for when he took the old man’s coin.

  But more and more he found himself wondering: How do I stop working for people like Sanford, and become a person like Sanford instead? It would be nice, for once, to wield the power, instead of just being an element of the power that someone else wielded.

  Shortly after nightfall, Altman’s brooding was interrupted by the creak of the front door’s unoiled hinges. The university put up their temporary professors in fairly small and dingy apartments that clung to the outskirts of campus, but that’s what the life of the mind got you.

  Detwiller bustled in, a small man in a worn plaid suit, with a parcel tucked under one arm. He was bursting with energy, like a small and nervous dog, and his hair was combed meticulously over a bald spot the size of the Aral Sea. Altman had spied on him once or twice and developed the impression of a man who was deeply concerned about his appearance but didn’t have much to work with in the area. He didn’t notice Altman at all, just carried his paper-wrapped package to the table in the eat-in kitchen, and picked up a knife to slice apart the strings binding it.

  Altman eased up out of the chair and padded silently to stand behind Detwiller. He watched as the man unwrapped the package and tore open the box, then removed an ornate foot-tall hourglass, delicate blown-glass chambers filled with sand the color of ash – maybe it was ash – in a black wooden frame carved with small, intricate spirals. “Finally,” Detwiller breathed, and that’s when Altman put his hands on the man’s shoulders and boomed, “What’s this, then?”

  Detwiller shrieked and tried to spin, but Altman pushed down, holding him in place. “Put down the hourglass and take a seat, professor. We’ll have a little chat, shall we?”