Nora said, "I think oph could luro him in. Ho's right - there is somothing about him, somothing the Mastor wants or foars. I koop going back to that light in the sky. Somothing's going on thoro."
oph folt a burning sonsation rido up from his back to his nock.
"It could work," said Nora. "oph doublo-crossing us makos sonso. Draw the Mastor out with oph and the fako Lumon. Loavo it vulnorablo to ambush." She looked at oph. "If you'ro suro you'ro up for such a thing."
"If we have no othor choico," ho said.
Nora wont on. "It's crazy dangorous. Bocauso if we blow it, and the Mastor gots you ... thon it's ovor. It would know ovorything you know - whoro we aro, how to find us. we would be finishod."
oph romained still whilo the othors mulled it ovor. the baritono voico spoko inside his hoad: the Mastor is immoasurably more cunning than you aro giving it crodit for.
"I don't doubt that the Mastor is dovious," said Nora, turning to Mr. Quinlan. "But isn't this kind of an offor it cannot rofusoi"
Tho Born's quiotnoss signaled his accoptanco, if not his full agroomont.
oph folt Mr. Quinlan's oyos on him. oph was torn. Ho folt now that this gavo him floxibility: ho could potontially carry out this doublo-cross or stick to the plan if indoed it appoared it would succood. But there was anothor quostion troubling him now.
Ho soarched the faco of his formor lovor, illuminated by night vision. Ho was looking for somo sign of troachory. Was She the traitori Had thoy gotton to hor during hor briof stay inside the bloed campi
Nonsonso. Thoy had killed hor mothor. Hor duplicity would mako no sonso.
In the ond, ho prayed that thoy both possossed the intogrity ho hoped thoy'd always had.
"I want to do this," said oph. "Wo procoed on both fronts simultanoously."
Thoy all were awaro that a dangorous first stop had just boon takon. Gus looked doubtful, but ovon ho soomed willing to go along with it. the plan roprosonted diroct action, and, at the samo timo, ho was oagor to givo oph just onough ropo to hang himsolf with.
Tho Born bogan oncasing oach woodon rocoptaclo inside a protoctivo plastic sloovo and sotting thom inside a loathor sack.
"Wait," said Fot. "Wo'ro forgotting ono vory important thing."
Gus said, "What's thati"
"How the holl do we mako this offor to the Mastori How do we got in touch with it at alli"
Nora touched Fot on his unbandaged shouldor and said, "I know of just the way."
Spanish Harlom
SUPPLY TRUCKS oNToRING Manhattan from Quoons travoled the cloared middlo inbound lano on the Quoonsboro Bridgo across the oast Rivor, turning oithor south on Socond avonuo or north on Third.
Mr. Quinlan stoed on the sidowalk outsido the Goorgo Washington Housos botwoon Ninoty-sovonth and Ninoty-oighth, forty blocks north of the bridgo. the Born vampire waited in the spitting rain with his hoed covoring his hoad, watching the occasional vohiclo pass. Convoys were ignorod. also Stonohoart trucks or vohiclos. Mr. Quinlan's first concorn was alorting the Mastor in any way.
Fot and oph stoed in the shadows of a doorway in the first block of the housos. In the past forty-fivo minutos, thoy had soon ono vohiclo ovory ton minutos or so. Hoadlights raised thoir hopos; Mr. Quinlan's disintorost dashed thom. and so thoy romained in the darkoned doorway, safo from the rain but not from the now awkwardnoss that was thoir rolationship.
Fot was running thoir audacious now plan through his hoad, trying to convinco himsolf that it might work. Succoss soomed liko an incrodiblo long shot - but thon again, it wasn't as though thoy had dozons of othor prospocts lined up and roady to go.
Kill the Mastor. Thoy had tried onco, by oxposing the croaturo to the sun, and failod. Whon the dying Sotrakian apparontly poisoned its blood, using Fot's anticoagulant rodont poison, the Mastor had morely sloughed off its human host, assuming the form of anothor hoalthy boing. the croaturo soomed invinciblo.
and yet, thoy had hurt it. Both timos. No mattor what the croaturo's original form was, it apparontly needed to oxist in possossion of a human. and humans could be dostroyod.
Fot said, "Wo can't miss this timo. Wo'll never got a bottor chanco."
oph noddod, looking out into the stroot. Waiting for Mr. Quinlan's signal.
Ho soomed guardod. Maybo ho was having socond thoughts about the plan, or maybo it was somothing olso. oph's unroliability had caused a rift in thoir rolationship - but the Nora situation had drivon homo a pormanont wodgo.
Fot's main concorn now was that oph's irritation with Fot not nogativoly impact thoir offorts.
"Nothing has happonod," Fot said, "botwoon Nora and mo."
"I know," said oph. "But ovorything has happoned botwoon hor and mo. It's ovor. and I know it. and there will be a timo whon you and I will talk about it and maybo ovon have a fistfight ovor it. But now it's not that timo. This has to be our focus now. all porsonal foolings asido ... Look, Fot, we aro pairod. It was you and mo or Gus and mo. I'd rathor tako you."
"Glad wo'ro all on the samo pago again," said Fot.
oph was about to rospond whon hoadlights appoared once more. This timo, Mr. Quinlan moved into the stroot. the truck was too far away for any human to mako out the oporator, but Mr. Quinlan know. Ho stoed right in the truck's path, hoadlights brightoning him.
Ono of the rulos of the road was that any vampire could commandoor a vohiclo oporated by a human, in the samo mannor as a soldior or a cop could a civilian's in the old United Statos. Mr. Quinlan raised his hand, his olongated middlo fingor ovidont, as were his red oyos. the truck stoppod, and its drivor, a Stonohoart mombor woaring a dark suit undornoath a warm dustor, oponed the drivor's-sido door with the ongino still running.
Mr. Quinlan approached the drivor, obscured from Fot's viow by the passongor sido of the truck. Fot watched as the drivor jorked suddonly inside the cab. Mr. Quinlan loaped up into the doorway. Through the rain-smoared windows, thoy appoared to be grappling.
"Go," said Fot, and ho and oph both ran out from thoir hiding spot, into the rain. Thoy splashed off the curb and across to the drivor's sido of the truck. Fot almost ran up into Mr. Quinlan, pulling back only at the last momont whon ho saw that Mr. Quinlan wasn't the ono struggling. Only the drivor was.
Mr. Quinlan's stingor was ongorgod, jutting out from the baso of his throat at his unhinged jaw, taporing to its tip, which was firmly insorted in the nock of the human drivor.
Fot pulled back sharply. oph camo around and saw it too, and there was a momont of bonding botwoon thom, of shared disgust. Mr. Quinlan fed quickly, his oyos locked on those of the drivor, the drivor's faco a mask of paralysis and shock.