He cursed in German. “That witch in Africa said you’d never return to Toronto!”
Mekera was a tyromancer, not a witch, but Drasche probably would not care about the distinction. “She told you the truth as best she could see it. I’m just unpredictable. We have that in common, Werner. When you killed my friend Kodiak Black, you left a note that said you wanted to talk, yet all you did in Ethiopia was spray bullets at me. That’s uncommon rudeness, Werner, especially when I spared your life the first time we met.”
“You want to talk? We’re talking now.”
“It’s not good enough somehow. Let’s do it in person. I have something to say to your face, and I bet you’re wearing a fabulous ascot today. Meet me in Massey Hall on the corner of Victoria and Shuter in a half hour. I’ll be inside.”
I disconnected before he could reply. Whether he came alone or with a bunch of hired muscle, the people of Toronto would be safe. He couldn’t leech anything from an empty theatre. I ducked my head back into the classroom and saw Gwendolyn still hovering there, a vision in red.
“Everything’s settled. Shall we go?” I extended a hand to her and she floated toward me, something approaching a smile curving the slash of a mouth on her face. We descended the grand staircase together, and the single person we saw on the way froze for a second and then hurried up past us without saying a word. When we stepped outside into the sunlight on the steps where she died, I paused to look at her.
“Ready?”
“I’m ready, Nigel,” she said, though her voice was a faint whisper in the daylight and she looked like someone had gotten too enthusiastic with the transparency slider.
“Excellent. Please don’t trouble yourself about these roads and the strange carriages and clothing people wear. There have been a few changes since you passed. Progress.”
She made no answer, and it was just as well. I had to worry instead about other people troubling themselves about the red apparition floating next to me. Perhaps I would get lucky, I thought, and I’d be the only one who could see her.
That didn’t happen. I was hailed twice on the brisk walk to Massey Hall, once by a pedestrian and once by someone in a car, and asked what was that red smudge next to me.
“What?” I asked. “I don’t see anything.” That got rid of them. They would no doubt make optometrist appointments soon.
Massey Hall was a dirty brick lump of a building on the outside, covered in soot and grime reminiscent of buildings from the Industrial Revolution. Fire-escape stairwells on the front of the building, intended to give people on the balcony a fleeting chance in case of disaster, sloped down to the left and right, bracketing the front doors in an iron triangle. Three double doors with small windows above them were painted candy-apple red to reassure everyone that the building wasn’t derelict and promised all kinds of fun inside. The inside was a beautiful theatre with excellent acoustics, which was why everyone put up with the ugly outside. And like most theatres, it’s spectacularly empty during the day, making it an excellent place for a tête-à-tête in the middle of a huge city. Drasche would appreciate that I’d be cut off from the earth. It would be a fair fight—or appear so to him as he walked into an ambush. And it was fine if he suspected an ambush: Short of demolishing the building with me inside, there would be nothing he could do, and I hoped the half-hour window to act would prevent him from orchestrating something like that.
“The man who ran you down,” I said to Gwendolyn, “is bald and has strange tattoos all over his head. I want to talk to him alone inside this building. If anyone else tries to enter the building—from any door on any side—please keep them out as best you can. Close and lock the doors. Toss them across the street. Whatever it takes. Just get the bald tattooed man in and keep everyone else out.”
“Vvvvery well.”
“Can you lock and unlock these doors?” I asked, pointing to the first pair. Best to make sure.
“Yess.”
“Would you please unlock one for me?” She could do it faster than I could by flipping the tumblers, and I didn’t want to use any of my stored energy if I didn’t have to. Once they clacked, I pulled open the door.
“Thanks, Gwendolyn. You can leave this one open until the bald man comes inside. He shouldn’t be long.”
If he was the punctual sort, anyway. It had taken most of a half hour to walk from the conservatory to the concert hall, and that was a nervous speed-walk.
“Beeee careful, Nigel,” she said.
“Thank you, I will.”