David had slung the shoulder strap of the valise over his neck, and with one arm around her waist, shepherded Olivia to the cab stand, where he barged to the head of the line, pleading that his wife needed to get to a hospital. Once in the taxi, he directed him to the Crillon, where Mrs. Van Owen’s very efficient travel agent had already arranged for their accommodations.
At the hotel, Olivia was sufficiently recovered to navigate through the lobby, and down the hushed corridor to the lavish two-bedroom suite with a bird’s-eye view of the Place de la Concorde. Formerly known as the Place de la Révolution, its stones had once been awash in the blood from the guillotine; Louis XVI and his queen, Marie Antoinette, had been decapitated, like thousands of others, just a few hundred yards away.
“I need a hot shower,” Olivia said, “and room service.”
“What do you want?”
“Start with a dozen eggs, bacon, croissants, cheese, coffee—very black and very strong—and a gun.”
“I don’t think guns are on the menu.”
“Just so long as I have something to kill them with, if I ever see those two again.”
David placed the order, then quickly tried Gary again on his cell phone. This time the call went through, and even though it was the middle of the night in Chicago, Gary sounded wide-awake.
“I was planning to just leave you a message,” David said.
“That’s okay. I’m up.”
“Where are you?”
“Right now, the den. I’m watching some old movie on TCM.”
“How’s she doing?”
Gary paused, before saying, “Okay, I guess. She goes in daily for treatments, but at least she’s not living in the hospital. She doesn’t have a nurse waking her up every two hours to take another blood sample.”
“How’s Emme holding up?”
“She’s just happy to have her mom at home. For that matter, so am I.”
“I wish I could be there to help out.”
“Listen, you do what you have to do. Get that promotion. I’ll keep you posted. But Sarah likes knowing you’re out there, going to all those glamorous places. Which one are you in now?”
“Paris.”
“Paris,” Gary said, and David could picture him nodding in approbation. “I’ll have to tell Sarah as soon as she wakes up.”
“I’ll send her a postcard,” David said, “though I hope to be home before it gets there.”
“That’d be great,” Gary replied. “Emme’s been practicing up on the Wii, and I think she wants to whip her uncle David at a game of tennis or Ping-Pong or something.”
“Tell her I’m up for the rematch anytime.”
Hanging up, David stared out the window, feeling the enormous distance between himself and his sister, and feeling, like a magnet, drawn back toward home. But what good would that do her? What good would that do anyone? Anything he could accomplish had to be done right here.
The bedroom door opened, and Olivia emerged in a plush bathrobe, ruffling a towel through her hair, just as the room-service cart arrived. Throwing down a cup of hot coffee before even touching the food, she asked, “So, I’ve been thinking about it. Do you think these two are the same guys who beat up Giorgio in my apartment?”
David had been considering that, too. “Even if they’re not, I’d bet they’re all good friends.”
Olivia began to lift the silver salvers and inspect what was on the plates and in the bread basket. The aromas alone were overwhelming.
“I think so, too. Coffee?” she said, pouring a cup for David. The lapels of her robe gaped open at the throat, revealing skin as smooth as the butter she was slathering on her bread. David had to refocus his thoughts.
“I’m really sorry,” he finally said, as she unabashedly dug into a plate of eggs and bacon.
“For what?”
As slender as a gazelle, she ate with the relish of a lion.
“For getting you into this mess,” he said.
“What do you mean, for getting me into this mess? How do you know,” she said, wagging a slice of crisp bacon in the air, “that it’s not my mess?” She actually sounded a bit indignant. “It was my apartment they broke into. It was my old boyfriend they beat up. Maybe it’s me they’re after.”
Oddly, David wished he could believe that—it would at least absolve him of any guilt—but he knew it wasn’t true, and he knew that it was time he told her the truth. If she was going to assist him in his search, and be exposed to whatever dangers might lie ahead, she needed to know what she was getting into. He needed to make a clean breast of it.
“The woman who has given me this job,” he began, “is named Kathryn Van Owen,” and Olivia listened carefully as he explained what he knew of her. None of that was so hard to accept or understand. “But she believes,” he eventually concluded, “in the power of La Medusa.”
“She believes that it can actually grant immortality?” Olivia said, matter-of-factly. “I figured she did.”
Olivia had read The Key to Life Eternal. She knew how the mirror had been made, and for what purpose, but still, David had expected more of a reaction than this. “You figured that?”
“Of course,” Olivia said. “Why else would she go to all this trouble and expense?” She waved one arm around the lavish suite. “The real question is, do you believe it?”