"Yes," he said. Her voice was different, more detached.
He waited for her to say something else, but instead she just nodded and put a Mozart tape in the stereo.
He thought that would be the end of it. Instead, a week later, she called and asked if he could meet her for lunch at Aces High.
He was waiting at the table when she came in. She would never, he knew, look like a fashion model or like one of his geishas. But he liked the way she made the most of what she had: narrow gray flannel skirt, white cotton blouse, navy cardigan, amber beads, and a wide tortoiseshell band for her hair. No visible makeup except for mascara and a little lip gloss.
Fortunato got up to hold her chair and nearly bumped into Hiram. There was an awkward pause. Finally she held out her hand and Hiram bent over it, hesitated just a little too long, and then bowed away. Fortunato stared after him for a second or two. He wanted Eileen to say something about Hiram but she didn't take the hint. "It's good to see you," he said.
"It's good to see you too."
"In spite of . . . what happened last time?"
"What, is that an apology?" The smile again. '
"No," he said. "Though I really am sorry. I'm sorry I got you into this. I'm sorry I couldn't have met you some other way. I'm sorry we have this ugly business between us every time we see each other."
"So am L"
"And I'm afraid for you. I'm up against something like I've never seen before.
There's this . . . thing, this conspiracy, this cult, whatever it is, out there.
And I can't find anything out about it." A waiter brought menus and water in crystal goblets. Fortunato nodded him away.
"I've been to see Clarke," Fortunato said. "I asked him some questions, mentioned TIAMAT, and all I got were blank looks. He wasn't faking it. I looked in his brain." He took a breath. "He had no memory of you."
"That's impossible," Eileen said. She shook her head. "It's so strange to see you sitting there talking about reading his mind. There's got to be some kind of mistake, that's all. You're sure?"
Fortunato could see her aura clearly. She was telling the truth. "I'm sure," he said.
"I saw Clarke last night and I can promise you he remembered me. He took me to meet some people. They're members of the cult, or society, or whatever it is.
The coins are some kind of recognition thing."
"Did you get their names, or addresses, anything like that?"
She shook her head. "I'd know them again. One of them was called Roman. Very good looking, almost too good looking, if you know what I mean. The other one was very ordinary. Harry, I think his name was."
"Does the group have a name?"
"They haven't mentioned one." She glanced at the menu as the waiter came back.
"The veal medallions, I think. And a glass of the chablis."
Fortunato ordered insalata composta and a Beck's. "But I did learn some other things," she said. "I've been trying to trace Balsam's wife and son. I mean, they are a couple of loose ends in the story. First I tried the usual detective routine, birth and death and marriage records. No dice. Then I tried to find occult connections. Do you know the Abramelin Review?"
"No."
"It's a sort of Reader's Guide to occult publications. And that's where the Balsam family turned up. There's a Marc Balsam that's published at least a dozen articles in the last few years. Most of them were in a magazine called Nectanebus. Does that ring any bells?"
Fortunato shook his head. "A demon or something? It sounds like I should know it, but I can't put my finger on it."
"It's a good bet he's involved with the same society that Clarke is."
"Because of the coins."
"Exactly."
"What about those kid gangs that have been running wild up at the Cloisters? I took a coin off one of those kids. Can you see any possible connection?"
"Not yet. The articles might help, but the magazine's pretty obscure. I haven't been able to turn up any copies of it." The food arrived. Over lunch she finally mentioned Hiram. "Fifteen years ago he was more attractive than you might think.
A little hefty, but very charming. Knew how to dress, what to say. And of course he always knew fantastic restaurants."
"What happened? Or is it any of my business?"
"I don't know. What ever happens between people? I think most of it was that he was too self-conscious about his weight. Now it's me that's self-conscious all the time."
"You shouldn't be, you know. You look great. You could have any man you wanted."
"You don't have to flirt with me. I mean, you have all this sexual power and charisma and everything, but I don't like the idea of your using it on me.
Manipulating me."
"I'm not trying to manipulate you," Fortuanto said. "If it looks like I'm interested in you, it's because I'm interested in you."
"Are you always this intense?"
"Yeah. I guess I am. I look over at you and you're smiling all the time. It drives me crazy."
"I'll try to stop."
"Don't."
He'd come on too strong, he realized. She set her silverware neatly on her plate and dropped her folded napkin next to it. Fortuanto pushed the rest of his salad away. Suddenly something bubbled up in his mind.
"What did you say the name of the journal was? Where Balsam was publishing?"
She got a folded scrap of paper out of her purse. "Nectanebus. Why?"
Fortunato signaled for the check. "Listen. Can you come back to my apartment? No funny business. This is important."
"I suppose."
The waiter bowed and looked at Eileen. "Mr. Worchester is . . . unavoidably detained. But he asked me to tell you that your lunch is compliments of the house."
"Thank him for me," Eileen said. "Tell him . . . just tell him thank you."
Caroline was still asleep when they got to the apartment. She made a point of leaving the bedroom door open while she walked naked to the bathroom, then sat on the edge of the bed and slowly put her clothes on, starting with stockings and a garter belt.
Fortunato ignored her, sorting through the stacks of books that had grown to fill an entire wall of the front room. Either she'd learn to control her jealousy or she'd find another line of work.
Eileen smiled at her as she clomped out on her four-inch heels. "She's beautiful," she said.
"So are you."
"Don't start. "
"You brought it up." He handed her Budge's Egyptian Magic. "There you go.
Nectanebus."
"...famous as a magician and a sage, and he was deeply learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians."
"This is coming together. Remember Black John's dog mask? I'm wondering if Balsam's cult isn't the Egyptian Freemasons."
"Oh my god. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I'm thinking that the name Balsam could be an Americanization of Balsamo."
"As in Guiseppe Balsamo of Palermo," Eileen said. She sat down hard on the couch.
"Better known to the world," Fortunato said, "as Count Cagliostro. "
Fortuanto pulled up a chair across from her and sat with his elbows on his knees. "The Inquistion arrested him when?"
"Around 1790, wasn't it? They put him in some kind of dungeon. But his body was never found."
"He's supposed to be connected with the Illuminati. Suppose they broke him out of jail and smuggled him to America. "