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"Well, that's old news. That's no good. Nothing new is what I meant."

"Nothing new."

"This companion of hers, what did he look like?" Lark asked.

Lightner's expression darkened slightly. Was this weariness or bitterness? Lark was baffled.

"Oh, you know more about him now than I do, don't you?" asked Lightner. "Rowan sent you X-ray film, printouts of electroencephalograms, all of that sort of thing. Didn't she send a picture?"

"No, she didn't," Lark said. "Who are you people, really?"

"You know, Dr. Larkin, I don't honestly know the answer to that question. I suppose I never have. I'm just more frank with myself about it these days. Things happen. New Orleans works its spell on people. So do the Mayfairs. I was guessing on the tests; you might say I was trying to read your mind."

Lark laughed. All this had been said so agreeably, and so philosophically. Lark sympathized with this man suddenly. In the dim light of the car, he also noticed things about him. That Lightner suffered from mild emphysema and that he had never smoked, and probably never been a drinker, and was fairly hale in a decade of programmed fragility--his eighties.

Lightner smiled, and looked out the window. The driver of the car was a mere dark shape behind the blackened glass.

Lark realized the car was loaded with all the standard amenities--the little television set, and the soft drinks tucked into ice in pockets on the middle doors.

What about coffee? When would they have coffee?

"There in the carafe," said Lightner.

"Ah, you read my mind," Lark said with a little laugh.

"It's that time of morning, isn't it?" said Lightner, and for the first time there was a little smile on his lips. He watched Lark open the carafe and discover the plastic cup in the side pocket. Lark poured the steaming coffee.

"You want some, Lightner?"

"No, thank you. Do you want to tell me what your friend Mitch Flanagan has found out?"

"Not particularly. I don't want to tell anyone but Rowan. I called Ryan Mayfair for the money. That's what Rowan instructed me to do. But she didn't say anything about giving anybody the test results. She said she'd contact me when she could. And Ryan Mayfair says that Rowan may be hurt. Maybe even dead."

"That's true," said Lightner. "It was good of you to come."

"Hell, I'm worried about Rowan. I wasn't too happy when Rowan left University. I wasn't too happy that she up and got married. I wasn't too happy that she left medicine. In fact, I was as astonished as if somebody had said, 'The world ends today at three o'clock.' I didn't believe it all, until Rowan herself told me over and over."

"I remember. She called you often last fall. She was very concerned about your disapproval." It was said mildly like everything else. "She wanted your advice on the creation of Mayfair Medical. She was sure that when you realized she was serious about the center you would understand why she was no longer practicing, that there was a great deal involved."

"Then you are a friend of hers, aren't you? I mean not this Talamasca necessarily, but you."

"I think I was her friend. I may have failed her. I don't know. Maybe she failed me." There was a hint of bitterness to it, maybe even anger. Then the man smiled pleasantly again.

"I have to confess something to you, Mr. Lightner," said Lark, "I thought this Mayfair Medical was a pipe dream. Rowan caught me off guard. But I've since done a little investigating of my own. Obviously this family has the resources to create Mayfair Medical. I just didn't know. I should have known, I suppose. Everybody was talking about it. Rowan is the smartest and best surgeon I ever trained."

"I'm sure she is. Did she tell you anything about the specimens when she talked to you? You said she called from Geneva and that was February twelfth."

"Again, I want to talk to Ryan, next of kin. Talk to the husband, see what is the right thing to do."

"The specimens ought to have everyone at the Keplinger Institute quite astonished," said Lightner. "I wish you would tell me the full extent of what Rowan sent. Let me explain my interest. Was Rowan herself in ill health when she spoke to you? Did she send any sort of medical material that pertained to her?"

"Yes, she did send samples of her own blood and tissue, but there's no evidence she was sick."

"Just different."

"Yeah, I dare say. Different. You are right on that."

Lightner nodded. He looked off again, out over what appeared to be a great sprawling cemetery, full of little marble houses with pointed roofs. The car sped on in the sparse traffic. There seemed so much space here. So much quiet. There was a seedy look to things, even a botched look. But Lark liked the openness, the sense of not being hampered by a moving traffic jam as he was always at home.

"Lightner, my position on this is really difficult," he said. "Whether you are her friend or not."

They were turning off already, gliding down past an old brick church steeple that seemed perilously close to the descending ramp. Lark felt relief when they reached the street, shabby though it was. Again, he liked the spacious feeling of things here, though all was a bit forlorn. Things moved slowly here. The South. A town.

"I know all that, Dr. Larkin," said Lightner. "I understand. I know all about confidentiality and medical ethics. I know about manners and decency. People here know all about them. It's rather nice, being here. We don't have to talk about Rowan now if you don't want to. Let's have breakfast at the hotel, shall we? Perhaps you want to take a nap. We can meet at the First Street house later. It's just a few blocks away. The family has arranged everything for you."

"You know this is really very very serious," said Lark suddenly. The car had come to a halt. They were in front of a little hotel with smart blue awnings. A doorman stood ready to open the limousine door.

"Of course it is," said Aaron Lightner. "But it's also very simple. Rowan gave birth to this strange child. Indeed, as we both know, he is not a child. He is the male companion seen with her in Scotland. What we want to know now is can he reproduce? Can he breed with his mother or with other human beings? Reproduction is the only real concern of evolution, isn't it? If he was a simple one-and-only mutation, something created by external forces--radiation say, or some sort of telekinetic ability--well, we wouldn't be all that concerned, would we? We might just catch up with him and ascertain whether or not Rowan is remaining with him of her own free will, and then...shoot him. Perhaps."

"You know all about it, don't you?"

"No, not all about it. That's the disturbing thing. But I know this. If Rowan sent you those samples, it was because Rowan was afraid this thing could breed. Let's go inside, shall we? I'd like to call the family about this incident in Destin. I'd also like to call the Talamasca about Stolov. I have rooms here too, you see. You might call it my New Orleans headquarters. I rather like the place."

"Sure, let's go."

Before they reached the desk, Lark had regretted the small valise and the one change of clothes. He wasn't going to be leaving here so soon. He knew it. The dim feeling of something unwholesome and menacing warred in him with a new surge of excitement. He liked this little lobby, the amiable southern voices surrounding him, the tall, elegant black man in the elevator.

Yes, he would have to do some shopping. But that was fine. Lightner had the key in hand. The suite was ready for Lark. And Lark was ready for breakfast.

Yeah, she was afraid of that all right, Lark thought, as they went up in the elevator. She had even said something like, If this thing can breed...

Of course he hadn't known then what the hell she was talking about. But she'd known. Anyone else, you might think this was a hoax or something. But not Rowan Mayfair.

Well, he was too hungry just now to think about it anymore.

Eight

IT WAS NOT her custom to speak into the phone when she answered it. She would pick up the receiver, hold it to her ear; then if someone spoke, someone she knew, perhaps she would answer.