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Authors: Richard Wadholm
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powerful spells, but apparently they could not get close enough to the disaster to effectively use the spell—the temperature at Site Y was so hot that candle wax melted immediately and ran within moments of their stepping outside of the bunker.”
Leder pressed his lips together. He looked down at his hands. “I told him to try the spell without the candles, but he could no longer read it from his copy of the Book. He told me no one at the site could read it.”
“What does that mean, ‘No one could read it’?”
Leder shook his head. “I have wondered that myself. This young man—this haughty young man—was practically in tears when he rang off.”
Leder was quiet for a moment before he went on. “I got one more call that night, about three in the morning. But the static on the line was roaring and the voice at the other end was barely capable of speech.”
“Were they still trying to control the experiment?”
Leder shook his head. “I believe that whatever he was calling for by this time, his reasons were deeply personal.”
“What was he saying?”
Leder laughed to himself. “ ‘God forgive me’? What do you suppose?”
Chapter Four
J UST FOR SUSAN’S PEACE OF MIND, they took one more look through the old wreck that had been the Four Winds Bar.
The three of them scoured the darkened room beneath the faintly fluorescing painted sky on the ceiling. They found the cluster of Angle Webs in the back room; they pulled out the “Heroes of the Olympiad” countertop, scratched their heads over the telescope mountings in front of each of the west-facing windows.
When they had looked everywhere and found nothing, Charley Shrieve offered to go through the Angle Web himself, just like he’d promised Carl Leder he would.
This was nonsense, of course. However little Susan knew about stepping through the Web, Shrieve knew even less. At least she would end up in a real location. Charley Shrieve would end up in some other dimension.
This was not to say she felt good about blazing this particular trail for the Allies’ counter-occult effort. The thought of stepping through the Angle Web to someplace nobody but old Nazis had been to, that just made her palms itch.
She nudged Bogen. “You still have that hand grenade in the glove box?”
“What? I don’t know . . .” That hand grenade must have been the cornerstone for Bogen’s whole postwar persona.
She slapped his arm. “I won’t break it.”
Bogen looked at Charley, who was up to here with Bogen and his hand grenade.
The kid gave the floor a sullen kick and then went to retrieve it. When he returned, he watched it sadly as he handed it over.
“Be waiting outside with the motor running,” Susan said. “Because I don’t know how long this is going to take, and I don’t know whether somebody might be following me out.”
Shrieve didn’t say thanks exactly. This was war, after all. Everybody had their job to do.
But he sure looked grateful.
Susan drew the Sigil of Transformation on the wall behind the counter. She drew the Angle Web beneath it. She took a couple of deep breaths, closed her eyes, and stepped through.
* * *
Charley called something out to her as she left. She turned to listen, and he was gone, along with Bogen, the Plymouth, the burned-out bar, Kiel . . .
She turned back to see nothing ahead of her but a fluorescing line, etched against a backdrop of immense darkness.
—Darkness, but not space. A smothering presence closed around her, clammy as moist clay. Claustrophobia seized her. She started to turn her shoulders to make room for herself against the suffocating dusk.
A sudden realization stilled her. Whatever was out there was not insensate. It was not quite aware of her—not yet. But the potential was there. Susan could sense it all around her, mindless as a housefly, and yet somehow alive .
And she was moving through its gut.
Could it feel the little twitches of her sudden panic? Could it sense her
Leder pressed his lips together. He looked down at his hands. “I told him to try the spell without the candles, but he could no longer read it from his copy of the Book. He told me no one at the site could read it.”
“What does that mean, ‘No one could read it’?”
Leder shook his head. “I have wondered that myself. This young man—this haughty young man—was practically in tears when he rang off.”
Leder was quiet for a moment before he went on. “I got one more call that night, about three in the morning. But the static on the line was roaring and the voice at the other end was barely capable of speech.”
“Were they still trying to control the experiment?”
Leder shook his head. “I believe that whatever he was calling for by this time, his reasons were deeply personal.”
“What was he saying?”
Leder laughed to himself. “ ‘God forgive me’? What do you suppose?”
Chapter Four
J UST FOR SUSAN’S PEACE OF MIND, they took one more look through the old wreck that had been the Four Winds Bar.
The three of them scoured the darkened room beneath the faintly fluorescing painted sky on the ceiling. They found the cluster of Angle Webs in the back room; they pulled out the “Heroes of the Olympiad” countertop, scratched their heads over the telescope mountings in front of each of the west-facing windows.
When they had looked everywhere and found nothing, Charley Shrieve offered to go through the Angle Web himself, just like he’d promised Carl Leder he would.
This was nonsense, of course. However little Susan knew about stepping through the Web, Shrieve knew even less. At least she would end up in a real location. Charley Shrieve would end up in some other dimension.
This was not to say she felt good about blazing this particular trail for the Allies’ counter-occult effort. The thought of stepping through the Angle Web to someplace nobody but old Nazis had been to, that just made her palms itch.
She nudged Bogen. “You still have that hand grenade in the glove box?”
“What? I don’t know . . .” That hand grenade must have been the cornerstone for Bogen’s whole postwar persona.
She slapped his arm. “I won’t break it.”
Bogen looked at Charley, who was up to here with Bogen and his hand grenade.
The kid gave the floor a sullen kick and then went to retrieve it. When he returned, he watched it sadly as he handed it over.
“Be waiting outside with the motor running,” Susan said. “Because I don’t know how long this is going to take, and I don’t know whether somebody might be following me out.”
Shrieve didn’t say thanks exactly. This was war, after all. Everybody had their job to do.
But he sure looked grateful.
Susan drew the Sigil of Transformation on the wall behind the counter. She drew the Angle Web beneath it. She took a couple of deep breaths, closed her eyes, and stepped through.
* * *
Charley called something out to her as she left. She turned to listen, and he was gone, along with Bogen, the Plymouth, the burned-out bar, Kiel . . .
She turned back to see nothing ahead of her but a fluorescing line, etched against a backdrop of immense darkness.
—Darkness, but not space. A smothering presence closed around her, clammy as moist clay. Claustrophobia seized her. She started to turn her shoulders to make room for herself against the suffocating dusk.
A sudden realization stilled her. Whatever was out there was not insensate. It was not quite aware of her—not yet. But the potential was there. Susan could sense it all around her, mindless as a housefly, and yet somehow alive .
And she was moving through its gut.
Could it feel the little twitches of her sudden panic? Could it sense her
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