Sam did, as best as he could, even though at times he felt like he was rambling. He had to pause on occasion to go back and explain what Doc had told him, in order to clarify why he thought the hex inscribed on the Aten Disc might work.
Might. He tried to stress that part as much as he could without undercutting himself. There was no way to know for sure until the hex was activated.
Sullivan listened intently, absorbing everything Sam told him. When Sam was done, he sat for a long moment in silence, eyes focused on his desk as he pondered.
“If this works…” he said at last, and there was a raw edge of emotion to his voice Sam had never heard before.
“I’ve lost people, too,” Sam said. “My family…if I could give them back Mom, my brother Jake…”
He’d fix all the mistakes of the past. Everything would finally be okay. Including The Pride.
“If it works,” he went on, “I’d like to ask a favor, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Anything,” Sullivan said, with no hesitation.
“My friends at The Pride…they don’t want to be mixed up in this war. I know they turn into big cats, but they’re not soldiers, they’re ordinary people. Just trying to get by.”
“Your boyfriend was a soldier,” Sullivan pointed out, but held up his hand before Sam could object. “But that situation was different, I get it. All right. I would have liked to have their help against Fabiano, but if that’s your favor, consider it granted.” He paused. “You won’t tell them anything about this.”
“Of course not.” Sam didn’t think they’d be happy if they knew he was making bargains on their behalf.
“Not even your boyfriend.”
“Especially not him,” Sam agreed wryly.
A smile cracked one corner of Sullivan’s mouth at that. “Then we have a deal. Your only job right now is to work out the details of this resurrection hex, understand? If you need to delegate some of your other responsibilities at the hexworks, do it. I’ll put Doc at your disposal—it sounds like you might need some of the other materials from the tomb, so I’ll have my boys move everything from the butcher’s shop to the hexworks. It’ll be more secure there, anyway, and I don’t want you to have to take the disc anywhere. Is there anything else you need?”
He’d done it. The bands around Sam’s chest eased slightly. “Your, um…your son’s body will need to be there. To cast the hex on, when the time comes.”
Sullivan paled…but then his jaw firmed, and he nodded. “I understand. If we can pull this off, Sam…Just to talk to Junior again would be something, but if I can hold him…”
He trailed off—then gave his head a quick shake, as if bringing himself back to the present. “You have your job, and I have mine. I’m not bringing my son back into the middle of a war. By the time the hex is ready, Fabiano will be dead, and Chicago will have peace at last.”
“What do you mean, Sullivan’s letting us go?” Alistair demanded.
The day had been boring as fuck, which was fine, since it meant Fabiano wasn’t trying to murder everyone in the hexworks. Teresa had struck up a conversation with a couple of the other guards, but Alistair remained aloof. He didn’t want to get to know anyone, just in case someone made the mistake of thinking he actually wanted to be there.
So in theory, he should have been happy Paladino told them not to come back tomorrow morning. In reality, it just made him suspicious.
Paladino shrugged. “The big boss doesn’t share his plans with the likes of me. All I know is, word came down that you lot aren’t needed here anymore, and you can trot back to your speakeasy and get back to whatever it is you normally do.”
“Thank God,” Teresa said, looping her purse over her arm. “I’m not cut out for standing around all day.”
A knot was forming in Alistair’s belly. “I want to talk to Sam.”
“Sure, but I have to accompany you,” Paladino said.
Teresa hesitated. “You want me to come with?”
“No.” This sudden change of heart on Sullivan’s part had to have something to do with the meeting Sam mentioned earlier. “You head on back to The Pride with Doris. I’ll catch up later.”
Paladino led him upstairs to the lab. Alistair had never been there; the place had plenty of light, worktables, and supplies. Sam bent over a mortar and pestle as he ground something up. The woman who worked there—Glenda?—must have left already, but there was a man Alistair didn’t know, holding a papyrus scroll. This must be the Egyptologist Sam had told him about.
“Mr. Gatti wants a word,” Paladino said. Sam started and looked up, having clearly been lost in his own world.
“Oh. Okay,” Sam said.
Paladino remained just outside the door, hands folded in front of him. Alistair stepped inside and shut the door in his face.
