“I didn’t say anything about money,” Quinn said, sounding puzzled.

“Yeah, I know: justice. Usually what people really want is money. So why don’t we get down to it?”

“Penny,” Quinn said. “She leaves town. She stays gone. When that happens we fish. Until it happens, we sit.” He sat down as if to emphasize his point.

Albert bit his lip in extreme frustration. “Quinn, don’t you know that if you don’t work this out with me you’ll be dealing with Caine?”

“We don’t think his powers reach this far,” Quinn said. He seemed, if not smug, then at least determined. “And we kind of think he likes to eat, too.”

Albert considered. He ran some numbers in his head. “Okay, look, Quinn. I can up your share by five percent. But that’s as much as I can do.” He made a hand-washing gesture, signaling that it was a take-it-or-leave-it.

Quinn pulled his hat—nearly unrecognizable as having once been a fedora but now stained, cut, scratched, torn, and twisted—down over his eyes and kicked his feet up on the gunwale.

Albert watched him for a while. No, there would be no bribing Quinn.

He took a deep breath and blew it out, releasing his frustration. Caine had created a problem that could bring everything crashing down. Everything Albert had built.

No Quinn, no fish; no fish, no crops. Simple math. Caine would not give in—he wasn’t the type. And Quinn, who had once been such a reliable coward, had grown and matured and become what he was now: useful.

One of them had to go, and if the choice was between Caine and Quinn, the answer was simple.

The tricky part was in delivering the news to Caine. The trap he had long since laid for King Caine was ready and waiting. Albert only wished there was some way to get Penny at the same time. Enough with both of them, they were both pains in his butt: Albert was trying to run a business.

Maybe it was time to tell Caine that some very interesting toys were sitting in crates on an unfrequented beach.

It might just be time to kill the king.

In the interests of business.

TWELVE

25 HOURS, 8 MINUTES

CAINE.

I’m writing this because I don’t really have a choice. You’ll probably figure I’m up to something. So when I’m done writing this I will read it out loud in front of Toto and Mohamed. Mo will be able to tell you that Toto testifies I’m telling the truth.

Something is happening to the barrier. It is turning black. We’re calling it the stain. We’re trying to figure out how fast this stain is spreading. No information yet. But it’s possible this thing will just keep growing. It’s possible the whole barrier will go dark. And we will all be in total darkness.

I’m sure you can figure out just how bad that will be if it happens.

If the FAYZ is going dark, I’ll do my best to hang so-called Sammy suns around. They aren’t very bright but they’ll hopefully keep people from going completely nuts until we can figure out—

Sorry, I had to stop myself there. I was starting to sound like I had a plan. I don’t. If you do I’d like to hear it.

In the meantime I’m sending a copy of this to Albert and asking if the two of you will allow me to go to Perdido Beach to create at least a few lights.

—Sam Temple

He read the letter aloud, as he had promised to do. Toto muttered, “That’s true,” a couple of times. Mohamed waited while Sam wrote out a copy for Albert. He took both and stuck them in his jeans pocket.

“Listen, Mo, one more thing. Tell Caine—tell my brother—that I was expecting him to use those missiles of his against us. And I was ready for a war. But we are past that now.”

“Okay.”

“Toto, have I written and spoken the truth?”

Toto nodded, then added, “He believes it, Spidey.”

“Good enough, Mo?”

Mohamed nodded.

“Walk fast,” Sam said. Then in a mordant tone he added, “Enjoy the sunshine.”

“Get me a knife,” Lana said when they had what was left of Taylor laid out in an unoccupied hotel room.

Sanjit had carried her legs, one in each hand, and laid them on the bed beside her.

“Knife?” It was just Lana and Sanjit now; Virtue was watching the rest of the family. He had no stomach for this. And no one wanted the little kids to come in and see this horror.

Lana didn’t explain, so Sanjit handed her his knife. She looked at the blade for a moment, then at Taylor, who was now breathing a little more audibly, a thready, uncertain sound. Lana pushed Taylor’s shirt up a little and drew the blade across her abdomen. The cut was shallow and bled only a little.

“What’s that for?” Sanjit didn’t doubt Lana, but he wanted to know, and to keep up a flow of conversation to keep from thinking about Taylor.

“I tried to regrow eyeballs and got BBs. The time before that when I tried to regrow an entire limb I didn’t get quite what I expected,” Lana said.

“Drake?”

“Drake. I just want to test my powers on Taylor before…” She fell silent as she touched the wound she had made.

The wound was not closing. Instead it was bubbling, like someone had poured peroxide into it.

Lana drew back. “Something is not right.”

Sanjit saw her brow furrow deeply. She seemed almost to be cringing away from Taylor. “The Darkness?” Sanjit guessed.

Lana shook her head. “No. Something … something else. Something wrong.” She closed her eyes and rocked back slowly on her heels. Then, like she was trying to surprise someone, she twisted her head to look behind her.