The Prophet

Devlin moved back to the steps. “They’re still out there if you know where to look. Take a walk on the east side sometime, down along America Street. You can still spot one now and then among the crackheads and heroin addicts. Eyes frosted like a corpse, shuffling around all slumped over as if they’d dragged something back from hell with them.”

Ethan was silent for a moment. “Father used to call them zombies.”

“They’re not zombies,” Devlin scoffed. “Just fools that trusted Darius Goodwine.”

Ethan rose and moved down the steps. I couldn’t see either of their faces now, but their voices carried clearly to my hiding place.

“What are you going to do?” he asked Devlin.

“He’ll have to be stopped.”

“Not by you, I hope. He’s a powerful man, John. From what I hear, he’s got disciples all over the city. Some in very high places.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

Something in Devlin’s voice, a hint of excitement, sent a warning thrill up my spine.

“Maybe you should be,” Ethan said.

“And why is that?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t. But I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

In the tense silence that followed, I was almost afraid the rapid thud of my heart would give me away. I hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. I’d never heard of gray dust, but it made me think of what Fremont had said earlier about the place in between the Light and the Dark: It’s called the Gray.

“I’m talking about the night of the accident…after you found out about Mariama and Shani,” Ethan said. “You went to see Father at the Institute, remember?”

“What of it?” Devlin’s voice sounded terse and wary. Almost suspicious.

“You demanded that he help you contact the other side so that you could see them one last time. So that you could say goodbye. When Father couldn’t help, you grew extremely agitated. Violent, even.”

“I was still in shock,” Devlin said in exasperation. “Out of my mind with grief. That’s the only reason I went there. You know I don’t believe in any of your father’s nonsense.”

“And we both know there was a time when you did. You were once Father’s protégé. I’ve heard him say a million times you were the best investigator he ever had.” Was that a note of jealousy I heard in Ethan’s voice?

“That was a long time ago,” Devlin said. “I was looking for a way to annoy my grandfather and Rupert’s dog and pony show was a novelty to me.”

“It was more than that. Even after you moved on…I don’t think you completely let go. You married Mariama, after all.”

“What are you getting at?” Devlin asked coldly.

“Some remnant of that belief must have remained. Grief and shock alone wouldn’t have driven you to the Institute that night.”

“Think what you want. I have no idea why you’re dredging all this up now.”

“After you stormed out, Father sent me to look for you, but it was as if you’d vanished into thin air. Where did you go that night?”

Devlin said nothing.

“You went to see Darius, didn’t you? You asked him for gray dust.”

Still, Devlin remained silent.

“I waited on this very porch for hours to make sure you were okay. You came home the next day looking like a corpse. Almost as if—”

“I’d just lost my daughter and my wife,” Devlin cut in. “How did you expect me to look?”

“I didn’t expect what I saw. You weren’t just grieving, you were terrified. You couldn’t stop shaking. I’d never seen you like that. That’s why I gave you an alibi when the police came around asking questions about Robert Fremont’s murder.”

“I never asked you to lie for me.”

“I was afraid not to,” Ethan said. “You were barely able to drag yourself through that door, let alone handle a police interrogation.”

“Interrogation? You make it sound like I was a suspect.”

“You may well have been if they’d discovered your whereabouts that night. They already knew you and Robert had had a falling-out. Someone overheard the two of you arguing the day before he was shot.”

Devlin’s voice had gone quiet again. “Careful where you take this, Ethan.”

“I’m only taking it to its logical conclusion. If Robert knew that Darius had supplied you with gray dust, he could have made things very difficult for you in the police department. A cop found using that stuff…” His voice trailed off.

“So you think I killed him.” It was statement, not a question.

“No, of course not. But you do have a motive.”

“And what about you?” Devlin asked, still in that same deadly quiet voice.

“What about me?”

“You told the police you were with me the whole night. You didn’t just give me an alibi. You gave yourself one, too.”

“What?” Ethan sounded taken aback. “Why would I need an alibi?”

“That’s what I’ve always wondered.”

A dog barked from someone’s backyard, and I could hear the muffled roar of traffic over on Beaufain. But here in Devlin’s front yard, everything was silent, the air so thick with tension I could scarcely draw a breath.

“You can’t really think I had anything to do with Robert Fremont’s death.” Ethan sounded more hurt than outraged. “What possible motive would I have had?”

“Just forget it,” Devlin said. “We need to stay focused.”

I heard Ethan expel a breath. “You’re right. We have to stick together. Even after all this time, there could still be questions about that night.”

“I’ll take care of any questions. You just call me if you see Darius again,” Devlin said. “No matter the time.”

Their voices faded as he walked with Ethan to the curb. A moment later, I heard a car door slam and the engine start up. I expected Devlin to go back inside, giving me a chance to slip away undetected, but instead, he sat down on the steps to finish his beer as he gazed out into the darkness.