Deirdre stepped off the bike and removed her helmet in one fluid motion.

She shook out her short black hair, then turned her eyes on Travis.

"Are you all right?"

It was the first thing she had said since the moent she shouted for him to get on the bike. He pened his mouth, but he could find no words to answer. Travis wasn't even sure he knew what all light ^s anymore.

Deirdre turned and gazed into the ^lit. He was suddenly certain that she knew far more alimil- what- wae harmpnirnr than bp did 62 * mark anthony Travis looked up at the ghostly opera house. "Why here?"

"There's someone you need to meet."

With that, Deirdre headed up the sweeping marble staircase to the entrance of the opera house. Travis hesitated. Once, at the weird revival show, Brother Cy had told him that he always had a choice. Now he wasn't so certain that was true. He hurried after Deirdre.

Travis caught up to her as she paused before the door. "It's locked," he said. "This place hasn't been used in--"

He halted as she pulled a device from her pocket. It was shaped like a river pebble, but molded of plastic. She touched a small button. There was a click, and one of the double doors swung open an inch. She slipped the device back into her pocket and pushed through the doorway. Travis took a breath, then followed her into darkness beyond.

They moved through dimness, then came to the edge of a vast space.Across an ocean of shabby seats was a stage lit by a single spotlight.

66 Deirdre leaned against an ornate railing. She did not shout, but her voice rang out across the old theater. "They found him."

Travis glanced at her. Who was she speaking to? Then a voice drifted through the proscenium arch, carried by the acoustics of the opera house.

"The Philosophers will not be pleased."

Deirdre tightened her grip on the railing. "Damn the Philosophers."

Now laughter floated on the air. "Speak carefully, Deirdre Falling Hawk.

The Philosophers have many ears. You've always had a tendency to forget that fact."

A figure stepped from the shadowy wings of the stage, into the spotlight.

n^nr^-l^^--" t-,,.,,.;,, -ixril^Q, ;/ i-T-,0 ^.^ti onirl 63.

Travis shook his head, and a sick feeling oozed into his stomach. Who were all these strangers who seemed to know him so well? He glanced at Deirdre, but her eyes were dark and distant, fixed on the stage. At that moment she might as well have been a stranger to him, too.

"What do you want?" Travis said, surprised at the way his trembling voice rose on the air of the opera house.

"To help," the man onstage said.

Travis sighed. He noticed that the other had not said, To help you.

Deirdre touched his arm. "Come on, Travis."

She led the way down to the stage, and he followed.

By the time they reached the bottom, the man sat on the edge of the orchestra pit. He looked to be Travis's age, early thirties, or 67.perhaps just a little older given the flecks of gray in his curly black hair. He wore rumpled chinos and a white linen shirt rolled up to the elbows. Stubble shadowed his square jaw, and his nose was aquiline above sensual lips. He looked like a movie star from some forties film noir: handsome, disheveled, possibly dangerous. On the stage next to him was a manila envelope.

"Who are you?" Travis said.

The man held out a hand. "My name is Farr. Hadrian Farr."

Travis didn't accept the gesture. That wasn't what he had meant. The man--Farr--seemed in no way rebuffed. His hand moved to the manila envelope, as if this was what he had been reaching for all along. Travis tried again. "What do you want?"The man smiled. His teeth were crooked. It was a charming expression.

"We seek things," he said. "Unusual things. Wonderful things."

iTa^T-lO rl-*-i-*T*r 1-n /l n It .-* It -,-./ 41*

Everyone is seeking something. . . .

He breathed out, wanting to ask more, but he didn't know where to begin.

Farr pulled something from the envelope and held it out. "Do you know this woman, Mr. Wilder?"

Travis's hand shook as he accepted the photograph, as if somehow he already knew what he would see. The woman in the photo was desperate and regal. She ran down the steps of a building, her hand to her throat, staring forward with stunning green-gold eyes. In that instant, he understood.

Travis looked up and met Farr's gaze. "You're Seek ers, aren't you?" He 68 turned toward Deirdre. "Both of you."

Farr raised an eyebrow, and Deirdre's mouth dropped open. Travis allowed himself a humorless smile. It was good to know that he could spring a few surprises of his own.

"Don't look at me," Deirdre said when Farr glanced her way. "I didn't tell him."

Farr nodded. "We need to remember that Mr. Wil der might well know much more than we imagine."

Deirdre reached out, as if to touch Travis, then pulled her hand back.

"How did you . . . ?"

He smiled and brushed a finger across the photo. "It was Grace. Grace Beckett. She told me about the Seekers." He glanced up. "And about you, Hadrian Farr."

Farr's expression was intent. "So you are ac quainted with Dr. Grace Beckett."

Now Travis did laugh. He thought of all he and Grace had been through, all they had done, all they had survived. "You might say that."

He handed the photo back to Farr. Shadows pressed around them like silent actors.

Travis looked at Deirdre. "I suppose this means you didn't really come to the Mine Shaft to play mu- 65.

Her smile was small and private. "In a way, I did. That time I sang at the saloon, three years ago, is more special to me than you can know. I suppose part of me was hoping I could feel a glimmer of that magic again. And maybe I have. But you're right. There's another reason why I came to Castle City."

"The Immolated Man," Travis whispered.69 Farr slipped the photo back into the envelope. "You're right, Deirdre.

He is indeed perceptive."

Deirdre met Farr's eyes. "Do you want to tell him? Or should I?" "I think I can manage."

Travis pushed the gunslinger's spectacles higher on his nose. "Tell me what?"

Farr slid from the edge of the stage to stand. He was several inches shorter than Travis, but somehow Travis felt like the smaller one. There was an air of quiet power about Farr. In some ways he reminded Travis of Falken Blackhand.

"To tell you why we've been searching for you, Mr. Wilder."

It was only when Deirdre caught his arm and led him to the front row of seats that Travis realized his knees were shaking. As he sat, a dusty exhalation rose from the cushion. He looked up at the two Seekers. Deirdre's eyes were concerned. Farr's expression was more difficult to fathom.

Farr pulled a slim silver case from the pocket of his chinos, took out a cigarette, then cocked his head toward Travis. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

'I don't tell other people how to live their lives." , Farr nodded.

"That's good advice, Mr. Wilder. I'll nr> to,, l- .i ,...",.. - 66 ' mark anthony smoke coiled to the catwalks above. "But allow me to tell you this.

There is one who approached you tonight. He didn't tell you his name, nor is it important. It's whom he represents that matters. And I say this not in an attempt to control you, but in an effort to save you, Mr.

Wilder. Do not talk to them."

70.The force of Farr's words struck Travis by surprise, pushing him back into the seat. "Duratek," he said.

Deirdre crouched down beside Travis. "Yes, the man at the saloon was from Duratek Corporation. They've been--"

Farr raised a hand. "Not yet, Deirdre. There are some things we must tell Mr. Wilder first."

Deirdre stood and gave a curt nod.

Farr leaned against the stage. "It's true that we're interested in the man in the black robe who came to the saloon. We've been investigating cases like this for some time. However, we investigate many things, and it was not because of him that we came to Castle City.""But what happened to him?" Travis said, his voice a croak. "How did he ... ?".

Farr picked up the envelope and pulled out more photos. He handed them to Travis. Although he did not want to, Travis forced himself to look.

Images met his eyes: dark husks twisted into horrible poses. He recalled a television special he had seen about Pompeii. Thousands had been buried by the scalding ash of Vesuvius. Nineteen centuries later, archaeologists had poured plaster into the hollows where their bodies had been burned away. Those casts reminded Travis of the shapes in the photos, each one a perfect effigy of the final moment of pain, before the fire consumed them.

Farr held out a hand, and Travis gratefully surrendered the photos.

"What's happening to them?" he said.

-1-.-- - __ T-;_ _;_^^^4.^ "T^l,,!',, 67.

very much want to answer. There have been incidents of spontaneous combustion recorded for centuries, but the current cases are different 71 in subtle ways. Our tests show that the spot temperatures reached are far higher than in previous cases. Even so, with almost all victims, the body is not consumed by the heat. Instead, we've recorded distinct changes in morphology, organic chemical composition, and even DNA structure. The man who entered your establishment is one of the few exceptions, as his immolation was complete. In virtually all other cases, it is not as if the victim is being burned so much as ... changed."

Travis glanced up at Deirdre, his gray eyes wide behind his spectacles. "It's just like what you told me, the story about the Immolated Man. But you said that was only a myth."

Deirdre gave a wry smile. "Only a myth is an oxymoron, Travis. Myths have the power to reveal truths about our lives in ways our senses can't. In some ways, myths are more real than the world we see, not less."

Farr crushed out his cigarette in a rusted sardine tin. "Over the last several months, there has been an epidemic of these new cases of spontaneous combustion. Some in our organization believe they might be related to the current heat wave on this continent. Some have . . .

other ideas. Regardless, right now the outbreak is largely unknown to the public. But that might soon change."

"Why?" Travis said, not sure he wanted to know.

Parr's expression was grim. "Just last week I watched a man in a Kansas City hospital burning, even as the doctors there tried to save him. His case was atypical in that, for several hours after the immolation, he survived."

Travis uressed his eves shut. No. he had not 68 mark anthonywanted to know this. He forced his eyes back open. "What . . . what did 72 he . . . ?"

"What did he become?" Farr shook his head. "I'm not certain. However, the hospital's tests will certainly reveal what our own studies have. It is only a matter of time before this story is more widely known. But to answer your question: Toward the end, before he ceased, his flesh was the color and texture of basalt, and when a nurse attempted to give him an injection, witnesses say that he touched her, and she caught on fire.

She's in an intensive care unit at the moment. The doctors doubt she will survive."

Travis swallowed hot bile. "So what does this have to do with me?"

"Nothing, or so we thought," Farr said. "We did not think these incidents were related to your case. And they still might not be. But one thing I have learned over the years is to seek connection in coincidence."

Something was wrong--something beyond the Seekers, beyond the immolations. "But if you didn't come to Castle City because of the burnt people, why did you come?"

Farr glanced at Deirdre. "I think you might do a better job here."

Deirdre perched on the corner of the seat next to Travis. "You say you've spoken to Dr. Beckett. That means you know what happened to her last fall at Denver Memorial Hospital, when--"

"--when she killed one ironheart, and Hadrian helped her escape another at the Denver police station." He knew it was wrong to enjoy the surprised looks on their faces, but he did all the same.

Deirdre gave a slow nod. "I imagine Grace told you the Seekers were interested in her experiences. After the incident at the police station, we tried to regain contact with her, but we failed. The car we had given T-ipr iA7ae ^nnnrl abflndonp.d just outside Castle City. In 73. 69.

the time since we've tried to discover where she went next."

"It's a world called Eidh," Travis said quietly.

He could see both Deirdre and Farr tense as they exchanged looks.

Deirdre started to lift a hand. Farr gave a slight shake of his head, and she nodded.

"Here," Farr said as he took another photo from the envelope. "I want you to look at something else."

Travis took the photo, afraid he would see more images of shriveled bodies. Instead it was a view looking west down Elk Street, in tones of sepia rather than Kodacolor. The muddy street was crowded with horses and wagons. Men in rumpled wool suits stood in groups, and women walkedby in dark, heavy dresses.

"This photo was taken here in Castle City in 1897," Deirdre said. "I found it in the archives at the county library."

Travis squinted. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Here," Farr said, pointing to a figure in the lower left corner of the old photo. "This man."

The photo was blurry at the edges, but Travis could still make out an elderly, dignified gentleman in a dark jacket and waistcoat. His white beard was neatly trimmed, but his hair flew about his head, and he gazed forward with piercing eyes.

It felt as if someone had slipped a needle into Travis's heart. He looked up. "But that's . . . that's Jack."

"Yes," Farr said. "We've been searching for your friend Jack Graystone for some time now, Mr. Wilder."

Travis clutched the photo. "You're too late." Deirdre met his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Travis." Silence settled over the opera house. "I'd like 74 a cup of coffee," Farr said. "Would anyone care to inin mp?" 70 * mark anthony Minutes later they stood on the stage. Travis gripped a Styrofoam cup in his hands, filled from a thermos that Farr had produced. Travis had thought the stage to be empty, but he saw now it was just an illusion conjured by the spotlight. A table stood at the back, cluttered with folders, laptop computers, and pieces of electronic equipment whose purposes he couldn't guess.

Travis took a sip from his cup. It burned his tongue, but he didn't care. "What's going on, Deirdre? What is all of this?"

She glanced at Farr. "What can I tell him?"