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“We are considering the possibility,” Finch said. “Does that satisfy you? But I think you
give Mutex too much credit. He is simply a madman, whatever his earlier promise.”
“And madmen never kill anybody,” Rondeau said from the backseat.
Finch glanced into the rearview mirror, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Careful, Rondeau,” Marla said. “He’ll sodomize your ghost if you keep up that sass.”
“Consider me chastised,” Rondeau said.
“This is close enough,” Finch said, and parked the SUV next to a fire hydrant.
Parking is probably easier in San Francisco when you don’t have to worry about getting
tickets, Marla thought.
“The entrance we want is just a couple of blocks north.” They all got out of the car and
walked down the sidewalk, Finch in the lead. The morning was cool, with a stiff breeze
from the direction of the bay. “We’ll reach the Cornerstone soon. You have the
materials you need? You’ve made your preparations?”
Marla patted her leather shoulder bag. “It’s all here.” The spell wasn’t complicated—
just a simple binding spell, but with the augmentation and permanence provided by the
Cornerstone, it should be enough to thwart Susan’s plan to take over Marla’s city.
“And there’s the park,” Finch said, nodding, as if Marla wouldn’t have noticed the
expanse of trees and green ahead, as improbable a sight as any large park in the midst of
a big city. They passed through the gates into a place of green trees and grass, the roofs
of distant buildings poking up over the trees in the distance. “Strawberry Hill isn’t far,”
Finch said, and strode off past people sprawled on blankets, young hippies playing
hacky sack, and people reading.
“What kind of park is this?” Rondeau said. “Where are the garbage cans chained to
concrete pylons? Where are the drug dealers? Why is there grass instead of asphalt? I
don’t see a broken merry-go-round anywhere.”
“You should get out of your neighborhood more often, Rondeau,” Marla said. “There
are nice parks in our city, you know, too. Out in the suburbs anyway.” Looking around,
she grudgingly added, “Not so big as this, and they aren’t safe after dark, mostly, but
still.”
After a while, Finch stopped walking, and pointed. “This is Strawberry Hill.”
Marla looked. Strawberry Hill was a high, rounded lump of land in the middle of a
small lake. “That’s a lot of island for such a little pond,” Marla said.
“Strawberry Hill has been described as a watermelon with a wet string tied around it,”
Finch said. “But you know as well as I do that even a token moat can have a significant
protective power.”