the worlds drifted apart. Yet somehow they had.
Other similarities. The cars were as related as the languages; he was certain that he could drive one of the automobiles of the grim world, even if they did have only one gear. Dwellings here were broken down by familiar human needs: parlors, bedchambers, kitchens, privies.
So much iron. He’d burned his hands half a dozen times since he’d arrived, as if every other thing he touched had just been resting on a hot stove. No use letting Harris know; there was nothing he could do about it. Doc hadn’t thought to carry gloves—a careless error; he was annoyed that he hadn’t given it more thought. Now he just let Harris precede him everywhere. He’d pick up gloves as soon as he could.
So much to learn . . . but for now, the only thing he could afford the time to learn was the nature of Gabriela Donohue’s attackers.
Harris had to use the phone in the bedroom; the one in the living room had been torn free from its old-fashioned wall connector. The bedroom was stuffy, so he opened the window over the fire escape and looked out on the sparse 11th Street traffic while he called.
“Hi, it’s Harris. I’m looking for Gaby. It’s kind of an emergency. Are you sure you don’t? No, sorry, I wasn’t implying anything. I know it’s late, I’m sorry, bye.”
But the third call was to Elaine’s, and a second later Gaby was on the line. “Harris, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I almost got my leg cut off but a magical doctor put me back together. “How about you?”
“I’m okay. I’ve been so worried. Did the police find you? Where are you?”
“Your place. No, I haven’t talked to the police. They’re kind of low on my priority list.”
“Did you talk to Leo next door? I asked him to kind of keep an eye on my place. If he hears something suspicious he may call the cops.”
“We’ll keep quiet.”
Doc appeared in the doorway, the volt-meter in his hands. Harris said, “Doc, I have her.”
“So do I, I think. I rekeyed this to show myself . . . and I read another signal, probably