The Gray House

The model for that portrait is sitting in the flesh in their dorm, playing solitaire. He has on a gorgeous brocade vest with golden buttons, there’s a gold earring in his ear, and so many rings on his fingers that they barely bend. Next to him on the pillow are two chocolate bars. Great Bird always endeavors to make any visit an occasion by means of small offerings. For him, leaving the Nest for the twenty-step voyage down the hallway is reason enough to decorate himself and come bearing gifts.

“The weather, apparently, promises to be stunning,” Vulture says, sweeping the cards off the blanket.

His sour face sorely clashes with the festive attire.

Sphinx sits across from him.

“Where’s everybody? Was it empty here when you came in?”

“Almost,” Vulture says tactfully.

Sphinx realizes that the “almost” is in fact Smoker, so discombobulated by the encounter with Great Bird that he needed to flush it out by covering the walls of the House with nasty caricatures. It saddens him that without the rakes he can no longer make coffee for the two of them, and also that Vulture is nervous and seems to be preparing to ask him for something but can’t muster enough courage, but most of all that Vulture has dressed up and brought chocolate, trying to conceal the purpose of his visit.

“I wanted to pass a warning to Blind,” Vulture says. “My Birdies, numbering two, say they saw Solomon last night. I thought Blind might want to be apprised of that.”

“He returned? In secret?” Sphinx says, surprised.

Vulture’s shoulders twitch.

“I do not know. Perhaps. Birdies’ tales are generally not to be trusted. However, they did see him independently and their descriptions seem to match. They say he looks fairly bedraggled.”

The news of the raggedy runaway Rat sneaking around the House at night does nothing to cheer up Sphinx, but nothing to scare him either.

“Sad story, if you think about it,” he says. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

The patter of the raindrops against the ledge quickens. The room is darkened. Sphinx gets up and goes to the window. Where the clouds haven’t consumed the sky yet, it is still orange. The yard is flooded with otherworldly light, and Logs, ecstatic at this sudden gift of nature, jump about in the rain. Mustang with Jackal aboard does loops around and between them. Sphinx knows that Tabaqui’s expression is incredibly smug now, making Logs suspect that he was somehow involved in the weather changing.

“Now tell me what it is you really came here for,” Sphinx says, turning around.

Bird has closed his eyes and turned to stone, the way only true birds of prey can. His amber-colored raiment seems to glow in the dusk.

“Sphinx, you are my only hope,” he says calmly and evenly.

The disconnect between his words and the way they have been said is disturbing.

“What happened?” Sphinx says.

“What happened, happened long ago. Only yesterday for me, but long ago for everyone else. We all need miracles, Sphinx. Some of them are possible and some are not, so we choose to pursue the possible. But then, after you’ve chosen, it turns out that you are not strong enough to achieve even that. Do you understand what I am talking about?”

Sphinx does. He would have preferred not to.

“Jackal is a close friend to you,” Vulture says softly. His words are almost drowned in the rustling of rain and the clamor from below. “Ask him for me. He will not refuse if you are the one asking.”

Sphinx comes back to the bed and sits down next to Vulture, to avoid looking in his face.

“He will,” Sphinx says. “Trust me, a thing like that he will refuse. He’ll pretend to not understand what I’m asking. He’ll just be Jackal. The thing is, he wouldn’t even be pretending, not really, because that which distributes return tickets is not Tabaqui at all. And he—it—is an expert in handling situations like that, has been since way before you and I were born. And . . . I swear, there’s no way of reaching it from here. Only from the Other Side.”

Vulture sags, resting his chin on his hand. He has already accepted defeat, but still says, “You are not that easy to refuse when you ask for something.” What he wants the most at this moment is to end this unpleasant conversation, leave Sphinx, and grieve alone, privately. That’s what he wants. But he perseveres.

“Neither are you,” Sphinx says sadly. “Which is why I’ll do what you asked.”

“But he will refuse.”

“But he will refuse.”

Vulture’s devilish yellow eyes stare at Sphinx.

“In that case,” he forces himself to say. “If you are so sure about that . . . Do not concern yourself. I believe you. If it were this easy, it wouldn’t be a miracle. But, you know . . . Sometimes I feel, or rather I used to feel, that it was me who it was supposed to have happened to. Max and I . . .”

Noble chooses this moment to wheel into the dorm, and Sphinx is almost ready to kill him for the unfortunate timing, but Vulture continues as if nothing had happened.