Fet and Goodweather bent forward to better view the small screen. After a few moments of deep concentration, the ghostly dark figures in the image started to come together for them.
“The castle, right?” said Gus, outlining it with his finger. “Stone foundation, the lake. Over here, your army of vamps.”
Fet asked, “Where’d you take this from?”
“Roof of the Museum of Natural History. Close as I could get. Had it on a tripod like a sniper.”
The image of the castle parapet trembled mightily, the zoom setting maxed out.
“There we go,” said Gus. “See it?”
As the image stabilized again, a figure emerged onto the high ledge of the parapet. The army below turned their heads toward it in a mass gesture of complete allegiance.
“Holy shit,” said Fet. “Is that the Master?”
“It’s smaller,” said Goodweather. “Or is the perspective out of whack?”
“It’s the Master,” said Fet. “Look at the drones below, how they turn their heads toward him at once. Like flowers bending toward the sun.”
Eph said, “It changed. Jumped bodies.”
“It must have,” said Fet, bursting pride evident in his voice. “The professor did hurt it after all. He had to have. I knew it. Wounded it so that it had to take on a new form.” Fet straightened. “I wonder how he did it.”
Gus watched Goodweather concentrating hard on the muddy, trembling image of the new Master moving. “It’s Bolivar,” said Goodweather.
“What’s that?” asked Gus.
“Not what. Who. Gabriel Bolivar.”
“Bolivar?” said Gus, searching his memory. “The singer?”
“That’s him,” said Goodweather.
“Are you sure?” said Fet, knowing exactly who Goodweather was referring to. “It’s so dark, how can you tell?”
“The way he moves. Something about him. I’m telling you—he is the Master.”
Fet looked closely. “You’re right. Why him? Maybe the Master had no time to choose. Maybe the old man hit it so hard, it had to change immediately.”
As Goodweather stared at the image, another vague form joined the Master out on the high parapet. Goodweather seemed to freeze, then tremble as though suffering a chill.
“It’s Kelly,” he said.
Goodweather said this with authority, without any trace of doubt.
Fet pulled back a bit, having more trouble with the image than Goodweather. But Gus could tell that he too was convinced. “Jesus.”
Goodweather steadied himself with a hand on the table. His vampire wife was serving at the side of the Master.
And then a third figure emerged. Smaller, skinnier than the other two. Reading darker on the night-vision scale.
“See that there?” said Gus. “We got a human being living among the vampires. Not just the vampires—the Master. Want to guess?”
Fet stiffened. That was Gus’s first sign that something was wrong. Then Fet turned to look at Goodweather.
Goodweather let go of the table. His legs gave out and he slumped back into a sitting position on the floor. His eyes were still locked on the soupy image, his stomach burning, suddenly flushed with acid. His lower lip trembled, and tears welled up in his eyes.
“That’s my son.”