Firechild Read Free Page A

rueful voice, older and graver, than he recalled. “But I’m on top of it now.”
    He waited, wondering about EnGene.
    “Listen, Wulf.” A sober-toned appeal. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you. Till now, I guess I never really wanted to, because I don’t think you ever forgave me for being brighter than you were. When you used to look after me, I always thought it was just because you had to, because I was your baby brother.”
    “Maybe.” He had to agree. “Maybe so.”
    “Not that I ever blamed you. I guess I didn’t care, not that much. I must have been pretty obnoxious, and I’ve been thinking lately that I do owe you something for wiping my nose and beating up the bullies that beat me up. Remember, Wulf? You taught me how to tie my shoes, and you signed for library books everybody said I was too young for. You even played chess, so long as I let you win now and then. I guess I loved you, Wulf, even if I never wanted to admit it.
    “I had to tell you that.”
    “You didn’t need to.” He felt a throb in his throat. “Though now and then you were hard to take.”
    “Anyhow, Wulf, I’ve just mailed you a letter. Marked personal. Make sure you open it yourself. When you’re alone. It will tell you why I called. And, well—” An odd little pause. “Thanks again for a lot of things. And so long, Sax.”
    The phone clicked.
    He slept fitfully that night, thinking and dreaming of the scrawny, myopic, loud-mouthed kid Vic had been. Seven years younger. A lot brighter in fact than he was, but too much given to letting it show. Getting into playground battles with kids who resented his brains and his arrogance. Kids big enough to maul him.
    Was Vic in need of help again?
    Before the night was gone, he knew he had to find out. Up at five in the creaky house, he made instant coffee in the microwave, gulped it with a slab of cold pizza, and dialed information for an Enfield number for Victor Belcraft.
    The phone rang a dozen times before a young woman answered, pounding sleepy and annoyed. She hadn’t seen Vic since yesterday morning. She didn’t know where he was, and she didn’t like being blasted out of bed in the middle of the night.
    Her voice warmed when he gave his name.
    “Wulf? The doctor-brother? He spoke about you just the other day. Seemed fond of you. Sorry if I sounded nasty.”
    She was Jeri—the way she said it told him how she spelled it. A commercial artist, she’d met Vic when she was doing PR for EnGene “back when EnGene wanted PR.” They had lived together the last two years. Planning to marry if his job ever left him time for a honeymoon.
    He asked her, “Is Vic okay?”
    “I don’t—don’t really know.” Her voice had slowed. “He never talks much about the lab, but I know something has disturbed him terribly. Some project he calls Alphamega. Keeps him there night and day. Something he won’t talk about. When I kept asking, he tried to get me out of town. Wanted to ship me off to a graphics exhibit in Memphis, and then to see my folks in Indiana. Of course I wouldn’t go. All I can do is sit here and fret.
    “Do you—do you know anything?”
    “Nothing. Except that Vic called me last night. What he said troubles me. It sounded too much like a final farewell. Could he be sick?”
    “Obsessed. With this Alphamega project. That’s sickness enough.”
    “Something dangerous?”
    “I wish I knew. It’s terribly important to him. He’s high when it’s going well, in the dumps when it isn’t. Yesterday morning he—” She paused uncertainly. “He frightened me. He’d set the alarm to rush off early the way he always does, but then he came back into the bedroom and took me in his arms. That terrified me, because he never liked to show that sort of emotion. I asked him if anything was wrong.
    ” ‘Not after today.’ The words puzzled me, because of the half-cheerful way he grinned and squeezed me again. Grinned with tears in his eyes. ‘Something has gone