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he felt it enter his arm he knew everything. The man was dying and his numen was entering another who had already died. Instinctively Ettrich also knew that it would give him back his heartbeat and other things, living things he had lost when he died.
    Indispensable things.
    But he could not accept it, could not take the flame that lit another's life.
    Lifting his hand off the cabdriver's shoulder, he felt a strong jolt go through his body, as if a powerful electrical connection had suddenly been broken. In the next instant he put both of his hands on top of the man's head and willed the numen out of his body and back into the other.
    At first it felt like trying to push through water—slow and useless. But the more he concentrated on the substance itself, the more it took a concrete shape and hesitantly allowed itself to be moved in the other direction. Halfway up his elbow to his shoulder, Ettrich willed it back down with all of his might. The longer it was in him the more he hated pushing it away because feeling this stuff inside his body was an ecstasy beyond imagining.
    And then it was out. The last slip of it left his fingertips quickly and completely. He was exhausted and fell back against the seat. The cabdriver moaned. It was a completely sexual sound, as if the man were having an orgasm. It filled the inside of the car. His head twitched and he moaned again, this time in pain.
    Ettrich fumbled for the door handle and pulled it up. The door swung open and he got out. Bright light from the drugstore made him squint. Inside the store he saw people moving around, oblivious to what was happening on the street. He took a few shaky steps and it was difficult but he kept moving. He turned once and looked back at the car. The drugstore lights burned across the taxi's wind•shield and he could not see inside. The driver would be all right though. Ettrich was sure of that.
    When he got to Hof's he felt nervous and almost afraid. Not because of what had just happened. He was glad of that because he knew he had done the right thing despite the fact he had sacrificed something of great value. No, Ettrich was afraid of what Bruno Mann would say. He worried that in comparing notes the men would find no common
    ground. Their experiences would be wholly different. And then what? How would he proceed from there?
    The bar was full of couples. Normally Ettrich would have liked that. He liked to sit alone watching men and women go through the moves, do the dance that either brought them together or to the point where they realized there was no point in going on. He could read people brilliantly which was one of the reasons for his success in both business and romance. His mother had said if you can read a face then you can read a soul and he believed that. Waving to Margaret Hof working behind the bar, he sat down at a small table that faced the front door. Margaret brought him a glass of the single malt whiskey he liked. Hands on hips, she asked how he was doing. He smiled at her and said fine, I'm okay.
    "I've heard from Isabelle, you know. A couple of days ago she sent me a letter." Margaret was from Austria and had known Isabelle for years. They had met in Vienna when Margaret was working at the Silberwirt restaurant there. She spoke English with the quirky fluency of someone who had been in the country a long time but didn't give a damn if she got the language right. She knew all about their on again/off again relationship and had sometimes acted as referee in their battles. She liked Vincent very much but was mer•cilessly honest with him. She always called it as she saw it and more often than not her judgments went against him. When Ettrich left Kitty for Isabelle, he lived for weeks in a studio apartment that belonged to Margaret.
    He frowned and looked at his glass of whiskey. "Do I want to hear what she said?" Isabelle had not contacted him in two months. Twenty times a day he wondered how she was.
    "You can ask her yourself.