Since the missing person was a federal agent, exceptional effort had been expended. The search for the body, he learned, had lasted five days. Nevertheless, Proctor had taken it upon himself to gather all the information he could about his employer’s disappearance. But there had been none.Ī certain high-level entity in the FBI had arranged to keep the search for Pendergast, and the attendant official investigation, out of reach of the news media. Always, always, he knew, she was hoping for word from Pendergast. The only times she showed a spark of her old self was on the very rare occasions when the phone rang, or when Proctor brought the mail back from the post office box. She also appeared to be- Proctor could think of no better way to put it-on her guard. After a few anxious visits from Lieutenant D’Agosta, Captain Laura Hayward, and Margo Green, she had refused to see anyone. She abandoned all interest in the pastimes that had once possessed her: researching the Pendergast family ancestry, antiquarian studies, reading, and playing the harpsichord.
#Red rising obsidian full
But in the days that followed, she was by turns apathetic and suddenly full of restless energy, pacing about the halls and corridors as if looking for something. Proctor had always known her to be coolheaded, reserved, and self-possessed. When she at last emerged, she seemed a different person: gaunt, spectral. Pendergast on a private case-Constance had locked herself in her room for days, taking meals only with the greatest reluctance.
And so, too, had Constance.Īfter returning alone from Exmouth, Massachusetts-where she had gone to assist Special Agent A. What he did know, however, was that the vast house, lacking Pendergast’s presence, had changed-changed utterly. Even now, that story made little sense and he was unsure what really happened. It had taken him time, patience, and effort to coax the story out of her. Proctor-as Pendergast’s chauffeur, ex-military subordinate, and general security factotum-felt that, in the agent’s absence, it was his duty to help Constance through whatever she was dealing with. She had returned, grim and silent, without Agent Pendergast, and with no explanation of what had happened.
It had been over two weeks since Constance had come back to the mansion at 891 Riverside Drive. Proctor nodded and watched her bustle her way back toward the kitchen before returning his gaze to the figure in the wing chair. “My sister should be home from the hospital by the weekend. “I’ll only be gone a few days,” she said to him in a low tone. By the time she reached Proctor, the smile had faded and the look on her face had grown worried once again. Trask smiled maternally, turned, and headed for the library exit. “Well, I’ll just leave them here in case you change your mind.” Mrs. “I’m not particularly hungry,” she answered. I baked them just this morning-I know how fond you are of them.” “I thought you might like a cup of tea, Miss Greene,” she said. Trask walked over and placed the tray on a side table next to the chair. Before it, sitting in a wing chair, Proctor could see a motionless figure, indistinct in the faint light. The room was dim and hushed, lit only by the fire that guttered in the hearth. Trask to pass through with a silver tray laden with a midmorning tea service. P ROCTOR EASED OPEN the double doors of the library to allow Mrs. Proctor, Pendergast’s long-time bodyguard, springs to action, pursuing Constance’s kidnapper through cities, across oceans, and into wastelands unknown.īUT IN THIS WORLD, NOTHING IS AS IT SEEMSĪnd by the time Proctor discovers the truth, a terrifying mechanism has stirred – and it may already be too late… Sick with grief, Pendergast’s ward, Constance, retreats to her chambers beneath the family mansion at 891 Riverside Drive – only to be taken captive by a shadowy figure from the past. After a harrowing, otherworldly confrontation on the shores of Exmouth, Massachussetts, Special Agent A.X.L.
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