In another context Gus might have pulled Armitage aside and suggested they give the kid a handful of quarters and send him to the arcade down the street until their meeting was over. Or he might have gotten so annoyed that he grabbed the punk by his tiny ponytail and dragged him out of the conference room.

But this was Armitage’s meeting, and if he wanted his grandson here, then his grandson would be here.

After an hour, Armitage gave him another of his broad smiles. “I think that’s everything we need to know,” he said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand for Gus to shake. “You’ll be hearing from us very soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Gus said. Only then did he turn toward the kid at the end of the table. “Nice to meet you.”

The kid didn’t exactly look up from his smartphone, but he did raise a hand to give him half a wave.

As Gus rode back down in the walnut-paneled elevator, he tried to figure out what he’d do next. If the meeting had been a failure, of course, he wouldn’t need to make a decision. He’d fly back to Burbank, sweat the traffic up the 101, and in the morning he’d pick up Shawn and accompany him to Darksyde City.

But if he’d read things correctly Gus was about to be facing a serious decision. And this wouldn’t be like most of his decisions, which he usually made, unmade, and remade at least a dozen times before he committed to a certain path, and then a dozen more afterward. This one would be final.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, letting Gus out into a small lobby of granite walls and marble floors. He slipped the visitor’s pass out of his shirt pocket and slid it across the security guard’s console, then clickclacked his way across the stone floor to the metal and glass door.