They did not enter through either the arched double front doors, or through the servants' door on the side. Leaving the car beneath the porte cochere, the pair moved around the house, peering in any windows they could get close enough to and discovering, as suspected, that they were all too well concealed with heavy draperies to allow illicit peeping. The female held herself and shivered despite the balmy breezes and her long sleeves. The man, large, powerfully built, with a bald head, queried, "Are you ready to enter?"

She nodded, looking grim, feeling vaguely foolish. She had insisted that the man drive her back to the city based solely upon a hunch…although it was her intuition which had allowed her to exist for so long undetected, surviving not much better than a rodent deep within the bowels of the Beaux-Arts mansion. While she sometimes felt peculiar about distant events or people she did not actually know, the sensations she entertained regarding the very few people she truly trusted and cared about were the strongest, always requiring an immediate response. "I hope I am overreacting."

The man assisted her through well-tended landscape features and toward the kitchen where the window treatments allowed a fragmentary view of the inside. "The security system has been deactivated," he noted.

"Entirely?"

"It would appear so…and has been for a couple of hours."

The woman inhaled deeply and waited for the man to open the door for her. He gestured for her to trail him, and crossed the threshold, listening, sniffing, and attempting to observe anything out of the ordinary. "Perhaps you'd like to make some tea," he suggested, unwilling to put her in the way of potential harm.

"Perhaps I'd not," she responded primly, following him closely.

No lights were on, but enough daylight seeped past curtain edges to offer each room they inspected modest illumination. They discovered a wet wool suit jacket dangling from the front staircase banister, saturated socks and sopping, ruined leather shoes on the floor. The man lifted a sleeve and sniffed at it. "Seawater," he whispered. He gestured her to trail him to the closet under the stairs where he slid aside the false panel that revealed one of the house's satellite security systems. No one was visible on any of the cameras, which continued to record despite the door and window sensors deactivation. Pressing buttons, the man rewound footage until they saw the figure they were looking for, and tracked him as far as one of the basements.

"He's in the laboratory," the woman said.

"How can you tell?"

She pointed to one of the screens. "Do you see that faint glow there along that wall?" He thought perhaps he could if he squinted. "It's light emanating from behind the door."

Smiling, he asked her, "Shall we?"

She responded, "Lead the way."

He began to reset the system, but she stayed his hand. "Not until we know why he did it."

The pair made their way downstairs. The woman's eyes were well suited to low light, so the man merely kept a heavy Mag-Lite in his hand to use as a weapon if need be, off unless they actually needed it. Otherwise, he was armed with a few choice concealed weapons as always.

When they got to the door, she paused, listening. She could barely detect his voice and glanced up at her companion, who watched her reactions, trusting her instincts. Clearing her throat loudly, she knocked lightly and called, "Aloysius?"

Inside the lab, the pale man snapped to attention and turned haltingly toward the locked door. "Constance?" He hurried over to unlock it and welcomed the woman and his chauffer into the room. "I am actually rather glad to see you! Was I supposed to meet you yesterday?"

"Today," she answered, locked on the other occupant of the room and staring unabashedly.

"Has my watch stopped? Is the hour late?"

"It is not," she said. "I…had a feeling that you might need assistance."

"Is everything well?" the chauffer asked.

"Yes, very, Proctor. Has everyone returned or only the two of you?"

"Just we two," Constance told him. "Might I…be of help to you?"

With an odd look on his nearly garish features, Pendergast inhaled and failed to come up with a reason why he should not describe his visitor. "Constance Greene," he said, extending a hand toward her, then sweeping it forward, "meet Amanda."

Constance smiled shyly and offered a polite nod. "Hello," she said very softly, her large eyes far more expressive than her words.

Amanda was sitting upright, straight, legs out before her. A number of medical items littered the table she sat on, a rolling tray table and the nearby counter tops. "'lo," the girl answered, cocking her head as she stared back at the newcomer.

"And, how did you meet?" Constance queried.

"That…is the most amazing part…or not," Pendergast answered, watching his ward observe the stranger like a composer studying her audience the first time they listened to one of her sonatas.

"Is she…healthy?" the young woman asked, gesturing toward the many shiny implements.

"She may not actually be human," he said.

"Then, what might she be?"

"At the moment, my best guess though by no means my final one, would be that she is some form of a lab created genetic anomaly…possibly incorporating electronic components…even perhaps nano computers."

"An android?" Proctor tried, not believing anyone would agree with him.

"A cybernetic organism, bionic, androidal…merely mechanically enhanced…genetically engineered in the…most man-made sense."

"I do not believe that any technology upon the planet is this precise," Constance told him, edging closer, taking in as much as she could visually.

"You have no idea," her benefactor said almost breathlessly.

"The security system-"

"Please do make certain the property is secure," Pendergast said, nodding at the chauffer, who disappeared into the darkened hallway, clicking on his light. "I…apologize for my state and that of the house," he said, turning to replace some items where he had originally found them. "Did you call?"

"I did not. May I speak with her?"

"Do as you will."

The slender woman with the lovely face and old-fashioned demeanor stepped closer to their guest, her hands clasped lightly behind her back. "How do you do, Amanda?"

"Don't let her shrug," Aloysius instructed. "Make her answer."

"Amanda?" she tried again.

"O…kay."

"Where do you come from?" Constance asked.

The girl lifted a hand and pointed without breaking her gaze from the woman's. Constance turned her head and saw that she was indicating Aloysius.

"I don't understand," she tried again. "Where do you live?"

"Here," she said.

"In this home?"

"No."

"You live…in a similar place? Here in New York?"

The girl looked around. "…no…here in New York." She nodded.

"Has she suffered a traumatic injury or some kind of shock?" Constance queried.

"Not that I can tell. Her method of communication seems…off. I've found that I can usually comprehend what she means, but direct answers are often troublesome for her."

"There is a form of psychosis that presents in that manner," the woman mentioned.

"It would not surprise me to learn she suffers from some type of mental impairment."

"But…is she safe? Here? With us?"

The pale man set his lips in a grim line. "As yet, I have not ascertained such, although…I would say that she seems nearly protective of me."

The woman's large eyes narrowed. "Will you tell me where you found her?"

He smiled. "Not yet. I'd like you to continue examining her as you will. I hope that your perspective may shed some light on this mystery."

Constance unbuttoned her sleeves and pushed them upward, then reached to adjust her hair. "It seems warm in here, don't you think?"

He looked surprised. "I'm sure you're right. The hot lights and the closeness of the room…I will make adjustments to the climate controls." With that, he slipped away, leaving the door ajar.

Constance returned her gaze to the other female and allowed herself to sense beyond her basic physical senses. Rather innocent at first glance, the teen possessed an uncanny confidence or nonchalance the woman found unnerving. She felt as if the stranger radiated something…perhaps an energy field she could sense only subtly. If she stared long enough, she thought she detected a slight blurring behind her like waves of heat rippling upward from a hot asphalt street. At the moment, Constance thought it was her own worry making her tired, causing her to imagine things. "Do you live in Manhattan?"

"Yes."

"And…do you attend school?"

"No."

"Are your parents alive?"

Amanda shrugged, making a strange face, then corrected herself. "No. I don't know. Don't think so."

"Do you…frequent hospitals? Do you often go to see doctors, or scientists perhaps?"

"Yes."

"May I touch you? I assure you it is for examination purposes only."

"'kay."

She remained still while the newcomer bent a little and pressed the back of her right hand to her forehead. "You're very cool…but not clammy. Should anything I do bother you at all, please let me know and I will stop immediately." She took hold of the inky black hair and allowed it to slide across her fingers. It was so soft it nearly felt oily, and every hair fell back into place most unnaturally. Constance leaned closer and peeked at the girl's scalp. If her hair was dyed, then it had been done recently, for the black was uniform, though no genuine hair color she had ever seen before in her life. The faint, yet noticeable electric blue highlights bespoke a chemical origin. "May I pluck out a single hair?"

"'kay."

Without hesitation, she gripped a strand low near the skull and pulled smoothly, turning with it to gaze upon beneath the lighted magnifying lens.

"Have you found something?" Pendergast asked as he returned, closing the laboratory door over.

"Sebum, and no doubt DNA."

"Really?" He peered over her shoulder. "You liberated one of her hairs…congratulations. I was unable to scrape anything whatsoever from beneath her nails, clip her nails, get a skin sample, or turn up anything in her saliva. As a matter of fact, I discovered that her entire exterior is absolutely sterile and remains so despite attempts to befoul her."

"It sounds as though you have been very thorough."

"I did not take a hair. May I?"

She forfeited the sample and returned to the teenager. "How old are you, Amanda?"

The girl glanced aside, thinking. "Not sure."

"Were I to guess…I might believe that you are…sixteen?"

"I thought perhaps younger," Pendergast said, activating an electric microscope and opening the program on his computer that would allow him to manipulate and record the data.

"Has she…." Constance chose to address the girl rather than her benefactor. "I beg your pardon. It is rude to speak of you as though you are not here. Have you experienced your menses?"

The girl's dark brows neared each other as she regarded her questioner. "Don't bleed."

"That, I'm afraid, is utterly so," Pendergast mentioned, toying with the microscope. "I attempted to draw blood and could not locate a vein. Nor a pulse, for that matter."

"No pulse?"

"And she lacks a heartbeat. I even attempted a simple finger prick and was unable to damage her skin…so far as I could tell."

"And this is why you suspect she is…enhanced in some way?"

He nodded distractedly.

Constance drew close again, studying the girl's face. Yes, she was still young, her features softly rounded. There was an elegance to the lines of her body. She was compact, well formed, and slender though not waifishly as Constance herself was. She lifted a hand. The weight felt normal, but the skin was smooth and soft like talc. It appeared as flawless as plastic, but moved when plucked or depressed as skin should. Aside from her head, eyelashes and eyebrows, she appeared completely hairless. Constance lifted the hand to examine the nails. When she pushed at the ends they were not sharp, and the pale lilac color flashed pale, indicating healthy blood flow. "You said you attempted to trim her nails?"

"I cannot fathom what they might be made of."

She brought the magnifier over and saw that the fingernails were also perfectly smooth, the cuticles uniform and neat. "They are flexible like human nails." A thought occurred to her. "Have you asked her what she is?"

There was a pause, and then Aloysius chuckled very softly. "Sometimes we overlook the most simple solutions."

"Amanda?"

"Yes?" The girl responded, completely relaxed, never twitching the arm that the other female held.

"What, exactly, are you?"

"I…am Quasar."

"You are what?"

Now she withdrew her arm defensively. "Quasar," she repeated, looking away and pouting a little.

"What did she say?" asked Pendergast.

"It sounded like quasar…but perhaps she said…" and she dared not say it in case she was wrong and she offended the strange girl.

"Crazy?" he filled in. "Amanda? Could you repeat that? Could you tell us what you are one more time? And speak loudly, my dear. Enunciate."

Inhaling first, she turned back toward the pair and finally said rather plainly, "Quasar."

Constance gazed at Pendergast. "Does she mean crazy?"

He regarded the teen with some amusement, then turned back to the computer screen, sliding the image of her hair follicle to one side so he could open another window. "Let us see what this will yield us."

"Do you believe its is a code word? The name of the laboratory where they…work with her?"

"A brand name?" he continued, working at the keyboard.

"Was there a logo on the hair? A serial number?"

"All I can tell is that the shaft is as smooth as plastic, and that there is some type of fluid clinging to the root. It does not appear to be human hair. I have not yet attempted an analysis of it."

Constance turned and jumped, one hand flying to her chest. Aloysius whipped around, ready to defend her. Amanda stood immediately behind them, trying to see what they were doing.

"I'm sorry! I didn't hear you climb down from the table!"

Pendergast shook his head, smirking. "Forgive me, Constance, I forgot to mention that she moves fluidly and without sound like a ninja."

"Are you teasing me?"

He shook his head. "Not at all."

"Are you human?" she asked the girl, still leaning away from her.

Amanda lifted her arms and turned them, looking them over before letting her gaze drop to her body and feet. "Yes."

"Isn't she priceless?" Pendergast asked, his fingers busy at the computer.

"I suspect she might actually be deadly."

"It is a distinct possibility," he admitted, entering quasar as a keyword in a basic search. "I am not altogether certain she has not been sent here on some sort of intelligence gathering mission. She may be scoping out the premises for someone that they might attempt to gain entry later. She may be somehow recording everything we say and do."

"I meant…that I noticed that my hands felt tingly when I was holding her hand. Did you say she is sterile? Is it because she exudes some type of deadly toxin?"

"You noticed that, did you?" He scrolled through a list of possible results. "The longer you remain in contact with her bare skin, the drowsier you will become. The effect, however, ceases the moment one breaks contact, and I have been unable to isolate any traces of anything that might cause the phenomenon."

Constance reached a tentative hand toward the girl and lightly stroked her hair. "She breathes, Aloysius…her movements are graceful, but natural…she blinks…her nostrils flare."

"She will blush if you strike her."

"You found it necessary to strike her?"

"It was an experiment," he told her, adding more information to the search.

"Have you a last name?" Constance asked the girl.

"Only 'manda."

"Is that what everyone calls you?"

"One sixty-nine," she replied.

Constance looked at Pendergast and he nodded and added the number to his search.

"There is an actual anomaly, a quasi-stellar object designated 169…," he mentioned, scanning the results.

Constance closed her eyes for a moment. "I cannot believe she is of an extra-terrestrial origin."

"That would be extremely difficult to believe," he agreed, "and yet…as you mentioned…the technology required to create something as delicate and precise as she is…does not at this time exist anywhere on Earth."

"Then she must be lab-created. Another…experiment," she said, not caring to use the adjective, Nazi.

"She must be something secretive. I have attempted numerous searches based upon the limited information I have gained from her and learned nothing at all, even via covert means."

Constance tried, "Do you speak German?"

"No."

"Spanish?"

"No."

"Any dialect of Chinese?"

"No."

"Do you only know English?"

"Yes."

"Then her creators most likely speak English."

"That's an excellent notion," Pendergast agreed, "although she does not speak it altogether well."

"Her mannerisms seem very…contemporary teen."

"She struggles to make herself understood," he said. "There is a definite issue there. I believe she comprehends very well, but is not always able to put her thoughts into words."

"Were you involved in an accident?" Constance asked, taking her gently by the arm and leading her back toward the examination table.

"No."

"She may not remember," the woman said.

Pendergast closed the Internet connection and frowned, watching the girl. "If you are One sixty-nine, do you remember someone who was called One sixty-eight?"

"No."

"Do you know anyone else who is or was referred to by numbers, as you are?"

"N…no…maybe two-hundred?"

"And two-hundred is like you?"

"No," she answered, shuddering as she let her gaze drop. "Dead."

Pendergast addressed the girl in broken German, "Did you kill two-hundred?"

"No," she responded without hesitation, as though she had understood him clearly.

He asked, "Are you able to understand what I am saying to you? Do you know what language I am speaking? Have you heard anyone speak to you in this language before?"

She glared at him, her eyes shifting back and forth between his. "I understand. Speak English!" she demanded.

"Fascinating," he muttered, lifting a hand to his jaw as he contemplated what this revelation might mean.

The silence grew uncomfortable, so Pendergast's ward finally asked, "Are you thirsty, my dear? Would you care for some refreshment?"

Amanda blinked. "Okay."

"She eats and drinks?"

"She was eating a sandwich when I found her…no…that was just a dream…."

"You dreamed of her?" Constance asked him.

"Ah, that is where we first met."

She turned more fully toward him. "Aloysius…are you well?"

"I could use some refreshment," he answered, shutting the computer down and seeking a glassine bag to place the hair sample within.

The woman held out her hand. "Come with me, Amanda. Let us find something to tide us over until supper."