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anything about a big screen Willows movie?"
    "Halcyon Studios," said Dunne. "But apparently, Gowdy doesn't want to be found. So I wouldn't get my hopes up, if I were you."
    "Holy shit shit shit." Quincy clapped his hands. "So saving Gowdy from the killer really is important. This'll get you some major traction with the fans."
    Dunne stared at him. "You mean saving Gowdy's life wouldn't be enough by itself?"
    "All I'm saying is, the fans can really get behind something like this." Quincy nodded. "You got lucky. Fans can sometimes be a little protective , if you catch my drift."
    "Your job," said Hannahlee.
    "Ex-squeeze me?" Quincy cupped a hand around his right ear. "I baking powder?"
    "Fan liaison," said Hannahlee. "That can be your job. Get the fans to be a little less protective."
    "Say what ?" Quincy's thick fingers kneaded his feathered red cap as if he were wringing water from a sponge. "You mean you want me to go with you?"
    "Yes," said Hannahlee.
    "You want me to go on an adventure with you?" said Quincy. " Kitty Willow needs me ?"
    Hannahlee raised an index finger. "Remember the bullshit detector."
    Quincy nodded and beamed like a child promising Santa to be good. "No bullshit," he said, scrunching his eyes shut and turning his face to the ceiling. "Unless that's how you refer to ecstatic prayers of pure joy and gratitude."
    "So tell me," said Hannahlee. "Where to?"
    Quincy's eyes popped open, and he looked down at her. "Where to what?"
    "Where do we go next?" said Hannahlee. "To find Cyrus Gowdy?"
    Quincy rubbed his chin. "I have heard a rumor," he said. "Ultra quadruple top secret, though."
    "What's the rumor?" said Dunne.
    "That Gowdy's secretly involved with the Weeping Willows movie," said Quincy. "That he might even be visiting the set."
    "The set of the big screen movie?" said Dunne. "That's impossible."
    Quincy smirked and twirled his hat roguishly. "Sorry, old chap," he said in a British accent. "Did I say 'big screen?'"
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    CHAPTER 7
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    Barcelona, Spain - August 1884

    I wish that I were a full-grown cathedral. Then, I would be tall enough to see over Gaudí's shoulder. I could glimpse the future in his hands— my future.
    For I have been wondering what he plans to do with me, my father. What exactly I will become when I am finally grown. Whether it will be a good fit for my spirit.
    I have so very many questions. I love him and I trust him, but I long to know the answers.
    And there they are, on those big white sheets of paper. Gaudí holds them out in front of him for his audience to see—Bocabella and the other dignitaries, come for a look at the first designs. The first pictures of my tomorrow.
    Their reactions make me want to see through their eyes even more. Whatever is on those sheets, it must not be ordinary.
    Whether or not that's a good thing, I cannot tell...until an old man in black robes and black hat finally speaks. "This is a cathedral for our Lord?"
    Gaudí scowls. "Who else?"
    The old man sniffs. "It has a flavor of the infernal , does it not?"
    "It is anything but infernal," says Gaudí. "Every inch of it is a tribute to the Holy Family. Every inch ."
    Another man in black, younger and fatter, squints and coughs alongside the first. "It reminds me of the Inquisition, somehow," he says slowly. "The jagged towers, the gruesome walls. A fortress of torture growling under bleak skies."
    "As if it were alive, yes," says a third man, this one in purple robes. "Alive and turned inside-out."
    "There, at least in part, you are right, Bishop." Gaudí ruffles the sheets in his hands. "For this is drawn from the Book of Life itself...source of all my designs. It shall live and breathe as all Nature does, in tribute to Creation's perfection."
    "You're saying it will come to life ?" said the Bishop. "I am not certain I would care to conduct Mass in the belly of a beast ."
    I cringe at his words...at all their words. I feel as if they are beating me down, insulting me,