Phil tried to tear it, cautiously at first, then exerting every ounce of strength in his fingers. He gave up and examined the paper with a new respect in his eyes. "I almost think I believe your tall tale," he said musingly.
He dipped a finger in his cocktail and rubbed it over the characters on the paper. Though they became wet they didn't blur or fade.
He took out his lighter and touched the corner of the paper to the flame. When it didn't char he touched it again and let the flame play on one corner for a moment, then touched the corner with his fingers.
"Just warm," he grunted. He began folding the paper up the way it had been. "Of course there's one way I could help you," he said slowly. "You could let me keep this. I could hide it where even you wouldn't know how to find it. That way when this character catches up with you it's out of your hands."
"That's an idea," Lin said. "But we would know you had it. Maybe he could worm it out of us and then he'd be after you. And it wouldn't be your life that hung in the balance."
"True enough," Phil said. He cupped the folded paper in his hand, closing his fingers over it. "There's one or two points I'm not clear on, Lin. You say you grabbed it when it was still in Fate's fingers, and that's when that part tore off? You were able to tear it then. Why can't you now?"
"I don't know," Lin said. "Things are different over there, I guess. It burns over there, too, remember. In that flame."
"Yes, I know," Phil said. "I just—"
A terrified gasp from Dorothy interrupted what he had been about to say. Her eyes were wide and round, and fixed on the entrance across the room.
"Fairchild!" Lin gasped.