When Link stepped out of the Outer Door and saw the house, he forgot everything else. Macon said the house was inland, but he must have been joking.

Obidias Trueblood's home was practical y carved into the side of a cliff. The warped gray wood blended into the stone surrounding it and hung dangerously close to the waves hitting the rock wal below. Link was sure that if one of those waves was big enough, the whole place would crumble into the sea.

Who the hell would live here?

Boo barked as if he was offering an answer, but Link already knew it. A crazy friend of Macon Ravenwood's—that's who.

Link navigated the rocks until he reached the part of the house facing the land, where he saw two crooked windows and a door that had lost its paint to the salty air long ago. There was a round iron ring in the center of the rotted wood.

Link glanced at Boo, who was watching him expectantly. “Maybe nobody's home.” The Caster dog didn't look convinced. “Okay, I'm knockin'.”

The ring struck the door, and it slowly swung open.

“Hel o?” Link cal ed.

No one was there. Link glanced down at the lock.

It was busted. He stepped into the entryway tentatively. “Hel o? Is anybody home?”

Inside, the place was like a library. Books were stacked everywhere, and except for a few chairs by the fireplace and a plank table, there was no furniture. Just books and journals from floor to ceiling, and maps tacked to the empty spaces on the wal s in between. The kitchen was off to one side, with a huge window that overlooked the water.

Someone had to be there. The fireplace was stil lit.

“Mr. Trueblood?” Link cal ed out over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks outside.

“Macon Ravenwood sent me. He has a message for you.”

Boo sniffed around the room, pausing by a long hall way. More maps were taped to the wal s there.

“You smel somethin', Boo?” Linkubus senses were sharp, too. He inhaled deeply—pipe tobacco.

Link fol owed the combination of licorice and oak until he reached the end of the hall way, where a door was cracked just wide enough to let a slice of moonlight escape. There were voices—no, one voice—fol owed by a low moan.

A new smel flooded Link's heightened senses—

something more familiar. Copper and salt. Blood.

He zeroed in on the thin space between the door and the frame. There was someone in the room, cradling an old man in his arms. Blood seeped onto the floor.

Link would've known that leather jacket and slick black hair anywhere. It was Hunting Ravenwood. And the Blood Incubus wasn't supporting the wounded man. He was feeding.

“Hunting!” Link shouted before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure what he was planning to do, but he was going to do something. Link burst through the door, brandishing his shears just as Hunting flashed him a bloody, satisfied smile.

“You're a little late, kid.” He dropped the limp body. “I'd kil you, too, but you don't matter.”

Link heard the sound of the rip. Hunting was gone before Link could make it across the room.

The old man—a good twenty years older than The old man—a good twenty years older than Macon, judging by his white beard—was lying in the center of the room, where Hunting had dropped him.

The moon shone through the window, casting a pale and eerie light on his features. His white shirt was streaked with blood.

Boo barked, and the man stirred, tilting his head to the side. His eyes were gold. Obidias was a Dark Caster.

Link slid to his knees at the injured man's side and realized why Boo was barking. Obidias' hand was lying across his chest, but it wasn't a hand at al .

When Link got close, the heads of five black snakes the length of human fingers hissed and struck the air.

The snakes were attached to the old man's wrist, where his hand should've been.

“Holy crap!” Link jumped back.

“Don't worry,” the man said, his voice strained.

“They only like to hurt me.”

Link pul ed himself together. He could deal with a few snakes. But this guy was in bad shape. “Mr.

Trueblood? What happened?”

The man coughed. “Abraham Ravenwood sent me a visitor.”

Link's skin crawled at the sound of Abraham's name. “But why? You're a Dark—I mean, you're one of them.”

Obidias coughed, trying to catch his breath. “I am not one of them.”

“I don't understand—”

“There's no time to explain. Macon needs to know what Abraham was trying to confirm…” Obidias could barely breathe. He wasn't going to make it.

Link took off his black AC/DC sweatshirt and pushed it under the old man's head.

With his good hand, Obidias grabbed Link's arm and pul ed him closer. “I know what's coming—the consequences. The Order is broken.” Obidias closed his eyes and opened them again slowly. He was talking about the Order of Things, broken on the night of Lena's Seventeenth Moon.

“What's gonna happen, sir?” Whatever it was, maybe they could stop it if they knew what they were up against.

“The apocalypse. The end of the Mortal world as we know it—” Obidias was fading.

“What do you mean by apocalypse? Like in the Bible?” Was there another kind? Link didn't even know.

Obidias' eyes were glassy. “Unimaginable plagues wil rain down on the Mortal world until there is nothing left, and the Casters wil be powerless to stop the destruction.”