Alex stuck the hoops in her ears and blotted her lips with a tissue. “Just right.”

“Feb Club is almost over,” said Mercy. Every night in February, some group or organization hosted an event, a protest against the deep gloom of winter. “We should hit the last party on Friday.”

“Should we?” Alex asked, wondering if Mercy was really ready for that.

“Yeah,” said Mercy. “I’m not saying we should stay long or anything, but … I want to go. Maybe I’ll borrow your lipstick.”

Alex grinned and took out her phone to request a ride. “Then we’re definitely going.” If I’m still a Yale student tomorrow. “Don’t wait up, Ma.”

“You beautiful slut,” said Lauren.

“Be careful,” said Mercy.

“Tell him to be careful,” said Alex, and locked the door behind her.

She had the driver drop her off at the stone columns of Black Elm and walked up the long driveway on foot. The garage was open, and Alex could see Darlington’s burgundy Mercedes parked inside.

Lights shone from the first and second stories of the house, and Alex saw Dawes through the kitchen window, stirring something on the stove. As soon as she entered, she recognized the lemony smell. Avgolemono. Darlington’s favorite.

“You’re early,” said Dawes over her shoulder. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, feeling suddenly shy. Had the earrings and the lipstick been her version of lemon soup?

Alex stripped off her coat and hung it on a hook by the door. She wasn’t sure what to expect from the night, but she wanted a chance to search Darlington’s office and bedroom before the others arrived. She was glad Dawes had turned all the lights on. The last time she’d been here, the loneliness of the place had overwhelmed her.

Alex checked the office first, a room of wood paneling and packed bookshelves located just off of the pretty sunroom where she’d written her report for Sandow on Tara’s death. The desk was fairly well organized, but its file cabinets just seemed to be full of documents pertaining to Black Elm. In the top drawer, Alex found an old-fashioned datebook and a crushed pack of Chesterfields. She couldn’t imagine Darlington taking a drag on a bargain smoke.

Her search through his monk’s chamber on the third floor was equally fruitless. Cosmo followed her inside and stared at her judgmentally as she pulled open drawers and thumbed through stacks of books.

“Yes, I’m violating his privacy, Cosmo,” she said. “But it’s for a good cause.”

Apparently that was enough for the cat, who twined through Alex’s legs, pressing his head against her combat boots and purring loudly. She gave him a scratch between the ears as she flipped through the books piled closest to Darlington’s bed—all of them devoted to New England industry. She paused on what looked like an old carriage catalog, the paper yellowing and torn at the edges, sealed in a plastic baggie to protect it from the elements. North’s family had been carriage makers.

Alex removed it carefully from the bag. On closer inspection it seemed to be a kind of newsy trade magazine for the various carriage makers in New Haven and the businesses that supported them. There were hand-drawn pictures of wheels and locking mechanisms and lanterns and, on the third page, an announcement in large bold type of the construction of North & Sons’ brand-new factory, which would be fronted by a showroom for prospective buyers. In the margin, in Darlington’s distinctive scrawl, was a note that read: the first?

“That’s it? Come on, Darlington. The first what?”

Alex heard the sound of tires on gravel and looked down to the driveway to see headlights from two cars—a slightly beat-up Audi and, close behind it, a shiny blue Land Rover.

The Audi pulled into the garage beside Darlington’s Mercedes, and a moment later Alex saw Dean Sandow and a woman who had to be Michelle Alameddine emerge. Alex wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the girl looked perfectly ordinary. Thick curls in a tangle around her shoulders, an angular face with elegantly manicured brows. She wore a well-cut black coat and knee-high black boots. She looked very New York to Alex, though Alex had never been to New York.

Alex slipped the carriage catalog back in its bag and hurried downstairs. Sandow and Michelle were already hanging up their coats in the mudroom, trailed by an older woman and a gawky-looking boy with a Mohawk and a huge backpack slung over his shoulders. It took Alex a long minute to recognize them out of their white robes, but then the memory locked into place: Josh Zelinski, the president of the Aurelian delegation, and the alumna who had led the ritual last fall with that novelist that had almost gone so wrong. Amelia.

Darlington had convinced Aurelian the fault had been theirs and not Alex’s. And on that same night, much to Dawes’s confusion, Alex and Darlington had gotten very drunk on expensive red wine and smashed a cupboardful of innocent crystal to bits—along with a tacky set of china chafing dishes that had probably deserved to die. She remembered standing in a room full of broken glass and crockery shards, feeling better than she had in years. Darlington had surveyed the damage, topped off his glass, and blearily said, There’s a metaphor in this, Stern. I’ll figure it out when I’m sober.

Now introductions were made and Sandow opened a bottle of wine. Dawes set out a plate of cheese and sliced vegetables. It felt like the prelude to a bad dinner party.

“So,” Michelle said, popping a slice of cucumber into her mouth. “Danny got himself disappeared?”

“He could be dead,” Dawes said quietly.

“I doubt it,” Michelle replied. “Or he’d be haunting the hell out of her.” She hooked her thumb at Alex. “You were with him, right?”

Alex nodded, feeling her stomach clench.

“And you’re the magic girl who can see Grays. Has he been hanging around?”

“No,” said Alex. And North hadn’t seen him on the other side. Darlington was alive somewhere and he was coming home tonight.

“Such an extraordinary gift,” Amelia said. She had thick honey-brown hair that fell just below her chin and wore a navy twinset over starched jeans. “Lethe is lucky to have you.”

“Yes,” said Sandow kindly. “We are.”

Josh Zelinski shook his head. “Crazy. They’re just all floating around? Are there any Grays here right now?”

Alex took a long sip of her wine. “Yup. One has his hand on your ass.”

Zelinski whirled. Sandow looked pained.

But Michelle laughed. “Darlington must have been pissing himself when he found out what you can do.”

Sandow cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “All of you. This is a difficult situation and I know you’re all busy.”

It’s not a fucking board meeting, Alex wanted to shout. He disappeared.

Michelle refilled her wineglass. “I can’t say I was surprised to get the call.”

“No?”

“I feel like I spent most of Darlington’s freshman year making sure he didn’t kill himself or set something on fire. Wherever he is, he’s probably thrilled things finally got exciting around here.”

Sandow chuckled. “I’ll wager.”

Alex felt a stab of irritation. She didn’t like Sandow and Michelle sharing a smile over Darlington. He deserved better.

“He’s a sensation seeker?” asked Amelia, sounding a little thrilled herself.

“Not exactly,” said Michelle. “He’s just always ready to jump in. He fancied himself a knight, a boy standing at the door to the underworld with a sword in his hand.”

Alex had scoffed whenever Darlington described himself or Lethe that way. But it didn’t feel silly now, not when she thought of Tara, of drugs like Merity, boys like Blake. The Houses of the Veil had too much power, and the rules they had put in place were really about controlling access to that power, not limiting the damage it could do.

“Isn’t that kind of what we are?” Alex said before she could stop herself. “We are the shepherds and all that?”

Michelle laughed again. “Don’t tell me he got to you too?” She looped her arm through Sandow’s as they strolled out of the kitchen, followed by Zelinski and Amelia. “I wish I’d been able to come earlier and see this place in the daylight. He did so much work to it.”

Dawes’s hand brushed against Alex’s, startling her. It was a little thing, but Alex let her knuckles do the same. Darlington had been right about the need for Lethe, about why they were here. They weren’t just mall cops keeping a bunch of unruly kids in line. They were supposed to be detectives, soldiers. Michelle and Sandow didn’t get it.

Do I? Alex wondered. How had she gone from barely getting by to holy warrior? And what was going to happen when they pulled Darlington back to their world from wherever he’d been cooling his heels?