Maybe her work on the Tara Hutchins case would be a mark in her favor, but she very much doubted he was just going to say, Way to take the initiative; all is forgiven. She would tell him she was sorry, that she hadn’t known what Hellie intended that morning at Ground Zero. She would tell him whatever she had to and hold on to this life with both hands.

“Where do we think he is?” Michelle was asking as they took the stairs up to the second floor.

“We don’t know. I thought we’d use a hound-dog casting.” Sandow sounded almost pleased with himself. Alex sometimes forgot that the dean had actually been in Lethe, and had been pretty good at it too.

“Very nice! What are we using for his scent?”

“The deed to Black Elm.”

“Was it bound by Aurelian?”

“Not that I know of,” said Amelia. “But we can activate the language to summon the signatories.”

“From anywhere?” asked Michelle.

“From anywhere,” Zelinski said smugly.

They went through a long description of the mechanics of the contract and how the summoning should work so long as the commitment to the contract was made in good faith and the parties had some emotional connection to the agreement.

Alex and Dawes exchanged a glance. That much at least they could be sure of: Darlington loved Black Elm.

The second-floor ballroom had been lit with lanterns at the four compass points. Darlington’s exercise mats and gear had been set off to the side.

“This is a good space,” said Zelinski, unzipping his backpack. He and Amelia drew out four objects wrapped in cotton batting.

“We don’t need someone to open a portal?” Alex whispered to Dawes, watching Josh unwrap the cotton to reveal a large silver bell.

“If Sandow is right and Darlington is just stuck between worlds or in some kind of pocket space, then the activation of the deed should create enough pull to bring him through to us.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then we’ll have to get Scroll and Key involved at the next new moon.”

But what if the Locksmiths had been the ones to create the portal in the basement that night? What if they wanted Darlington to stay gone?

“Alex,” called Sandow, “please come help me make the marks.” Alex felt strange warding the circle, as if she’d somehow fallen backward through time and become Sandow’s Dante.

“We’ll leave the northern gate open,” he said. “True north to guide him home. I’ll need you to be on the lookout for Grays on your own. I would take Hiram’s elixir but…. I’m at an age when the risk is just too high.” He sounded embarrassed.

“I can handle it,” said Alex. “Is there blood involved?” She at least wanted to be ready if a flood of Grays came on.

“No,” said Sandow. “No blood. And Darlington planted the Black Elm borders with protective species. But you know strong desire can draw Grays, and strong desire is what we need to bring him back.”

Alex nodded and took her position at the northern compass point. Sandow took the southern point; Dawes and Michelle Alameddine faced each other at east and west. With only the candlelight to give shape to the space, the ballroom felt even more vast. It was a big, cold room, built to impress people long since gone.

Amelia and Josh stood at the center of the circle with a sheaf of papers—the deed to Black Elm—but they would have nothing to do unless Sandow’s casting worked.

“Are we ready?” he asked. When no one answered, Sandow forged ahead, murmuring first in English, then in Spanish, then in a whispery language that Alex recognized as Dutch. Was that Portuguese next? Mandarin followed. She realized he was speaking the languages that Darlington knew.

She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if she really did hear the patter of paws, panting. A hound-dog casting. She thought of the hounds of Lethe, the surprisingly beautiful jackals Darlington had set on her that first day at Il Bastone. I forgive you, she thought. Just come home.

She heard a sudden howl and then the very distant sound of barking.

The candles flared, their flames gone vibrant green.

“We’ve found him!” cried Sandow in a trembling voice. He sounded almost frightened. “Activate the deed!”

Amelia touched a candle to the papers lying at the center of the circle. Green light kindled and rose around the piles. She tossed something into the flame and it ignited in bright sparks like a firework.

Iron, Alex realized. She’d seen an experiment just like that in a science class once.

Words seemed to hover in the green flame over the document as the iron filings sparked.

WITNESSETH

THAT THE

SAID GRANTOR

FOR GOOD AND VALUABLE

CONSIDERATION

FOR GOOD

FOR GOOD

The words curled in on themselves, rising in the fire and vanishing like smoke.

The candle flames shot even higher, then sputtered. The fire covering the deed banked abruptly. They were left in darkness.

And then Black Elm came alive. All at once, the sconces on the walls flared to brightness, music blared from the speakers in the corner, and the halls echoed with the sound of a late-night newscast as somewhere in the house a television came on.

“Who the hell left all the lights on?” said an old man standing outside the circle. He was frighteningly thin, his hair a wisp on his head, his bathrobe hanging open to reveal an emaciated chest and shriveled genitals. A cigarette hung from his mouth.

He wasn’t sharp and clear the way Grays usually were to Alex; he looked … well, gray. As if she were viewing him through layers of milky chiffon. The Veil.

She knew she was looking at Daniel Tabor Arlington III. A moment later he was gone.

“It’s working!” shouted Josh.

“Use the bells,” cried Amelia. “Call him home!”

Alex lifted the silver bell at her feet and saw the others do the same. They rang the bells, the sweet sound rolling over the circle, over the din of the music and the chaos of the house.

The windows blew open. Alex heard a squeal of tires and a loud crash from somewhere below. Around her, she saw people dancing; a young man with a heavy mustache who distinctly resembled Darlington floated past, dressed in a suit that looked like it belonged in a museum.

“Stop!” shouted Sandow. “Something’s wrong! Stop the ringing!”

Alex seized the clapper of her bell, trying to silence it, and saw the others do the same. But the bells did not stop ringing. She could feel her bell still vibrating in her hand as if struck, hear the peals growing louder.

Alex’s cheeks felt flushed. The room had been icy moments before, but now she was sweating in her clothes. The stink of sulfur filled the air. She heard a groan that seemed to rumble through the floor—a deep bass rattle. She remembered the crocodiles calling to each other from the banks of the river in the borderlands. Whatever was out there, whatever had entered the room, was bigger. Much, much bigger. It sounded hungry.

The bells were screaming. They sounded like an angry crowd, a mob about to do violence. Alex could feel the vibrations making her palms buzz.

Boom. The building shook.

Boom. Amelia lost her footing, clutched at Zelinski to keep her balance, the bell tumbling from her hands, still ringing and ringing.

Boom. The same sound Alex had heard that night at the prognostication, the sound of something trying to break through the circle, to break through to their world. That night the Grays in the operating theater had pierced the Veil, splintered the railing. She’d thought they were trying to destroy the protection of the circle, but what if they were trying to get inside it? What if they were afraid of whatever was coming? That low rumbling groan shook the room again. It sounded like the jaws of something ancient creaking open.

Alex gagged, then retched, the scent of sulfur so heavy she could taste it, rotten in her mouth.

Murder. A voice, hard and loud, above the bells—Darlington’s voice, but deeper, snarling. Angry. Murder, he said.

Well, shit. So much for him keeping his mouth shut.

And then she saw it, looming over the circle, as if there were no ceiling, no third story, no house at all, a monster—there was no other word for it—horned and heavy-toothed, so big its hulking body blotted out the night sky. A boar. A ram. The rearing, segmented body of a scorpion. Her mind leapt from terror to terror, unable to make sense of it.

Alex realized she was screaming. Everyone was screaming. The walls seemed lit by fire.

Alex could feel the heat on her cheeks, searing the hair on her arms.

Sandow strode forward to the center of the circle. He tossed down his bell and roared, “Lapidea est lingua vestra!” He threw his arms open as if conducting an orchestra, his face made golden in the flames. He looked young. He looked like a stranger. “Silentium domus vacuae audito! Nemo gratus accipietur!”

The windows of the ballroom blew inward, glass shattering. Alex fell to her knees, covering her head with her hands.

She waited, heart pounding in her chest. Only then did she realize the bells had stopped ringing.