Andy laughed, a harsh, serrated sound. “He could have handled losing his job, but he became a joke. A study on honesty that used falsified data? He couldn’t show his face at conferences. He lost his reputation, his dignity. He was a laughingstock. You don’t … You don’t know what that was like for him. He doesn’t want to teach anymore. He doesn’t want to do anything anymore. It’s like a part of him died.”
“They judged him,” said Alex. “They signed the death warrant and as good as executed him. You wanted revenge.”
“I … did.”
“You wanted to humiliate them.”
“Yes.”
“Knock them down off their high horses.”
“Yes,” he hissed, the sound curling through the room.
“But you didn’t want to kill them.”
Andy looked surprised. “No. Of course not.”
Turner’s eyes narrowed. “But you did kill them.”
Andy nodded, then shook his head, as if he was a mystery to himself. “I did. He made it easy.”
“The ram?” Alex asked.
Andy’s eyelids fluttered rapidly. “He was kind.”
“Yeah?” Alex pushed.
“Easy to talk to. He … knew so much.”
“About what?”
Again Andy looked over his shoulder. “This town. The people here. He knew so many stories. He had all of the answers. But he wasn’t … He didn’t lord it over me, you know? He just wanted to help. To make things right. He was polite. A real—”
“Gentleman,” Alex finished for him. Cold sweat had broken out over her body, and she struggled not to shiver.
The ram told me. Alex thought of Darlington’s horns, curled back from his forehead, glowing behind the protection of the golden circle—his prison.
But maybe the circle had been an illusion. Maybe Darlington had let them believe it kept him at bay when it had been nothing more than fairy dust.
She had known there was something off about the crime scenes, elaborate stage sets steeped in New Haven lore. A game a demon might like to play.
Turner was watching her. “Something you want to share with the class, Stern?”
“No … I … I have to go.”
“Stern—” Turner began, but Alex was out the door, striding down the hall. She needed to get to Black Elm.
Darlington, who knew everything about New Haven’s history, who had
“recognized” the quote from Davenport’s sermon. What had he said that day?
I always admired virtue. But I could never imitateit. Alex tapped the quote into her phone. The search results popped up immediately: Charles II.
Darlington had said he was the hermit in the cave. And of course, he’d meant Judges Cave. Anselm had warned her: Whatever survived in hell wouldn’t be the Darlington you know.
Demons loved games. And he’d been playing with them from the start.
PART II
So Below
35
November
We’re not alone,” the Gray whispered, one finger held up to his lips like an actor in a play.
Alex had taken a car to the gates of Black Elm.
She had walked the gravel drive in long strides, her anger like an engine, a locomotive pushing her ahead of common sense.
She had slotted her key in the door, tidied the mail, washed her hands.
She had seen the basement door, a gaping wound, an open grave.
There had been a thousand moments to think, to reconsider. She had stood at the top of the basement stairs, gazing into the dark, a knife in her hand, and still she had believed she was being cautious.
The fall had come swiftly. But it always did.
