Lauren nearly spit out her juice laughing.
“Best be careful,” Alex said with a grin. “Mercy will fuck you up.”
“You didn’t say where you were going!” Lauren called after her as she strode out of the dining hall. Alex had almost forgotten how tiring it was to come up with excuses.
Dawes was waiting in front of the music school, its pink-and-white facade like a heavily decorated cake. Alex had never seen Venice, probably never
would, but she knew this was the style. Darlington had loved this building too.
“They said yes?”
No Hello, no How are you. Dawes looked impossibly awkward in long frumpy cargo shorts and a white V-neck, a canvas satchel slung across her body. Something seemed off about her, and Alex realized she was so used to seeing Dawes with headphones fastened around her neck, she appeared oddly naked without them.
“In a way,” said Alex. “I told them I was doing an inspection.”
“Oh, good … Wait, why are you doing an inspection?”
“Dawes.” Alex cast her a look. “What would I be inspecting?”
“You said you’d talk to them, not lie to them.”
“Lying is a kind of talking. A very useful kind. And it didn’t take much.”
After the shit Scroll and Key had pulled last year—not the drugs, of course; that was perfectly acceptable according to the rules of Lethe. But they’d let outsiders, townies, into their tomb and made them part of their rituals. It had all ended in murder and scandal. And of course there had been no repercussions except a firm warning and a fine.
Robbie Kendall was waiting on the steps of the tomb in madras shorts and a light blue polo shirt, his blond hair worn just long enough to suggest surfer without actually looking disreputable. The afternoon heat didn’t seem to be getting to him. He looked like he’d never sweat in his life.
“Hi,” he said, smiling nervously. “Alex? Or, uh … do I call you Virgil?”
Alex felt Dawes stiffen beside her. She hadn’t been with Alex on the first two ritual nights. She hadn’t heard that name since Darlington vanished.
“That’s right,” Alex said, surreptitiously wiping her palms before she shook his hand. “This is Oculus. Pamela Dawes.”
“Cool. What is it you guys wanted to see?”
Alex regarded Robbie coolly. “Give me the keys. You can wait outside.”
Robbie hesitated. He was the new delegation president, a senior, eager to get everything right. A perfect mark really.
“I don’t know if—”
Alex glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Is this how you want to start the year?”
Robbie’s mouth popped open. “I … No.”
“Your fellow Locksmiths’ callous disregard for the rules nearly got me and Oculus killed last year. Two deputies of Lethe. You’re lucky all of your privileges weren’t suspended.”
“Suspended?”
It was as if he’d never even considered it, as if such a thing were impossible.
“That’s right. A semester, maybe a whole year missed. I advocated for leniency, but…” She shrugged. “Maybe that was a mistake.”
“No, no. Definitely not.” Robbie fumbled with his keys. “Definitely not.”
Alex almost felt bad for him. He’d had his first taste of magic when he was initiated the previous semester, his first glimpse at the world beyond the Veil. He’d been promised a year of wild journeys and mystery. He would do anything he could to keep his supply coming.
The heavy door opened on an elaborate stone entry, the cool dark a welcome relief from the heat. A Gray in pin-striped trousers hummed happily to himself in the hallway, gazing at a glass case full of black-andwhite photos.
The interior of Scroll and Key was strangely heavy in contrast to its graceful exterior, rough rock punctuated by elaborate Moorish arches. It felt as if they’d stepped into a cave.
Alex snatched the keys from Robbie’s hand before he could reconsider.
“Wait outside, please.”
This time he didn’t protest, just said an eager “Sure! Take your time.”
When the door was closed behind them, Alex expected a lecture or at least a disapproving scowl, but Dawes only looked thoughtful.
“What is it?” Alex asked as they headed down the hall to the sanctum.
Dawes shrugged, and it was as if she were still wearing one of her heavy sweatshirts. “You sound like him.”
Had Alex been doing her Darlington act? She guessed she had. Every time she spoke with the authority of Lethe, it was with his voice really—
assured, confident, knowledgeable. Everything she wasn’t.
She opened the door to the ritual room. It was a vast star-shaped chamber at the heart of the tomb, a statue of a knight in each of its six pointed corners, a circular table at its center. But the table wasn’t really a table at all; it was a
