Professor Walsh-Whiteley entered whistling. He set his cap and coat on the rack by the door. “Miss Stern!” he said. “Oculus said you might be late. Are you … in your pajamas?”
“Just doing some chores,” Alex said with a bright smile. “Old houses need so much maintenance.” The step beneath her creaked mightily as if Il Bastone was joining the charade.
“She’s a grand old thing,” said the Praetor, strolling into the parlor. “I was hoping to find Oculus had stocked the larder.”
Oculus. Whom he hadn’t bothered to greet. No wonder his Virgil and his Dante had hated him. But they had more serious worries than a throwback professor with no manners.
“Call Darlington,” Alex whispered.
“I did!”
“Try again. Tell him not to come back until—”
The front door swung open and Darlington strode in. “Morning,” he said.
“Turner—”
Alex and Dawes waved frantically at him to shut up. But it was too late.
“Do we have guests?” the Praetor asked, craning his neck around the corner.
Darlington stood frozen with his coat in his hands. Walsh-Whiteley stared at him.
“Mr. Arlington?”
Darlington managed a nod. “I … Yes.”
Alex could lie as easily as she could speak, but at that moment, she was at a loss for any words, let alone believable fictions. She hadn’t even thought about how they were going to explain Darlington’s reappearance. Instead she
and Dawes were standing there looking like they’d just been doused with ice water.
Well, if she was already playing shocked, she might as well lean into it.
Alex summoned all her will and burst into tears.
“Darlington!” she cried. “You’re back!” She threw her arms around him.
“Yes,” Darlington said too loudly. “I am back.”
“I thought you were dead!” Alex wailed at the top of her lungs.
“Good God,” said the Praetor. “It’s really you? I’d been given to understand that, well, you were dead.”
“No, sir,” Darlington said as he disentangled himself from Alex, his hand at the small of her back like a hot coal. “I had just slipped into a pocket dimension. Dante and Oculus were kind enough to petition Hayman Pérez to attempt a retrieval spell on my behalf.”
“That was most inappropriate,” Walsh-Whiteley scolded. “I should have been consulted. The board—”
“Absolutely,” Darlington agreed as Alex continued sniffling. “A terrible breach of protocol. But I must confess, I’m grateful for it. Pérez is tremendously gifted.”
“That I can agree with. One of the best of Lethe.” The Praetor studied Darlington. “And you just … reappeared.”
“In the basement of Rosenfeld Hall.”
“I see.”
Dawes, all but forgotten on the stairs, cleared her throat. “Something to eat, perhaps? I’ve made cheese toasts with smoked almonds and a pumpkin curry.”
Walsh-Whiteley’s eyes traveled from Dawes to Alex and on to Darlington. The man might be pompous and prudish, but he wasn’t a fool.
“Well,” he said at last, “I suppose most things are best explained over a good meal.”
“And a good glass of wine,” Darlington added, shepherding the Praetor through the parlor.
Alex glanced through the window to where she could see the glittering eyes of the demons, gathered in the shadows between the houses across the
street. At least they were keeping their distance. Darlington’s attack on Not Hellie must have spooked them.
“Should I poison his soup?” Dawes whispered as she passed.
“You’ve had worse ideas.”
The lunch was long, and Darlington and Alex could only pick at their food. They needed to fast for the descent. The conversation revolved around Sandow’s death and Darlington’s disappearance and the particulars of the supposed retrieval spell Pérez had performed. Alex wondered if Darlington had been such an excellent liar before he’d become part demon.
“Aren’t you hungry?” the Praetor demanded as Dawes set down a warm apple crostata and a pot of crème fraîche.
“Portal travel,” Darlington said. “Terrible on the digestion.”
Alex was famished, but she just sniffled and said, “I’m too emotional to eat.”
