Darlington glanced over his shoulder, the kitchen empty to his eyes except for Dawes clutching a wooden spoon like a weapon. Golgarot had offered him a life of revelation, of knowledge, the unseen made seen. That would never be.
“You can talk to him, you know,” said Alex.
“I know you liked Stevenson’s ‘Requiem,’” he said, hoping his grandfather was listening, feeling foolish all the same. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t suit.”
If Darlington was honest, his grandfather wouldn’t like any of it. A eulogy was nothing but death words.
“Go on,” he told Alex.
She took a step down the stairs, then another. Darlington followed. The smell was worse here.
“That’s enough,” he said, and he saw her shoulders slump in relief. The heaps of his parents’ bodies were visible now, the scraps that had been Anselm, Eitan Harel slumped against the wall. How could this be his life?
His home? What had he allowed for want of skill or knowledge or grit? “I am struck by the profound depth of my failure.”
Alex looked back at him from her place on the stairs. “You didn’t let the demon in the door. Sandow did. The societies did. When the time came, you stood between the living and the dead. Hoplite, hussar, dragoon, remember?”
“You’ve been paying attention. I’m both delighted and unnerved.” There was nothing for this but to see it done.
He laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder and reached for the demon. It was an easy thing, like flexing a muscle, like taking a deep breath. He felt his body change, a rush of strength. All fear dropped away; his grief and confusion faded. He felt the curve of Alex’s shoulder beneath his palm. If he curled his fingers, his claws would sink deeper. He would hear her gasp. He restrained himself.
Blue flame had blossomed over her body. She glanced back again, looking for a signal from him. He saw the will in her gaze, the way she had shoved her fear down. I will serve you ’til the end of days.
He nodded once and she lifted her arm. Blue fire spun from her hands, an arc of flame that became a river, coursing down the stairs and over the bodies.
He’d been prepared to speak, a quote from … His demon mind couldn’t manage it. He remembered Alex with her book of poems. Hart Crane. He grasped at the words.
“And if they take away your sleep sometimes they give it back again. ” It was the best he could do. He watched the bodies burn.
Part of him wanted to tell Alex not to stop there, to let the whole house burn down to nothing, to let them burn with it too. Instead they stood together in the dark shadows of Black Elm, until there was nothing left but ashes and the old stones that might stand forever but would never mourn.
46
The Mercedes was parked in the Black Elm driveway.
For a long minute, Alex couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. She was still back on the basement stairs, looking down into a crowded grave.
When the fire had finished, the walls had been charred black and there was nothing left—no boxes or old clutter, no bodies, no bones. Anything that burned that hot should have consumed them too. But this was no ordinary fire.
When Darlington had spoken for his parents, Alex wondered if she should say something for Eitan. She knew the right prayer from her grandmother.
Zikhrono livrakha. Let his memory be a blessing. But as Darlington would say, that didn’t quite suit.
“Mors irrumat omnia,” she had whispered to the flames. It was all she could offer a man who had been willing to send her to her death for the sake of a little more profit.
The car shouldn’t be there. It looked freshly washed, its burgundy paint gleaming in the late-afternoon light. Reiter. Alex’s heart stumbled into a gallop.
“You left it in Old Greenwich?” whispered Dawes.
“It’s daytime,” Alex managed. “The sun is out. How did he bring it here?”
And why now? Had he been watching them? Following them?
“He has a familiar,” Darlington said. “Maybe more than one.”
Alex remembered the person walking beside Reiter in the JE courtyard, holding his white umbrella, keeping him safe. She scanned the trees, the cloudless sky, grateful for the harsh winter sun.
“We should get somewhere warded,” said Dawes. “Regroup.”
Alex wanted nothing more than to do just that. Her body had broken out in a cold sweat, and she was struggling to breathe. But they weren’t done here.
She made herself walk toward the car.
“Alex, don’t!” Dawes said, grabbing her arm. “It could be a trap.” Alex shook her off.
The driver’s-side door was unlocked and the interior was spotless. He’d left the keys tucked in the glove compartment. They were heavy in Alex’s hand.
“Give them to me,” Darlington said.
Alex wished she had the balls to argue, but she was too scared. She dropped them into his palm.
They gathered around the trunk, and Darlington slid the key into the lock.
The trunk popped open with a sigh. He nudged it upward.
Dawes released a high, helpless cry.
Michelle Alameddine lay curled on her side, her hands tucked under her chin as if she’d fallen asleep praying.
