“It could all be an act,” Darlington growled.
“Should I put on some tunes?” Tripp asked. “I have this amazing Red Hot Chili Peppers double album—” Maybe
they should kill him.
“He’s…” Alex wasn’t going to say harmless. “He’s Tripp. Maybe he got the personality right along with the life force.”
Darlington shook his horned head. “Or it’s all an act and he’s contemplating killing us all.”
“Are you?” Dawes asked.
Tripp winced. “A little bit?”
But an idea had taken root in Alex’s mind. “Tripp, call your seabird.”
Tripp licked his knuckles, and a silvery albatross rose from behind him, circling the room, with a bright, piercing cry.
“It’s still there,” marveled Dawes. “How can that be?”
The bird dove straight for Darlington. Alex slid in front of him, dragging her tongue over her wrist and letting her snakes snap out.
For a moment the rattlers and the albatross seemed to face off, and then they receded.
“Tripp’s salt spirit did what it was supposed to do,” said Alex. “It tried to protect his life, and when it couldn’t do that, it stayed with him. It protected his soul.”
Darlington still didn’t look convinced.
“Look,” Alex said, “we did this to him. We took him to hell. We put him in harm’s way. He’s our responsibility. Without him we never would have gotten you back.”
“Didn’t you say he did it for cash?”
“Well,” said Tripp, “I didn’t want to mention it, but my rent is—”
“Not the time, Tripp.”
“Alex is right,” Dawes said. “He’s … still him. And he might be useful if we’re going to go after Linus Reiter. We could find a way to place him under some kind of prohibition if we’re worried he’s going to … act out.”
After Michelle, after Anselm, after Darlington’s parents, they needed this, a small victory to carry out of this nightmare.
Darlington threw up his hands, claws receding, a handsome young man in a fine wool coat once more. Alex felt her own flames recede. Their powers were connected now. Bound by hellfire.
Turner holstered his gun. “If he murders someone, I’m not taking the heat.”
Darlington jabbed a finger at Dawes. “You’ve gone soft.”
Dawes only smiled. “Come on,” she said to Tripp. “We’ll get you to Il Bastone and I’ll see what I can find to feed you.”
“Oh man, thank you. Thank you.”
“But you’re going to have to change,” Alex said.
“Of course. I know I haven’t been the most responsible member of the team, but I believe in transformative growth—”
“Clothes, Tripp. You’re going to have to change your clothes.”
“Shit, man! Absolutely. What did I say? You’re all right, Alex.” He put up his hand for a fist bump. “I just really want to eat you.”
Alex nudged her knuckles against his. “I know, buddy.”
He disappeared into the bathroom with disturbing speed and returned in clean shorts and a fleece.
As they walked out into the falling night, Alex felt wildly hopeful. Eitan was dead. Anselm was banished. They would find a way to break the enchantments on the Gauntlet so no one would ever be able to use it again.
The churches on the green shone like stars in their own constellation, and the Harkness bells began to ring. The tune was sweet and familiar, though her brain couldn’t quite place it.
Come on along. Come on along.
Fear, hard as a stone, settled in her gut.
Let me take you by the hand. Up to the man. Up to the man. Who’s theleader of the band.
Alex peered up at Harkness. As she watched, a dark shape detached itself from the stonework high atop the tower. It spread its wings, a black shadow against the gathering dusk, its eyes glowing red.
“Oh God,” Tripp moaned.
“Is it Reiter?” Dawes rasped out.
“I don’t think so,” said Darlington. “He can’t shake his human form.”
