Darlington’s smile was small. “You found me once, Stern. You’ll find me again. Now go.” He turned to face the wolves.

Alex made herself follow the others, but all the fight had gone out of her.

This wasn’t how it was meant to be. She wasn’t supposed to fail again.

“Come on!” Turner demanded, dragging Tripp and Dawes down the desert highway.

There were more wolves waiting, blocking the road.

“How do we get past them?” Tripp cried.

“This isn’t how this works,” Dawes said, her voice raw with fear. She had blood on her forearm and she was limping. “They shouldn’t be trying to stop us from leaving.”

Turner stepped forward, hands held up as if hoping the wolves would part like the Red Sea. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

One of the wolves cocked its head, like a dog that didn’t understand a command. Another whimpered, but it wasn’t a sound of distress. It sounded almost like a laugh. The largest of the wolves padded toward them, head lowered.

“For thou art with me,” Turner proclaimed. “Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies—”

The big wolf opened its mouth, its tongue lolled out. The word that emerged from its jaws was low and growling, but unmistakable: “Thief.”

Without thinking Alex took a step backward, terror rising like a scream in her head at the wrongness of it. Tripp’s mouth hung open, and Dawes groaned, panic overtaking them both. Only Turner stood fast, but she could see he was trembling as he shouted, “Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me—”

The wolf’s lips split, showing its jagged teeth, its black gums. It was smiling. “If a thief is found breaking in,” it said, the words rolling like growls,

“and is struck so that he dies, there shall be no bloodguilt for him. ”

Turner dropped his hands. He shook his head. “Exodus. That fucking wolf is quoting scripture at me.”

Now another wolf was creeping forward, head low. “All who came before me are thieves and robbers. ” Alex caught movement from the left and right.

They were being surrounded. “But the sheep did not listen to them. ” The last word was little more than a snarl.

“It’s because we tried to take Darlington,” said Dawes. “We tried to take him home.”

“Back-to-back!” Alex cried. “Everyone with me!” She had no idea what she was doing, but she had to try something. Tripp was crying now and Dawes had squeezed her eyes shut. Turner was still shaking his head. She’d warned him this wasn’t some grand battle between good and evil.

Alex slapped her hands together, rubbing her palms against each other as if she were trying to keep warm, and sure enough the flames leapt. “Come on,” she muttered to them, to herself, still unsure of what she was asking for or who she was pleading with. The unwanted magic that had plagued her from her birth. Her grandmother’s spirit. Her mother’s crystals. Her absent father’s blood. “Come on.”

The big wolf lunged forward. Alex swept her hand out and the blue flame went with it, unfurling with a crack like a whip. The wolves leapt back.

Again she lashed out, letting the flame course through her, an extension of her arm, her fear and anger flooding through her and finding form in blue fire. Crack. Crack. Crack.

“What is this?” Turner demanded. “What are you doing?”

Alex wasn’t sure. The blazing arcs of flame weren’t dissipating. As Alex released them, they hung in the air, writhing, seeking direction, finally finding one another—and when they did they began to churn, forming a circle around her and the others, brilliant white and gleaming.

“What is it?” Tripp shouted.

Dawes met Alex’s eyes and now her fear was gone. Alex saw the determined face of the scholar shining back at her. “It’s the Wheel.”

The ground beneath their feet shook. The wolves were lunging at them, snapping at the blue and white sparks rising from Alex’s fire.

A crack opened beneath Alex’s feet and she stumbled.

“Stop,” shouted Tripp. “You have to stop.”

“Don’t!” cried Dawes. “Something’s happening!”

And Alex didn’t think she could stop. The fire was sparking through her now, and she knew if she didn’t release it, it would burn her up from the inside. There would be nothing left but ash.

Alex looked back at Black Elm. The wolves had abandoned their attack on Darlington to launch themselves at the burning wheel. His horns had vanished, and he had a stone in his hand. She watched him carefully set it atop the wall.

I’ll come back for you, she vowed. I’ll find a way.

The earth beneath them split with a deafening boom. They fell, surrounded by a cascade of blue flame. Alex saw the wolves falling too. They blazed white as the fire caught hold of them, brilliant as comets, and then Alex saw nothing at all.

It is not just our right to make this journey, but our duty. If HiramBingham had never scaled the peaks of Peru, would we have his Crucibleand our ability to see behind the Veil? The knowledge we have gainedcannot remain academic. I could well point to the money and time spent,the generosity of Sterling, the labor and ingenuity of JGR, Lawrie,Bonawit, the many hands that toiled to construct a ritual of this size andcomplexity. They had the will to commit themselves to the project andthe means to attempt it. It is now our duty to show the courage of theirconvictions, to prove we are men of Yale, rightful heirs to the men ofaction who built these institutions, instead of pampered children whobalk at the thought of getting our hands dirty.

—Lethe Days Diary of Rudolph Kittscher (Jonathan Edwards

College ’33)

I am without energy or will to record what has happened. I know onlydespair. There is but one word I need write that may encompass our sins:

hubris.

—Lethe Days Diary of Rudolph Kittscher(Jonathan Edwards

College ’33)

28

Alex was on her back. At some point it had started to rain. She wiped the water from her eyes and spat the taste of sulfur from her mouth.

“Mercy!” she shouted, shoving to her feet and coughing. Her arm was whole and unbroken, but the world was spinning. Everything looked too rich, too saturated with color, the lights too yellow, the night lush as fresh ink.

“Are you okay?” Mercy was beside her, drenched from the rain, her salt armor somehow keeping its form.

“I’m fine,” Alex lied. “Is everyone here?”

“Here,” said Dawes, her face a white blur in the downpour.

“Yeah,” said Turner.

Tripp was sitting in the mud, arms cradled over his head, sobbing.

Alex looked around, trying to get her bearings. “I saw someone up here.”