“A couple of hours.”

“Shit.” Alex sat up too fast, the head rush immediate. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. On Monday.”

“Monday? ” Alex squeaked. She’d lost all of Sunday. She’d slept nearly thirty-six hours.

“Yup. You missed Spanish.”

What did it matter? Without her Lethe scholarship there would be no way for her to stay at Yale. She’d lost her chance to get away from Eitan. She’d

lost her chance at a new life for her mother. Would they let her finish out the year? The semester?

But all of that was too miserable to contemplate.

“I’m starving,” she said. “And why is it so cold in here?”

Mercy dug in her bag. “I brought you two bacon sandwiches from breakfast. And it’s not that cold. It’s because you brushed up against hellfire.”

“You’re a beautiful angel,” Alex said, snatching the sandwiches from Mercy and unwrapping one. “Now what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You never study.”

“Not never,” Alex mumbled, mouth full.

“I read Dawes’s notes, not the actual source material, but contact with hellfire can leave you feeling cold and even result in hypothermia.”

“Was that the blue flame?”

“The what?”

Alex had to remember that Mercy had no idea what had happened in the underworld. “What does hellfire look like?”

“Not sure,” said Mercy. “But it’s considered the fabric of the demon world.”

“What’s the treatment?”

Mercy closed her book. “That’s less clear. Soup made from scratch and Bible verses were both suggested.”

“Yes, please, and no, thank you.”

Alex dragged herself out of bed and fumbled around in her dresser. She pulled a hoodie over her sweats. Was she even allowed to wear Lethe sweats anymore? Was she supposed to return them? She had no idea. She had a lot of questions she should have asked Anselm instead of flipping him off, but it had still been very satisfying.

She found the tiny bottle of basso belladonna wedged against the back of the drawer and squeezed drops into both of her eyes. There was no way she was getting through this day without a little help.

What’s stopping us? Mercy had asked. The answer was nothing. Alex didn’t want to go through hell again. But if they’d done it once, then they’d know what to expect the second time around. Dawes would have to choose a night of portent—assuming she and the others were willing to make a second

run at the Gauntlet—and they wouldn’t have armor for Mercy, but they could load her up with other protections, figure out a way around the alarms if they couldn’t brew another tempest. Why not try again? What was there to lose?

They’d come close enough that they had to take another shot.

She checked her phone. There was a text from Dawes from the day before.

All clear at Black Elm.

No changes? she texted back.

A long pause followed and then finally: He’s right where we left him.

The circle doesn’t look right.

Because it was getting weaker.

They might not be able to wait for a night of portent. That was the other problem. Anselm had scolded them for putting Lethe and the campus in danger. But he didn’t really understand the game they were playing. He didn’t know Darlington was caught between worlds, that the creature sitting in the ballroom at Black Elm was both demon and man. And Alex wasn’t going to tell him. As soon as Anselm understood what they’d done, he’d find some spell to banish Darlington to hell forever rather than risk another use of the Gauntlet.

“I’m sorry last night was such a shit show,” Alex said.

“Are you kidding?” said Mercy. “It was great. I’m pretty sure I saw William Chester Minor. Honestly, I thought it would be a lot tougher.” You should have been fighting wolves with us.

“I think I’m going to get kicked out of school,” Alex blurted.

“Is that … a prediction or a plan?”

Alex almost laughed. “A prediction.”

“Then we have to get Darlington back. He can plead your case to Lethe.

And maybe scare them with a lawsuit or something.”

Maybe he could. Maybe he’d have more on his mind after a prolonged stay in hell. They wouldn’t know until they walked the Gauntlet again. But God, Alex was tired. The descent had been a beating and it wasn’t just her body that hurt.

She texted their group chat: Everyone okay?

Tripp’s reply rolled in first. I feel like shit. I think I have a cold.

All Turner said was Check.

If someone has a kitchen, I can make soup. That should help, Dawes replied and Alex felt a fresh wave of guilt. Dawes had a microwave and a hot plate at her cramped apartment, but no real kitchen. They should be gathering at Il Bastone, healing up for the next fight, making a plan. She thought of the house waiting for them. Did it know what they had attempted? Was it wondering why they hadn’t returned?

Alex rubbed her hands over her face. She felt tired and lost. She missed her mom. She loved Mercy, but for the first time in a while, she really wanted to be by herself. She wanted to eat that second bacon sandwich, then curl up and have a good long cry. She wanted to go to Black Elm and run straight up those stairs, tell Darlington or the demon or whatever he was all about fighting Linus Reiter, her troubles with Eitan. She wanted to tell him every last terrible thing and see if he flinched.

“You okay?” Mercy asked.

Alex sighed. “No.”

“Should we skip class?”

Alex shook her head. She needed to hold on to this world as long as she could. And she didn’t want to think about Darlington or Lethe or hell for a few hours. If Lethe didn’t let her finish out the semester, then what would she do? Locate the exits. Make a plan. She wasn’t the girl she’d been. She wasn’t helpless. She knew how to handle Grays. She had power. She could get a job.