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.”
“Did you stop the metronome?” Dawes asked.
“I’m sorry,” Mercy said. “He told me to stop it. I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s certainly not your fault, Miss Zhao.” “Shit,”
Alex muttered.
She didn’t know what she’d expected—a vampire, a Gray, some other new and exciting ghoul. All of those seemed easier to manage than Michael Anselm. They’d taught Mercy how to deal with undead intruders, not a living bureaucrat.
He stood in the doorway beneath the stone carving of Dürer’s magic square, arms crossed, protected from the rain. Amber light from the hallway cast him in shadow.
“Everybody up,” he said, his voice thrumming with anger. “And out.”
They got to their feet, shivering, and shuffled out of the muddy courtyard.
Alex was struggling to make her mind work. The wolves. The blue fire.
Had she saved them? Or had Anselm inadvertently come to their rescue by interrupting the ritual and pulling them out? And where had the wolves come
