before he’d made her a husk. He didn’t want to assume her form. It was of no use to him. Besides, he’d just been there to construct a little tableau. He’d been more careful when he’d killed Dean Beekman, kept his demon hungers in check, used Andy Lambton to do the dirty work.

“I needed to sever Darlington’s tie to the mortal world before you bumblers got his soul free and united it with his body,” Anselm admitted.

“But while he was in the circle, he was protected. And yet the lure was right in front of me all along. I just had to put his damsel in distress. Of course he came running.” Anselm raised his hand. “And now the task is simple.”

A blazing orange arc of fire burst forward. Alex felt it sizzle past her shoulder singing the flesh. It struck Darlington dead-on.

“No!” she cried. She rushed at Anselm, letting the strength of the Grays flood her. She slammed him against the wall and heard his neck snap. The Grays shrieked in her head. Because Anselm was a demon. Because he was their killer. Because she was a killer too. Harper and Daniel Arlington shoved their way out of her body, leaving her weak and breathless.

Anselm’s head lolled on his broken neck, but he only grinned and raised his hand again, fire leaping forward. Alex dug in her pockets and hurled a cloud of salt at him, savoring his yowl as his flesh bubbled. At least he was susceptible to that. She unloaded the rest of her salt store on him, but she knew there was no way for her to actually destroy Anselm. Not without a stake or a salt sword—and maybe even that wouldn’t do the trick. This demon was not like the others.

Alex’s serpents leapt forward and piled onto the quivering, bubbling mass of Anselm’s body. “Hold him!” she begged, though she had no idea if they understood.

She ran toward Darlington. He lay naked on the stairs, the glow from his markings dimming, the jeweled yoke bright against his neck. The burn was black and cut across his chest. Her snakes lay in charred, wriggling heaps, scorched by Anselm’s fire.

Alex slid to her knees on the stairs. “Darlington?” His skin was hot to the touch, but she could feel it cooling beneath her fingertips. “Come on, Danny. Stay with me. Tell me how to fix this mess.”

Darlington’s golden eyes opened. Their glow was fading, turning milky.

“Stern…” His voice sounded distant, a bare echo. “The box…”

For a second Alex didn’t know what he was talking about, but then she nodded. The Arlington Rubber Boots box was in her coat pocket. She kept it with her always.

“I’ll hold on as long as I can. Get to hell. Bring my soul back.”

“The Gauntlet—”

“Listen, Wheelwalker. The circle is a doorway.”

“But—”

“You are a doorway.”

Hellie had described Alex the same way, the night of her death.

Why wait? That was what Darlington had asked her when she told him they were going to attempt the Gauntlet. What if he’d been trying to explain she didn’t need to walk the path, that there was a portal right in front of her, a crack between worlds that only she could slip through? As you like, Wheelwalker. You choose the steps in this dance.

“Stay alive,” she said, and forced her body up the stairs.

She was slow without the Grays, the pain making her clumsy. But she had the keepsake box in her coat pocket, and it felt like a second heart, a living organ, beating against her chest. She didn’t know if Anselm was following. He had no reason to. He had no idea what she intended, and his focus would be on Darlington, on destroying him. If she didn’t hurry, he would burn Darlington’s body alive before she ever had a chance to retrieve his soul. If she even could. If this wasn’t another mistake that would get them both killed.

She lurched down the hall and saw the shimmer of the circle, dimmer now, broken in places. But where it was brightest, she glimpsed the other Black Elm, the one she’d seen in hell, a ruined heap of rocks.

In this world, in her world, there was nothing but a gaping hole in the floor. If she fell, she would break her legs, maybe her back. There was no time to second-guess. All worlds are open to us. “I hope you’re right about this, Darlington.”

Alex shoved off from the doorway. One step, two steps. She leapt.

Heat flashed through her as she crossed the circle. But she never hit the floor. Instead she found herself stumbling over dusty, rocky ground. She

could still see the flicker of the circle around her, but now she was in the demon realm.

“Darlington!” she shouted and yanked the box from her pocket. “Danny, it’s me!”

She didn’t need the old man’s voice this time. He remembered her. He knew she’d tried to bring him home.

He looked up at her, a rock still in his hands. “Alex?”

She held the box open. “Trust me. One last time. Trust me to get us out of here.”

But the look on his face was one of terror.

Too late she realized it was a warning.

Something slammed into her back. The box flew from her hands. It was like watching movement underwater. Time slowed. The box arced through the air and struck the ground. It shattered.

Alex screamed. She was on the ground scrambling toward the broken pieces. She felt something grab the back of her shirt and flip her over, the force driving the breath from her body.

A rabbit was standing over her, six feet tall and dressed in a suit—

Anselm’s suit. It placed one of its soft white feet on her chest and pushed.

Alex shrieked as her broken ribs shifted. But none of it mattered. The box was broken. There was no way to bring Darlington back and reunite him with his body. He would die in the mortal world, and his soul would be trapped forever in hell.

The rabbit leaned down, its red eyes twitching. “Thief,” it sneered.

She had let them die one after another. Babbit Rabbit, Hellie, Darlington.

And maybe now she was going to die too, crushed by a monster. If she died in hell, would she stay here forever? Move on to some other realm? The blue fire that crawled over her body caught on the rabbit’s fur, but it didn’t seem to care.

“How did you cross the circle?” the thing demanded, shifting its weight, pressing down harder.

Alex couldn’t even draw breath to scream. She turned her head to the side and saw Darlington watching, his face sad, a rock in his hand. He wanted to

help her, but he didn’t know how any more than she did. She had no Grays to call on here.

“How did you cross the circle?” the rabbit demanded again. It flexed its paw and Alex shuddered. “Not so tough now, hmm? Not so scary. What are you without your stolen strength? An empty little cipher.”

She thought of Darlington’s burned body on the stairs, the old porcelain box lying in pieces, the demons they’d set free. Her ribs hurt; her shoulder throbbed. The thing crushing her beneath its foot was right. She did feel empty. She’d been hollowed out. A cipher, an empty cup.

A shattered box.

Except she wasn’t broken, not where it counted. She was bruised and battered, and she had a bad feeling that rib was poking one of her lungs, but she was still here, still alive, and she had a gift Anselm didn’t know about—

in either realm. You cannot imagine the vitality of a living soul. That was what Belbalm had told her. Alex had only ever claimed the dead. But what if she claimed the living?

She remembered Darlington leading her up the stairs at the Hutch, into the hall at Il Bastone, down haunted streets, and through secret passages.

He’d been her guide, her Virgil. How many times had he turned to her and said, Come with me? He’d promised her miracles and horrors too, and he’d delivered.