“Please and thank you, Miss Monroe.”
She fixes me with a pointed look. “I’ll bring it by in a moment.”
Marcus scoops the stack of books up off the table and the three of us make our way to Ian’s office. He unlocks the door with a physical key and then a series of sigils he casts so quickly I miss most of them. He toes the door open and shows me in, leaving the door open.
Marcus sets the books down on the only clear surface he can find and then nods to the door and brandishes his e-reader.
Ian’s scent is heavy in his office, citrusy bergamot and cedar, and I let it envelop me as I drift into his office.
“You wanted to talk about something?”
“Come, sit.” He picks up a book from one of his carefully sorted stacks and flips it open on his desk as he sits.
I join him, peering down at the book, only able to pick out a few of the Latin words, but recognizing the numerals easily. “A date register? Of what?”
“Deaths and interments from the 1500s, kept by the Church back when the Church had more power.” He traces his finger down one of the columns and it’s then I notice the small annotations.
Marked alongside the designations of the dead are small inverted septagrams.
I gasp. “They were marked?”
“I think so. But this predates the Legion of Baphomet by hundreds of years, which means...”
“The Mark was used before then!” I sit down heavily. “But by whom?”
He shakes his head. “That’s what I’m not sure of. The same ilk that raised up a long-dead saint.”
“Saint Aldous?”
“Saint Baphomet. The Demon Baphomet was no demon at all. He was a saint over a millennia ago.”
“But what about his… hisface?”
“Juniper!” he scolds. “I know you pay better attention than that in Sienna’s class. Who writes our history?”
I cover my mouth with a hand. “The victors.”
“In this case, I suspect it was the Church who demonized Baphomet, but it’s only that at this point: a suspicion.”
“But now we might know where to look, right?” I stare down at the open book before me and frown, seeing the seven-pointed star in another column. “Betas were marked?”
Ian clears his throat and shakes his head. “Killed by the Ever Ember is my best guess. You may not have the Latin vocabulary to understand this yet, but that column is the cause of death.”
“Does… does that mean it’s killing you, too?”
“I don’t believe so. I think the Ever Ember hex is shaped by intention more than most spells I’ve studied: in some cases a weapon, in others a rite of initiation. I imagine whoever was using the ember realized it was an expedient way to deal with their beta enemies. Their physiology must make them more susceptible to fatal cases, though you’ll see it’s not impossible to kill an alpha with the ember.” He points to an entry in the ledger.
“Marcus and Cassian would have died, if not for you. The ember was burning through—”
“Ah, Miss Monroe.” Ian shoots me a quick suppressive glance. “You have my thanks.” He fishes his wallet out and passes her a five-dollar bill. “Could you close the door on your way out, please? Miss Rose and I are discussing a personal matter.”
Ellie pockets the tip, shoots me a weighty look, mutters something about Beltane and then leaves, closing the door behind her.
“A white chocolate mocha? That’s your usual?”
“I’m surprised you hadn’t guessed already. It’s what you get most often. I thought for sure you’d have just picked up two one night.”
“You knew what I was doing?”
