Page 105 of Dead Beat

“We took Huilca to Logan instead. It seemed the safer choice.”

Driving him into Canada and leaving him in the woods seemed even safer, but she bit her tongue. “I need to read through what he wrote down.”

“I took a look on the drive. I’m not sure how helpful any of it is, but we at least know more about who to watch out for.”

“Alban Reed?”

Darlington nodded. “He’s one of them. And there’s at least one professor here who’s a member as well.”

“Charlie Girard.”

“You know him?”

“He knows me. He threatened me. Made Reed sound like some all-powerful supervillain.”

“I think that’s an overstatement, but there’s no question Reed is connected. The order is sprawling. There are members in every country, all from different local bloodlines.”

“But what is it they do?”

“Make more priests.” He hesitated, then said, “Find Wheelwalkers.”

“And?”

“They’re supposed to eliminate them.”

“But that’s not what Alban Reed wants, is it? This is good.”

“Enlighten me.”

“If he and Girard want to use me to make a nexus, he won’t have told his other priest buddies, because then it would be their holy duty to put me down.” The way her father had tried to. She gave her head a shake. Luis Huilca no longer remembered he had a daughter and Reed wasn’t going to spread the word. One less thing to worry about. For now. “Are you going to tell me what you saw in Nick Zanca’s mind?”

For a long while, Darlington said nothing. The shops that lined Broadway were closed this late, their windows still brightly lit, full of things she wanted but didn’t need.

“Before me,” he said, “the Arlington men went to Penn, not Yale. I probably would have too, if not for Lethe.”

Alex wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything, but she was curious. “Why?”

“It was a point of pride. To leave New Haven and return. To show loyalty to the city, to the company, to Black Elm. I always thought my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather went to Penn. But why did I think that?”

Framed diplomas didn’t seem in keeping with Arlington style. “Someone told you.”

“I don’t remember who, but yes. It was just a known thing. Until you stop knowing and start asking. I did a little research this afternoon. It turns out Daniel Arlington II didn’t graduate from Penn. I don’t think he graduated from anywhere at all. But he went to Yale.”

Alex stared at him. She knew where this was headed. “You recognized him.”

“I recognized his tie pin. A tiny golden elm. It’s sitting in a dish atop my dresser.”

“You don’t know for sure. It could—”

“I knew Nick was a reference to Pope Nicholas. I assumed he was the priest, but Nicholas was corrupt, guilty of simony. In Inferno, he was punished for selling off the Church, for behaving as a worldly prince, a man of temporal rather than spiritual influence.”

“But we know Reiter was Henry III.”

“Except Henry is in purgatory because he was a devout man but a rotten ruler. More priest than prince.”

Alex was struggling to follow. “Why does it matter that Reiter was the priest and Nick was the prince?”

“Not Nick, remember? That was just a silly code name along with Doubting Thomas and Prince Henry and Good Ol’ Hec. Nick was really Daniel, my great-grandfather. I couldn’t figure out why he was called Nick Zanca, but it was a joke meant to put him in his place. Remember, Pope Nicholas III is buried alive in the Inferno, headfirst, legs waving around. It’s a ghastly fate. Dante says, Sì mi giunse al rotto di quel che si piangeva con la zanca. Now, zanca might just be translated as legs, or even slippers. But it can also refer to the boots worn by Roman soldiers. Alex, how did my family make their money?”