Page 24 of Dead Beat

“I meant be careful with her.” Dawes slid her headphones over her ears. “She’s more fragile than she seems.”

Maybe we all are, Darlington thought and closed his eyes, praying they might all prove stronger than they believed as the train clattered on through the long Connecticut night.

10

Alex used Sunday to try to get a handle on her coursework. She had a paper due on Christina Rossetti, whom she was liking less than expected, and another on Milton, whom she was liking more than expected. Or maybe it was that Paradise Lost felt more relevant these days. It was hard to focus on anything with Reed’s threats echoing in her head. She had played dumb when he’d told her he wanted a nexus, but she knew he hadn’t believed her.

“No one knows what creates a nexus,” she’d told him. “How am I supposed to help you find one?”

“Don’t make me play games, Alex. I find them tiresome. Probably because I always win.”

“I want to help,” she’d said with as much conviction as she could muster. “You know how much I need my place at Yale. I don’t want to jeopardize any of it. But you should talk to Dawes or Darlington. They know so much more about all of this. I’m just—”

“You are a collision of bloodlines that never should have occurred. You are a walking, talking natural disaster in the making.”

What’s the worst that can happen? Alex had thought. I wedge open a doorway to hell?

“I can help protect your gifts and you. Together we can find an ethical, humane way to put them to use. There are others out there who won’t have those priorities. Think on it. I can be a very good friend to have.”

He had smiled, clapped her on the shoulder like he was congratulating her after a big game, and drifted into the crowd.

There are others out there. Those were the words she couldn’t shake. Alban Reed could take away her place at Yale. He could get her mother kicked out of that dreamy little bungalow. Those were real problems she would need to find a way around. But the real question was how the hell he knew she was a Wheelwalker and how many other people had that knowledge too.

She was grateful when evening finally came. She packed her pockets with salt and walked over to Il Bastone to find out what Turner and the others had learned about Kittscher. Fighting demons had a certain immediacy that poetry lacked and Sunday dinner had become a ritual for them. Dawes made a roast and Yorkshire puddings, or pork chops lacquered in maple glaze, or fish heaped with dill, and they tried to figure out what had to be done for the week. But tonight was different. Dawes was serving cassoulet and they had a real lead.

“No mysterious disappearances in Thomas Neumann’s neighborhood,” Turner said between bites. “No strange spikes in death rates. If he’s feeding on the locals, he’s being a lot more careful than Reiter. What do we actually know about this guy?”

“Kittscher was working class,” Darlington said. “He didn’t have Reiter’s background or connections, but he was smart and cocky and aggressively social.”

“Ambitious,” said Alex.

“You’d have to be to plan an excursion to hell.”

Turner didn’t look impressed. “The word audacious comes to mind.”

“That too,” said Darlington. “If we want to be kind, we can say Kittscher aspired to greatness. This was the age of exploration. Egypt. The Arctic. Our own Hiram Bingham in Peru.”

Alex toyed with her fork. “Golgarot said as much. He said exploration was just another word for conquest.”

Darlington nodded. “Why do you think there were so many stories of Egyptian curses?”

“Pillager guilt?” Turner suggested.

“Very likely,” said Darlington. “Death comes on swift wings and all that.”

Alex sat up straighter. “What?” It was too close an echo to the thought that had been hounding her, the feeling that death was circling somewhere above her, waiting for its chance.

“It was a curse on Tutankhamun’s tomb,” said Turner.

“No,” corrected Darlington. “That’s a myth. It was invented by journalists to sell papers.”

“There’s no curse?”

“You actually look disappointed,” Alex said. “I thought you hated magic.”

Turner scowled. “I still like a good story.”

“I didn’t say there were no curses,” Darlington clarified. “That particular line doesn’t appear anywhere and written curses are very rare in Egypt. The ones that do exist are more like Please mind the gap or Stay off the grass. But the Valley of the Kings is full of unwritten prohibitions and wardings. It’s why some tombs have never been found and never will be.”