Page 49 of Dead Beat

“We’re missing something,” Darlington said. “I just don’t know what. There’s something more to the quadrangle and its connection to these relics. There has to be.”

Turner echoed Alex’s movement, tapping each of the pages. “If those objects aren’t in the armory anymore, how do we find all of them? How do we even know they still exist?”

“They would have stored them in separate places,” Alex said. “You never put your whole stash in one spot.”

Darlington held up his fingers. “Harkness was in Wolf’s Head. His roommate Henry Sloane Coffin was in Skull and Bones, same as Sterling. They tapped James Gamble Rogers as their architect. He was in Scroll and Key. The three oldest societies at Yale. It would make sense if the original pilgrims came from those societies too.”

“I thought Book and Snake was older than Wolf’s Head,” said Alex. At least that was what she remembered from her less than thorough reading of The Life of Lethe.

“A subject of some debate. But I’ll tell you something we can be sure of: The Memorial Quadrangle is covered in stonework, full of symbols and quotations and inside jokes—just like Sterling. Amid all that mess and whimsy, there is only one mention of the societies. Here. On the Elm Street wall, the wall that faces the library.” He ran his long fingers down the northern border of the quadrangle. “This is where the symbols of three societies are rendered in stone: Wolf’s Head, Skull and Bones, Scroll and Key. We’ll find the relics at those societies.”

“And the fourth?” Alex asked. “The final piece?”

Darlington’s eyes glimmered in the lamplight. “The house of the fourth pilgrim. The final artifact is hidden right here at Lethe.”

17

“They took these out of the catalogue?”

Alex wasn’t sure she had ever seen Dawes this angry. Her cheeks were red, her neck blotchy. They had gathered back down in the parlor. Tripp was tucked into the corner, gently nursing a juice box Alex assumed was full of blood. He looked human again, but it was hard to forget the hissing monster that had lunged at Dawes.

“It’s worse than that,” Darlington conceded. “They took the items out of the armory.”

“I know!”

“You know?”

“Of course I know!” Dawes shouted. “I’ve been updating that catalogue for six years. I know its contents inside and out.”

“Then you know which of these is left in the armory?”

“No!” Dawes sat down hard. “I think they relabeled whichever relic it was. They created a false provenance to hide it. It’s … It’s ghastly. To tamper with the archive that way. I think I need a drink.”

Alex tried not to show her shock. Dawes tended to retreat to the kitchen when she needed comfort. “I … Sure. Should I open a bottle of something?”

“Give her whiskey,” said Turner. “Wine is too weak for the end of the world.”

“I’ll get it,” said Darlington. “Ice?”

Dawes put her head in her hands. “Neat, please.”

Darlington went to the sideboard and poured a generous shot of whiskey into a heavy tumbler.

Dawes took a long swig, then coughed. She dabbed her mouth with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Thank you,” she said primly. “That helps. When is the next Wolf’s Head ritual?”

“Thursday,” Darlington said. “Tomorrow.”

“Good. You can steal the Heart of Anubis then.”

“Anubis?” Alex asked.

Dawes held up one of the pages of the catalogue and gave it a furious shake. “That has to be what this is. It’s sourced near Luxor, from the Valley of the Kings, so we know it’s Egyptian. I saw it in the sarcophagus when Alex and I used the temple room. It’s from an earlier period than the mummy, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I just thought they’d put together a mishmash of artifacts for dramatic effect.”

“Let me remind you,” said Turner, “we have no idea what might happen if we bring these things together. This could all be a demon trap.”

Alex thought of Theo standing at the gate to Kittscher’s house. The memory belonged to her now: the smell of the sea air, the glass jar of shells at the door, the hope that came with beginnings. Theo had been one of the good ones—kind, patient, full of love. The demon had taken it all. She had covered her fear with jokes and silence and all the ballsy acts of daring she could muster, but what she’d seen in Kittscher’s house, what she’d done, had stripped away her armor.

“When Golgarot comes through that door, he’s going to find me and he’s going to haul me back to hell and clap a yoke on my neck.”