Page 118 of Veil of Night & Flames

“In truth, very little. We believe—but cannot fully confirm—that there is a ritual. But the honest answer is that no one currently living has ever seen it done. We have a body of theories. We have records of attempts that were made before the line died out…all failures.”

“In other words, you don’t even know for sure it can be done.”

“We are reasonably confident the texts are not wrong. We are reasonably confident that the imperial line is the family heritage those texts describe. We are not certain that you, in particular, are the one who can do it, but only that if anyone living can, it must be you. There is no other heir.”

Tia leans forward. “What about the keystone? The Widow Maker?”

“Ah,” he says. “Now there’s something we’ve been very interested in for quite a long while.”

“I bet you have.” Tia’s eyes don’t leave him. “You told us during the party that dark times are coming,” she says. “And that the Oneiroi would be prepared. Adric—you know who that is, I’m sure—calls your people vultures who long for the chaos. Pretty clear you’ve been getting ready for a long time. So my guess is you also know where the first crack is going to open. Which means you’ve been watching the Widow Maker since before any of us even knew it was a problem.”

Sebastian doesn’t even try to deny it. On the contrary, he looks almost proud when he turns to me and says, “You chose your friends well. As for the question, we’ve been preparing for the fall of the barriers for the better part of seventeen centuries. But wanting it and being prepared for it are different things. Compounds in three countries. Safe houses. Stockpiles of food, fuel, medicine, books, seeds, and tools. A clinic. A foundation. An ancient and still vibrant network across most of this hemisphere. The Oneiroi do not believe the barriers can hold. We have not believed it for a very long time. And, of course, we have planned accordingly.”

“And the Widow Maker?” I ask. “What’s the deal there?”

“That spot has been our primary subject of study since the sixteenth century. We did not call it the Widow Maker, then.”

“And it’s the keystone,” Tia says.

“For centuries, that was undetermined. Now, the answer is yes.”

“And now it’s breaking,” I say.

He nods. “And faster than any of us anticipated. Which is why I’m very glad you are here today.”

“In that case, share everything with me. And specifics, please. Not just theory.”

“We have maps,” he says. “Records of activity going back to the society's arrival on this continent. We have earlier records, too, that exist in fragments. Notes on what was tried at other thin places in Europe that did not have a member of the imperial line present, and why those attempts failed. A timeline showing how dramatically activity has accelerated since the start of this academic year. Names of every member of your line we have traced, including yours and your mother’s.”

“I want copies,” I say, barely able to control myself. This could be a goldmine, and I desperately want to get as much of this collection as possible in front of Chase, who’ll have a much better sense of what those documents reveal than I will.

“Of course,” Vance says. “But originals stay here. I’ll have everything scanned and sent to you. Some images today, the rest by tomorrow morning. And, of course, the door is open. It has been since the term began.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”

He dips his head briefly, then clears his throat.

“Cora, I want you to know that I—” He stops. Then looks down and clears his throat again. “Just that you seem to be a remarkable young woman. I’m sure you would have made your mother very proud.”

“Thanks,” I say, not entirely sure why my words are almost a whisper. What I do notice is that Tia’s taken my hand, and she’s squeezing way too hard.

I clear my throat and smile at Vance. “Well, then. I suppose we’re settled.”

“For today,” he says, rising with us. “Yes.”

I hesitate, not sure if I should shake his hand or what. I end up just clinging to Tia with one hand, and sliding the other into the pockets of my jeans.

Sebastian sees us out through the back door, pointing out that it’s the quickest route to the coffee place. “And in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve learned that you do like coffee.”

As the door clicks shut behind us, I can’t help but laugh at that. Because, yeah. Coffee. And that’s a hell of a lot easier to wrap my head around than bloodlines and barriers and rituals and a man who might be my dad.

We end up sitting outside with two iced lattes and a brownie we don’t need.

“Are we going to talk about it?” she asks. “The whole is he/isn’t he paternity thing?”

I shake my head. “My brain’s not ready for that.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I get it.”