Page 41

Kit went into the bathroom to change, digging through his bag to find a clean shirt and sweater. He looked at the gear in the bottom of the pack. Would he need it? It was daylight, though; little chance there’d be demons around. He thought of his runed gun, doubtless still in the weapons closet at Cirenworth. He missed its reassuring presence now. He’d never had a chance to meet James, Tessa’s first son, but the shared weapon made him feel more tied into the Herondale family. Sighing, he shoved his stele and a seraph blade into his pocket and called it a day.

Apparently, it had rained overnight. The streets were shiny black with water, scattered with golden leaves like confetti after a celebration. As they walked down Prinsengracht, Kit noted the bridges, arched over the canals like stretching cats. They stopped at a shop for milky coffee and waffles studded with crunchy pearls of sugar, which they ate standing up, burning their fingers as they watched bicycles flash past in a blur of spokes.

Faint bells chimed in the distance, and Livvy appeared out of nowhere. “That’s the Westerkerk,” she said. “It’s eleven. Hurry your butts up.”

“Bums,” said Kit. “In England we say ‘bum,’ not ‘butt.’ ”

Livvy made a face at him. “Yeah, well, you’re not English, California boy.”

Kit tried not to look at Ty as they walked beside the canal, the silence between them broken only by the occasional splash of puddles beneath their boots. Ty seemed lost in thought, unbothered by the lack of conversation. Kit wished he could be like that. He felt the silence hanging between them like a cloud of invisible vapor.

As they turned onto Nieuwe Spiegelstraat, Ty reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and drew out a small gray mouse. Then he fished a small piece of waffle out of his other pocket and offered it to the mouse.

“Where did the mouse come from?” Kit demanded.

“He was hiding in the bathroom at the hotel.” Ty eyed the mouse intently as it munched away on its waffle. “I thought he might like to see the city.”

Kit tried not to smile, but it was hopeless. He’d always loved seeing Ty with animals. Whenever he’d been examining a starfish or cuddling a wood rat, he’d had a gentleness and presence that drew Kit to him like a magnet.

“Who keeps a mouse in their pocket?” Kit said, and it came out light and teasing, as he’d intended. Ty gazed happily down at the mouse as they passed several art galleries and a popular sandwich place with a line down the block. The street narrowed, and it was almost as though they were traveling backward in time. Suddenly there were hanging brass signs over the shops, their windows crowded with antique knickknacks: a taxidermied owl, blue-and-white delftware, a cameo dangling from a black velvet ribbon.

Almost at the end of the street, there it was: a massive redbrick building surrounded by a high, moss-darkened wall. There were tall, arched windows that faced the street, but the glass was dark, like curtains had been drawn across them.

“Place looks haunted,” Kit remarked, as he and Ty stood at the foot of the steps, looking up at the iron gate in the wall that appeared to be the only entrance.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Livvy, standing atop the wall, seemed offended.

“Not really haunted,” Kit said. “Just, you know, aesthetically.”

Livvy sniffed and disappeared.

“I don’t think that helped,” Ty noted. “She can be sensitive about being, you know. Spectral.”

Kit sighed and jogged up the well-worn stone steps. The iron gate clicked open at his approach. He and Ty followed a gravel path through a neat little garden to the front door, which sported a large door knocker in the shape of a grinning Medusa’s head.

Kit reached for the knocker, but before he could touch it, the door swung inward with the creak of unoiled hinges. Inside, the air had the scent of the library at Cirenworth. Old paper, old ink, wood polish. The foyer area was dimly lit, and unfurnished except for a high desk at which stood an old woman wearing a set of eyeglasses on a chain around her neck. She looked down her long nose at Kit and Ty, her expression wary.

“May I help you?” she asked, her words tinged with a faint Dutch accent.

“We’re looking for a book,” said Kit. “The Cabalion.”

The old woman’s wary expression vanished as her eyebrows shot up. “Well, by all means, then,” she said, and pressed a button at the back of the desk.

“By all means what?” asked Ty, just as two trapdoors in the ceiling opened, startling Kit. Rope ladders unfurled through them, swaying back and forth gently in the still air.

Ty caught one of the rope ladders and started to climb. He had always been good with rope training, or any kind of climbing. He was fast and agile, graceful when he moved. The muscles in his arms flexed and relaxed as he pulled himself up.

The old woman glanced at Kit. “He’s got the right idea,” she said. “Start climbing, young man.” She snapped her fingers. “Time is short. We close at three.”

Kit felt himself flush, and grabbed the dangling rope hard. He started to climb, hand over hand, as fast as he could until he was level with Ty. A second later they’d both made it through the trapdoors, and were getting to their feet in a room dominated by a single large skylight. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Kit glanced around. The room had the look of the part of a library where books were displayed, but not meant to be read. Locked cabinets lined the walls, and glass-topped cases were scattered about at intervals. Each displayed a different tome, held open to a decorative page: One seemed like a guide to herbs and flowers, though Kit didn’t recognize any of the plants. Another boasted pen-and-ink drawings of various pieces of enchanted jewelry, including Tessa’s clockwork angel and a detailed sketch of the long-lost Ring of Solomon, with its etched seal. Kit knew about the Ring because of his father, who had always said they’d be rich forever if he ever found it, since it gave the wearer total power over most demons.

A third was a beautifully illuminated manuscript showing the image of four horsemen: one black, one red, one white, and one gray. Under the image a verse or poem was printed, in the sort of blocky medieval letters that were difficult to read.

And behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

Kit frowned. Maybe not a poem. Maybe a Bible quote, or something like it. He started to turn around to ask Ty, when a door in the wall flew open and a familiar figure stalked into the room.