Page 151 of Dead Beat

One foot in front of the other, her breath coming easier despite the work of it as she put distance between herself and the illusion of the tattoo parlor.

Eighty steps. Ninety. There was supposed to be a big drum here, where the water tower had once stood, but there was only the spiral.

Higher, her thighs burning, her legs too heavy. Darlington’s voice—This is where it all opens up. You’ll get some air and light and it’s where we see Lawrie’s stonework really stars. There were supposed to be eight statues of Yale “worthies,” Noah Webster, Samuel Morse, controversial Calhoun. You get the idea. Larger than life. Now we get to the lantern—an octagon. A smaller octagon sits atop that.

Eight worthies, eight walls, eight Houses of the Veil. Darlington’s facts, his fingers tracing the blueprints, telling her the secret story of Yale.

One hundred. Let’s go.

But at 120 she heard new sounds. Hoofbeats. Men shouting.

She knew what was waiting at 142. Another puzzle. A new horror.

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Alex made herself climb.

55

Darlington wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he hadn’t counted on needing to dampen the sound of the bells.

When the first chime struck, they were still inside the chapel, staring at the closed door to the staircase. It began as the ordinary pealing of a bell to mark the midnight hour, but then the sound seemed to warp and stretch, shaking the air around it.

“Someone’s going to come running,” Turner said. “Those bells aren’t supposed to toll this late.”

And they weren’t supposed to sound like the deep, reverberating groan of a leviathan tossing in its sleep.

“Come on,” he said.

The noise was less harrowing outside the tower, but it still vibrated against his teeth and raised the hair on his arms.

Turner glanced at his watch. “Keep your phones on and stay in communication. If anyone approaches you, tell them campus security has already been contacted and maintenance is working on a fix.” Then he stopped, still staring at his wrist. “Look at this.”

They gathered around, peering at the watch face in the circle of streetlight. The second hand was bouncing off the twelve, as if refusing to turn the hour.

“Posts,” Darlington said.

Whatever ritual had begun with the chiming of midnight would end when the final bell struck. All they could do to keep Alex safe was make sure the magic remained undisturbed.

Their only real advantage in defending the tower was that there was a single exterior point of entry. They’d agreed Darlington would stay close to that door, a final line of protection. Turner, Dawes, and Tripp would be stationed just outside the entrance to the courtyard. Dawes’s obfuscation and repulsion spells would keep any curious students or staff at bay, but if anyone did approach, Turner’s badge should steer them away.

“I am in position, over.”

“Tripp,” Turner grumbled, “it’s an open line. You don’t have to say over.”

“Heard. I have eyes on two possible hostiles approaching the Old Campus gate.”

“Are they approaching us?” Turner asked.

“Negatory.”

“I swear to all that is holy, if you don’t stop this Call of Duty bullshit, I’m going to arrest you.”

“Stay off comms,” Darlington said. “Both of you.”

Darlington saw two men in yellow windbreakers entering the courtyard from the Saybrook side.

“Campus security is on scene,” he said.