Page 47 of Dead Beat

Darlington brushed aside the wreckage, and they gathered closer.

“I’m glad nothing blew up,” Turner said, “but I’m—”

“A little surprised?” suggested Darlington.

“Me too,” said Alex.

She tugged off her goggles. Inside the salt casing was an envelope emblazoned with a series of mazes and knots, all surrounding an illustration of Dürer’s magic square. The same square carved above a doorway to the courtyard at Sterling Library. More traps for demons.

“Compelling.” Darlington touched his fingers to the square of numbers. “Kittscher said they took precautions. I think they stored this before they made the descent.”

Carefully he untied the string holding the envelope closed and shook free a sheaf of papers. They spread them over the table.

“Dawes is going to be so mad,” Alex said.

“What are these?” asked Turner.

Darlington held one up. “They’re pages from the old Lethe Armory Catalogue. But most of the text is redacted.”

“Four of them,” said Alex, eyes skimming the titles of the pages.

Heart of Gold; Provenance: Egypt

Hand of God; Provenance: Unknown

Feet of Clay; Provenance: Anatolia

Head of the Dragon; Provenance: Cornwall

“These are all in the armory?” she asked.

“At one point they were,” said Darlington. He flipped over the envelope and gestured to one of the symbols inscribed on it. “This isn’t just a knot. It’s the knot of Isis. It’s called the tyet and it’s a symbol of protection.”

“Another demon distraction,” said Turner. “But you think it’s something more?”

“It might be. Isis retrieved the pieces of her husband’s body and reassembled them, brought Osiris back to life.”

“We’re going to summon an Egyptian god?”

“No.” Darlington paced through the armory, tugging off his goggles, then his gloves. His eyes flashed gold, the bands at his neck and wrists gleaming, but Alex knew it was his human mind at work. “Not a god. A golem. An automaton. To make one you need a collection of sacred objects or body parts. The animating spell is sometimes called an Osiris Machine.”

Turner shuffled through the pages. “Heart, Hand, Feet, Head. Kittscher said we couldn’t defeat Golgarot. But maybe he meant someone—or something else could.”

Abruptly, Darlington stopped pacing and his face broke into a grin. “Now you’re thinking like a demon.”

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

Alex was struggling to keep up. “You’re saying we can use these artifacts to build some kind of Frankenstein’s monster?”

“A lot of the societies played around with golems in the early days,” said Darlington.

“Until?” asked Turner.

He cleared his throat. “Until one of their creations ripped the arms off a theology professor.”

“That does dampen the mood,” said Turner. “Do you people ever find a cure that isn’t worse than the disease?”

“There’s a logic to it,” Darlington said.