Page 50 of Dead Beat

“That will not happen,” Darlington said, a snarl thrumming in his voice.

“Are you sure you can stop it? That any of us can? He’ll use me to wedge open the door to hell forever and then he’ll really start enjoying himself.” She jabbed her finger at the lost catalogue pages. “This is all we have, and if my choice is crossing my fingers or taking a swing?”

Turner dipped his chin in assent. “We take the swing. Every time.”

“Every time,” repeated Darlington, then Dawes.

“Every time,” whispered Tripp.

Turner shifted his focus back to Dawes. “You said something about Anubis. But the catalogue page just calls it the Heart of Gold.”

“It’s a pectoral,” Dawes explained. “Sort of a fancy ceremonial necklace, like a golden breastplate. I called it the Heart of Anubis because it’s…” She set down her glass.

“Dawes?”

“It’s emblazoned with a jackal.”

The Lethe hound. It was embroidered on the many pairs of Lethe sweats Alex had worn, a representation of the creatures who lived beneath Il Bastone, who had once come to her rescue.

“It belonged to Lethe,” said Alex. As much as anything in that armory belonged to them. Artifacts, relics, sacred objects, jewels, texts, all of it pillaged, pilfered, bartered, or bought from places she would never see.

Turner poured himself a drink. “You’re telling me they just stored this vital piece of a golem at Wolf’s Head and hoped no one would steal it or melt it down?”

“The societies’ tombs are stuffed with treasure,” said Darlington. “And remember, there’s a new delegation every year, a new group of seniors. All the pilgrims had to do was wait until summer and stash the breastplate in the sarcophagus. The new delegates would never know something had changed and the alumni would just assume it was a new acquisition.”

Alex considered the other items from the catalogue. “Where do we start on the rest? Scroll and Key doesn’t have a ritual scheduled until March, and the Locksmiths aren’t going to let us root around in their vaults after what we did last year.”

“What did you do?” asked Turner.

Alex tried not to squirm. “It was a minor explosion.”

“The real issue was the smell,” Dawes added helpfully.

Turner’s brows rose. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“I can get us into Scroll and Key,” said Darlington. “I know someone on their board. But it would help if we had any idea what we’re looking for.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Dawes. “What about Skull and Bones?”

“Tricky,” admitted Darlington. “The next prognostication isn’t until fall, and they’re protective of their collection since the Geronimo lawsuit.”

Tripp raised his hand. “I can help.” His lips were stained red like a kid sucking on a cherry Popsicle. “I still have my key.”

“Good,” said Dawes. “We’ll just have to figure out the right time and place.”

“Why did they do it?” Turner asked.

“All the delegates get keys,” said Tripp. “I meant to give mine back—”

“No, why did Harkness and Sterling and the pilgrims go to all this trouble? The library. The quadrangle. Men died raising those buildings.”

“The university was going to expand,” Darlington said. “They saw an opportunity.”

“But for what?” Turner pushed.

“To sail beyond the sunset,” he said quietly. “Harkness had lost his brother. Sterling knew his fortune couldn’t buy immortality. They needed to see what was on the other side of the Veil.”

“Was it worth it?” Turner asked. “All that blood and treasure? They cut a hole in the fabric of the universe. You don’t patch that up with a little needle and thread. Would you have done it?”