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Wendel cupped his teacup in both hands, listening intently.
“It might be impossible.” Konstantin paced around the table. “It might even be too late. But theoretically, if we can work out all the technicalities, Wendel should be able to resurrect Hieronymus and countercurse himself.”
Wendel straightened, the fire in his eyes rekindled, and reached for the notebook.
Constantinople,he wrote.The Order will send his body there for a funeral.
“When?” I said.
Wendel frowned.Hieronymus was Greek. They never bury the dead on Sundays. His funeral will be Monday, at the earliest.
Of course a necromancer would know so much about funerals.
“Monday,” I repeated. “The day after tomorrow. Is that enough time, Konstantin?”
Lost in thought, Konstantin gazed at his overflowing bookshelves. “If we hurry.”
43
Magic remained a mystery to me. I tried my hardest to decipher the thick books on curses and countercurses, but after only half an hour, the symbols swam through my head in a soup of nonsense.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m better with swords than sorcery.”
Konstantin leaned back on the couch and stretched until his spine cracked. “We may need to take a more practical approach to the countercurse.”
“Meaning?”
“We won’t know until we try it.”
“Are you coming? To Constantinople?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I can’t abandon Project Lazarus.”
I stifled a yawn. “Understood.”
“You look exhausted,” he said, as if he weren’t himself.
I glanced at Wendel, who had to be infinitely more tired. “We shouldn’t go back to the hotel. Not the Imperial Palace Hotel, anyway.”
“Why not?” Konstantin asked.
“The Grandmaster broke into our room.”
Wendel’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut.Did he hurt you?
“No.” My heart ached at his concern.
He had been chained and tortured in the abandoned coffin factory for much longer than I had been, but he was still worried about me.
His pen dug into the paper.What did he want?
“The Grandmaster wanted me to join him.”
Konstantin jerked back, blinking. “Why?”
There was no easy way to explain this, but I had to try. “He’s my father.” I grimaced. “No, he’s the man who got my mother pregnant and abandoned her. I didn’t know his true identity until Wendel told me.”
Konstantin whispered, “My God,” under his breath.
