Chapter 18
“We need to be cautious,” said Darlington as they approached the gray rock mansion on York Street.
The Wolves called it the Hall, but it was just as forbidding as the other society tombs, even if it blended into the surroundings a little more seamlessly.
When he saw the security gate had been wedged open, he scowled.
“What is the point of a wall and a gate if you’re just going to leave it open? ”
“They’re not afraid,” Alex said. “The show of security is enough for them.”
“I suspect you’re right. They still think this is … fun.”
Alex shook off the heady rush of Daniel Arlington telling her she was right. “You sound a little jealous.”
“I am.” He pushed on the gate, then hesitated. “If something goes wrong with me tonight, with the ritual … If the demon—”
“I’ll be watching. What are our chances?”
“Good,” he said, then added, “I think. They have a portal. The enchantment shouldn’t need to go looking for more power.”
“If you start to slip, I’ll be ready.”
“It might be better for you to supervise on your own. You’re used to it now.”
She knew it cost him to say that. Darlington had loved being Virgil. He had taken pride in the office, in the chance to show her the hidden magic of their world.
“I want you there,” she said, not looking at him. “The stakes are too high for me to go alone. Besides, I didn’t do the reading.”
“Stern—”
“I did skim.”
“Did you?”
“I may have glanced.”
Darlington rolled his eyes. “The research on these rituals is actually very engaging.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
“The Wolves are going to be on edge tonight,” he warned as they used bone chalk to mark the stones set around the Hall.
They looked like ordinary pavers, but they’d been cut from old tombstones to reinforce the circle of protection against Grays.
The Wolf’s Head temple room was built around a river, so to protect the ritual from intrusion they had to set the runes outside the building.
“Why on edge? Are they turning into gators or something?”
“Bees. And only a few of them. But it’s an incredibly delicate transformation. It’s not just the change in size; it’s the lifespan. Bees live for one to two months, depending on the species. If the ritual and aftercare aren’t handled correctly, the consequences can be ugly.”
She had the feeling she’d regret asking, but she did it anyway. “Ugly how?”
“Eight years ago, after an apiary transformation, all the Wolves came out of the ritual just fine. Or so it seemed. One of them stayed awake for six days straight until he finally collapsed from exhaustion.”
“Because he was a bee for a few hours?”
“It’s complicated. Writing on therianthropy is rare because the magic is so hard to accomplish without a nexus. But the theory is that when a human being spends time as a creature of such an abbreviated lifespan, the experience forces the subject to confront his own mortality.”
“Did he die?”
“No, they put him in a pollen bath, then had him transform into a giant tortoise. It evened him out.”
Alex had to echo the question Turner had posed. “Is it really worth it? What is the point of risking that kind of fallout?”
“I don’t think you’re going to like the explanation this time around. Just be prepared for a lot of bad bee puns.”
They were welcomed at the door by Jonah Martins, one of Yale’s star basketball players—tall, dimpled, with close-cropped hair, and dressed in a long black robe lined in gray fur. Alex was sorry she knew he was probably naked beneath it in preparation for the ritual.
“Thanks for beeing on time,” Jonah cracked with a massive grin.
“You’re very welcome,” Darlington said, manners unshaken.
A young woman was bustling down the hall toward them. “We’re ready to start. If—” She tripped over her robe when she spotted Alex and Darlington.
“Salome!” Alex cried happily. She lifted her palm. “Hive five?”
Salome Nils didn’t even try to hide her dismay. “I … Jonah … Temple room.” She spun on her heel and practically fled down the corridor.
“What did you do to her?” Darlington asked as they trailed after Jonah in Salome’s wake.
“We had a deal. She tried to welch.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Nothing that left a mark.”
“Stern.”
“It’s not my fault my mentor got eaten by a hellbeast. I did the best I could with my limited skill set.”
Alex had only meant it as a joke, but now the knowledge of what had happened in the Rosenfeld basement hung between them. They had never talked about what Alex had done in that moment—because Alex had done nothing at all. She’d let him be consumed.
“That night—” she attempted.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
He cast her a glance. “I assumed you would at least try.”
She could have told him she had been frightened, but he knew that. Or that she was unprepared, but he knew that too. Alex would never be sure if she’d truly frozen or if she’d deliberately stood back, but she wasn’t going to invent excuses for the choice she’d made or failed to make.
She stopped in the stone hallway. Light from the interior courtyard where the ancient ash tree grew filtered in through the leaded glass windows, making the room feel as if it were trapped in blue twilight. She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“I wasn’t ready to choose your life over mine.
” She didn’t want it to sound that flat, that final.
She wanted Darlington to think of her as someone like him—noble, heroic.
But there was no amount of grift in the world that could sell that lie.
Better to be honest about it. “I know you would have jumped in. I know you would have done the right thing. I’m not … I don’t know how to do that.”
“You went to hell for me,” he said. “You risked your life for me. You risked your future.”
Because she’d needed his help. Because she’d felt guilty.
Because Darlington was supposed to be in charge, not her.
Because she’d missed him. And if she was honest, she still missed him.
Darlington was like a beautiful object on a shelf.
She could admire him, talk about him, even covet him.
But she knew his value too well. You let the rabble in on a half-price Saturday, but you kept them in the sale section.
You didn’t let a girl like Alex put her grubby hands on quality.
“I did,” she said. “But not because I’m good.”
The faintest smile touched his lips. “What makes you think good is what interests me?”
Alex didn’t know what to say to that. She’d somehow wandered into unknown territory, and now she wanted to do something stupid. She wanted to push up on her tiptoes and kiss his offensively perfect mouth.
“Where’d you go?” Jonah Martins called from down the hall and Alex nearly jumped.
“On our way,” Darlington said, but his gaze held hers.
Her mind had gone muddled. “Tell me why they’re turning into bees,” she said, searching for something rational to say that would get her back on safe ground.
“It’s an assassination. The target swims laps at a club in Westport every night.”
That was enough to knock her out of her Darlington-induced stupor. “They’re going to kill him with honeybees?”
“No,” Darlington said, resuming their walk down the hall. “Honeybees die when they sting. I believe these will be bumblebees. He won’t have his EpiPen at an indoor pool.”
“So we’re facilitating a murder,” she said, matching his pace down the hallway.
“We are. This was all in the report that you didn’t read. Would it help if I told you this will save a lot of lives?”
Maybe. Maybe it didn’t matter if he was a bad guy or a good guy, or somewhere in between. Or if he died by a gunshot wound during a fake mugging or by a spy injecting him with a nerve agent or by a swarm of undergrad bees. This was the bloody business of the world.
But what about you? She wanted to ask these fresh-faced youths already disrobing in the temple room.
Alex had never wept over the men she had killed, not until Theo, a man who had begged for death.
She wasn’t haunted by Len’s last moments.
If she had to put Alban Reed in the ground, she wouldn’t lose sleep over him either.
But these children weren’t like her any more than Darlington was.
They were like Mercy, people who had grown up steeped in norms, who had proper consciences to keep them up at night.
Would the bee that landed the killing sting remember?
Would it somehow be cleaner, less violent than the crimes Alex had committed?
Or would some luckless boy or girl wake in the night, remembering the smell of chlorine, her victim dying half naked and alone, gasping for air as he tried to pull himself across the slippery tiles?
“It’s not the target I’m concerned about,” Alex said.
“Not exactly. These kids handle corpses, root around in people’s intestines, plan political assassinations, and then what …
become investment bankers? Run nonprofits?
Teach community theater after a gig performing Shakespeare in the Park?
All these dirty deeds don’t just become happy memories of their bright college years. ”
“You know the answer, Alex.”
“I’m not sure I asked a question.”
“Didn’t you?”
She had. The same question Turner had asked. The same question she’d been asking since the day she arrived on campus. Why? Why take these risks, why endure these wounds? There were other ways to gain access to power. Yale was brimming with them. But she didn’t really need to ask.
Magic was the drug. Magic was the answer. The dream of it, the hope. Life eternal. Knowledge unbound. It drove men to build portals and to hurl themselves through doors that should remain forever closed. What wouldn’t they all do for the promise of more?