piss like a thick, visible haze that she had to push through as if she were underwater. She
passed between two row houses and onto Tilton. A moment later, a blue Dodge Charger
rounded the corner and slowed. Turner hopped out and opened the back door, letting Alex
slide into the back seat.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Il Bastone. The house on Orange.”
It was almost worse to lie down and stop moving. All she could think about as she sank
into the new-car smell of Turner’s leather seats was the pain rolling through her. She stared at the bits of sky and rooftop passing by the window, trying to follow their path to Il Bastone in her head. How much longer? Dawes would be there. Dawes was always there,
but could she help? It’s my job.
“Oculus isn’t answering her phone,” said Turner. Was Dawes in section? Somewhere in
the stacks? “What was I seeing back there?” he asked.
“Told you. Portal magic.” She said it with confidence, though she couldn’t really be sure. She’d thought portal magic was used for traveling big distances or entering secure buildings. Not getting the jump on someone in a beatdown. “Portals are Scroll and Key magic. I thought Tara and Lance might be dealing to them because of Colin Khatri. And
Tara’s tattoo.”
“Which one?”
“Rather die than doubt. From Idylls of the King. ” She had the strange sense that she’d taken Darlington’s place. Did that mean he’d taken hers? God, she hated being this high.
“Lance said something when he was kicking the crap out of me. He wanted to know who hurt Tara. He didn’t do it.”
“Do I need to remind you that he’s a criminal?”
Alex tried to shake her head, then winced. “He wasn’t bullshitting me.” In the panic and fear of the attack, she’d thought she was being hunted again, like with the gluma. But now she wasn’t so sure. “He was interrogating me. He thought I’d broken in.”
“You did break in.”
“He wasn’t there for me. He came back to the apartment for something else.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about that. I explicitly told you not to go anywhere near—”
“Do you want answers or do you want to keep being an asshole? Lance Gressang didn’t
kill Tara. You have the wrong guy.”
Turner said nothing and Alex laughed softly. The effect was not worth the effort. “I get
it. Either you’re crazy and seeing shit or I’m crazy, and wouldn’t it be nicer if I was the
crazy one. I have bad news for you, Turner. Neither of us is nuts. Someone wanted you to
believe Lance is guilty.”
“But you don’t think he is.” There was a long silence. Alex heard the tick tock tick tock of the turn signal in time with her heartbeat. At last, Turner said, “I checked into the whereabouts of the society members you mentioned.”
So he’d followed up. He was too good a detective to turn down a lead. Even if it came
from Lethe. “And?”
“We already knew it was impossible to confirm Tripp Helmuth’s whereabouts, because
no one had eyes on him the whole night. Kate Masters claims she was at Manuscript until
just after three in the morning.”
Alex grunted as the Charger hit a bump. It hurt to talk, but it also helped keep her distracted. “Her whole delegation should have been there,” she managed. “It was a Thursday night. A meeting night.”
“My impression is they were partying late. It’s a big building. She easily could have come and gone with no one the wiser.”
And Manuscript was only a few blocks from the crime scene. Could Kate have snuck
out, glamoured as Lance, to meet Tara? Had it been some kind of game? A high gone wrong? Had Kate intended to hurt Tara? Or was all of this just in Alex’s head?
“What do you know about the kid from Scroll and Key, Colin Khatri?” Turner asked.
“I like him,” Alex was surprised to hear herself say. “He’s nice and he dresses sharp like you but more European.”
“That’s great intel.”
Alex searched her memory. The basso belladonna made it easy to remember the