Turner steered the car up Chapel and pulled in at the Vanderbilt gates. She saw North
hovering by the steps to her entryway. How long had he been waiting? And had he found
Tara on the other side? With a shiver, she realized he’d been killed—or killed pretty Daisy
and himself—only blocks from where she was sitting.
“What would you say if I told you there’s a ghost outside my dorm?” asked Alex.
“Right there in the courtyard?”
“Honestly?” asked Turner. “After everything I’ve seen the last few days?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d still think you were screwing with me.”
“What if I told you he’s working our case?”
Turner’s real laugh was completely unlike his false chuckle, a deep, full belly laugh.
“I’ve had weirder CIs.”
Alex shoved her feet into the too-tight pumps and pushed open the car door. The night
air was so cold it hurt to breathe, and the sky was black above her. New moon rising. She
was due at Black Elm in a matter of hours. When Dean Sandow had first started talking
about the ritual, Alex assumed they would try to contact Darlington from Il Bastone, maybe even using the crucible. But Sandow really did intend to call him home.
“I’ll shake Kate Masters’s tree tomorrow,” said Turner. “Colin Khatri too. See what falls out.”
“Thanks for the ride-along.” Alex shut the car door and watched Turner’s headlights recede down Chapel. She wondered if she’d ever get to speak to the detective again.
Everything might change tonight. Alex had longed for Darlington’s return, and she’d feared it—and she couldn’t quite pull apart those feelings. She knew that when he told Dean Sandow what she’d done, what she really was, it would mean the end for her and Lethe. She knew that. But she also knew that Darlington was Tara’s best chance at justice.
He spoke the language of this world, understood its protocols. He would make the connections that the rest of them were missing.
She could admit she missed his pompous, know-it-all ass. But it was more than that. He
would protect her.
The thought was embarrassing. Alex the survivor, Alex the rattler, should be harder than that. But she was tired of fighting. Darlington wouldn’t stand for any of what she and
Dawes had been put through. He might not believe she belonged in Lethe, but she knew
he believed she was worthy of Lethe’s protection. He had promised to place himself between her—between all of them—and the terrible dark. That meant something.
North kept his distance, hovering in the golden light of the streetlamp, murderer or victim, but partner either way. For now.
She nodded to him and left it at that. Tonight she had other debts to pay.
25
Winter
“How’d it go?” Mercy asked, as soon as Alex entered the common room. She sat cross-
legged on the couch, surrounded by books. It took Alex a moment to remember she was
supposed to have been on a job interview.
“I’m not sure,” she said, heading back to their bedroom to change. “Maybe good? It was interesting. These pants are too tight.”
“Your ass is too big.”
“My ass is just right,” Alex called back. She pulled on black jeans, one of the last of
her good long-sleeved shirts, and a black sweater. She considered making up an excuse about a study group, then opted for brushing her hair and applying some dark plum lipstick.
“Where are you going?” Mercy asked when she caught sight of Alex’s look.
“I’m meeting someone for coffee.”
“Hold up,” said Lauren, poking her head out of her bedroom. “Is Alex Stern going on a
date?”
“First Alex Stern had a job interview,” said Mercy. “And now she’s going on a date.”
“Who are you, Alex Stern?”
Hell if I know. “If y’all are done, who stole my hoops?”
“What college is he in?” asked Lauren.
“He’s town.”
“Ooh,” said Lauren. She placed Alex’s fake silver hoops in her hand. “Alex loves a working man. That lipstick is way too much.”
“I like it,” said Mercy.