exchanging gossip, the left sides of their bodies charred black from some long-ago fire.
Even now she had to actively ignore the drowned rower running wind sprints outside the
gym. She could hear his heavy breathing. How was that possible? Why would a ghost need to breathe? Was it just the memory of needing air? An old habit? Or a performance
of being human?
She gave her head a little shake. She would find a way to silence them somehow or lose
her mind trying.
“Someone talking?” Dawes asked, keeping her voice low.
Alex nodded and rubbed her temples. She didn’t know how she was going to fix this
particular problem, but she did know she had to make certain the Grays didn’t realize she
could still hear them, not when so many were desperate for connection with the living world.
She hadn’t seen North since the afternoon of the party at the president’s house. Perhaps
he was somewhere grieving what Daisy had become. Maybe he’d created a support group
on the other side of the Veil for the souls she’d kept captive for so many years. Alex didn’t know.
They paced the perimeter of the land the dean had intended for St. Elmo’s. Alex hoped
flowers would grow over the place where Tara had died. She had sent the recording of Sandow’s confession to the Lethe board. It was horrible, they agreed. Grotesque. But mostly it was dangerous. Even if Sandow’s ritual had failed, they didn’t want anyone getting the idea there might be a way to create a nexus through ritual homicide—and they
didn’t want Lethe connected to Tara’s death. Excluding a few members of the board, everyone still believed Blake Keely was responsible for the murder, and Lethe intended to
keep it that way.
This time, Alex wasn’t going to push. She had too many new secrets that needed
keeping. Sandow’s death had been chalked up to a sudden, massive heart attack during his
welcome-home party. He’d had a bad fall only a few weeks before. He was under
tremendous financial stress. His passing had been cause for sadness, but it had drawn little
attention—especially since Marguerite Belbalm had disappeared after being seen with him
at the same party. She’d last been observed entering the president’s office to speak to Dean
Sandow. No one knew where she was or if she’d come to harm, and the New Haven PD
had opened an investigation.
Lethe had no idea what Belbalm had been or how she was connected to Sandow’s
death. Alex had made sure to cut off the recording before the professor entered the office.
The Lethe board had never heard the term “Wheelwalker” and they were never going to,
because unless Alex was very much mistaken, she had the ability to create a nexus anytime she wanted—all she had to do was develop a taste for souls. She’d seen the way
Lethe and the societies worked. That wasn’t knowledge any of them needed.
Dawes glanced at the time on her phone, and in silent agreement they left Payne Whitney behind and turned right down Grove Street. Ahead, Alex saw the massive
mausoleum of Book and Snake, a gloomy block of white marble surrounded by black
wrought iron. Now that Alex knew they hadn’t sent the gluma after her, that they hadn’t had any involvement in what happened to Tara, she had to wonder if they could help her
find Tara’s soul. Though she didn’t like the idea of stepping beneath that portico or of what the Lettermen might demand in trade, Lethe owed Tara Hutchins some kind of rest.
But that would have to wait. She had another task to accomplish before she could help Tara. One she might not survive.
Alex and Dawes passed under the massive neo-Egyptian gates of the cemetery, beneath
the inscription that had pleased Darlington so: THE DEAD SHALL BE RAISED.
Maybe not just the dead if Alex put her mind to it.
They passed the graves of poets and scholars, presidents of Yale. A small crowd was gathered at a new headstone. Dean Sandow was still keeping the best company.
Alex knew there might be Lethe alumni in the crowd today, but the only one she recognized was Michelle Alameddine. She wore the same stylish coat, her dark hair pulled