But Salome was already leading them into the dark foyer. The Bridegroom followed.
The tombs were kept unwarded to allow the easy flow of magic, but that meant Grays could come and go as they pleased. It was what made Lethe’s protections necessary during
rites.
“Do you have it?” Salome asked. The interior was nondescript: slate floors, dark wood,
leaded windows overlooking a small interior courtyard where an ash tree grew. It had been
there long before the university and would probably still be stretching its roots when the
stones around it crumbled to dust. A magnetic board by the door showed which delegation
members were currently at the tomb, a necessity given the size of the place. They were listed by their Egyptian god names, and only Salome’s ankh, labeled Chefren, had been moved to the At home column.
“Got it,” said Alex, pulling the statue from her bag.
Salome seized it with a happy shriek. “Perfect! Keys is going to be so pissed when they
realize we got it back.”
“What does it do?” Alex asked as Salome led them back into another dark room, this
one with an elongated lozenge of a table at its center, surrounded by low chairs. The walls
were lined with glass cases full of Egyptian curios and depictions of wolves.
“It doesn’t do anything,” Salome said with a withering look. She set the statue back in the case. “It’s the principle of the thing. We invited them into our house and they shat on
our hospitality.”
“Right,” said Alex. “That’s awful.” But she felt that angry rattle inside her twitch, vibrating against her sternum. Someone had just tried to kill her and this princess was playing stupid games. “Let’s get this started.”
Salome shifted her weight. “Listen, I really can’t open up the temple without approval
from the delegation. Not even alumni are allowed in.”
Dawes released a small humming sigh. She was clearly relieved at the prospect of turning right around to go home. That wasn’t going to happen.
“We had a deal. Are you actually trying to run game on me?” Alex asked.
Salome grinned. She didn’t feel the least bit bad about it. And why would she? Alex was a freshman, an apprentice, clearly out of her element. She’d been nothing but quiet and deferential around Salome and the Wolf’s Head delegation, always letting Darlington,
the real presence, the gentleman of Lethe, do the talking. Maybe if Lethe had rescued her
from her life sooner, she could have been that girl. Maybe if the gluma hadn’t attacked and Dean Sandow hadn’t ignored her she could have kept pretending to be her.
“I got your stupid figurine,” said Alex. “You owe me.”
“Except you weren’t really supposed to do that, were you? So.”
Most drug deals were done on credit. You got your supply from someone with the real
connections, you proved you could move it for a good price, maybe next time you got the
chance at a bigger bite. “You know why your boy is amateur and will stay amateur?” Eitan
had asked Alex in his heavy accent once. He’d hiked a thumb at Len, who was giggling
over a bong while Betcha played Halo beside him. “He’s too busy smoking my product to
make anyone but me rich.” Len was always scraping by, always coming up a little short.
When Alex was fifteen she’d come back to Len without his money, confused and
flustered by the investment banker she’d met in the parking lot of the Sherman Oaks Sports Authority. Len usually handled him, leaving sweet-faced Alex to do runs at the colleges and malls. But Len had been too hungover that morning, so he’d given her bus
fare and she’d ridden the RTD down to Ventura Boulevard. Alex didn’t know what to say
when the banker told her he was short on cash, that he didn’t have the money right then
but he was good for it. She’d never had someone flat-out refuse to pay. The college kids
she dealt with called her “little sis,” and sometimes they even invited her to smoke up with
them.
Alex had expected Len to be pissed, but he’d been furious in a way she’d never seen
before, frightened, screaming it was on her and she was going to have to answer to Eitan.