words. His attention was otherwhere. He reached into Mirabilis’ bloodsoaked pocket and withdrew a black marble. He held it up to the light, looked in it.
“What a pretty little hand!” he said, his voice softly accented in Italian.
“Grimaldi!” Stanton spat. “But you were taken into custody in Philadelphia …”
“The Philadelphia police were most obliging to the Army’s request to remand a hostile foreign Warlock,” Caul said. “And despite the errors of his birth, Grimaldi has done good work for us in the past.”
“And you’ve given your body to that … thing?” Stanton spoke with revulsion. “My God, Caul.”
Caul patted his stomach, grinning like the cat who’d swallowed the uchawi pod. When he spoke again, it was Grimaldi’s drawl that flowed from his lips. “It is the necessity, Mr. Stanton. You can search the hands, you can search the clothes … But you can no search the stomach!”
“But … Tarnham … he had the marble!” Miss Pendennis said.
“Tarnham never had a goddamn thing,” Caul said. “It was just a credomancer’s sleight of hand. Mirabilis was trying to set us sangrimancers against one another. Trying to get us to believe one of the others took it. With us chasing after one another, he could keep the real stone for himself.”
“But … it was blood magic …” Miss Pendennis said.
“If it was one of us tearing up that ferret, wouldn’t have Zeno raised the alarm?” Caul said scornfully. “Misdirection, Miss Pendennis. While everyone’s attention was on that sham of a séance, Stanton did some first-year blood work with Tarnham’s rat. I knew Mirabilis had to have some kind of plan up his sleeve.”
“A plan that provided you with a perfect distraction.” Stanton spoke through clenched teeth.
“I knew an opportunity would present itself—it always does, for a good soldier. Thank you for your help, Stanton. I doubt any of my own men could have done better.”
With a furious cry, Stanton sprang to his feet, fists clenched. He made it only two steps toward Caul before the hulking sangrimancer stopped him with a dismissive gesture. “I told you to sit down.”
Stumbling as if Caul had thrown a rope around his ankles, Stanton fell to the floor, next to Mirabilis’ butchered body. He buried his face in his hands, still smeared with Zeno’s blood.
“Now,” Caul said, “we finish this.”
Caul lifted Mirabilis’ heart before him. Making bold, angular swipes through the air, he used the bloody organ to trace a large rectangle. When he’d completed this action, he barked three loud commands, and the rectangle began to glow faintly. A dark room could be seen through it.
Go through, carissima mia.
The compulsion was irresistible. Emily walked toward the portal.
As her feet moved of their own accord, a sudden flurry of activity caught Emily’s eye. Stanton had risen to kneel by Mirabilis’ body. He smeared his already-bloody hands through the ocean of Mirabilis’ thickening blood with quick, sinuous movements, muttering low bitter words as he did. Radiance grew around his fingertips. He cupped it in his hands as he rose to his feet. His presence seemed to expand to fill the entire room, though he was no taller than he’d been before. With a loud sound, he clapped his hands together, and the magic arced and sizzled between them.
Then, through clenched teeth, he uttered words that made the earth shudder:
“By the blood of my Sophos and the Sophos before him, I reclaim.”
Caul whirled—too late. It was as if the words themselves attacked him. They collapsed him inward and pinned his arms, wrenched his head back, and forced him to his knees. His massive form struggled mightily against them; he screamed with pain and frustration. Stanton braced his feet, gritted his teeth, holding Caul like a fisherman fighting a whale.
Emily didn’t want to go through the portal. But the command had been given.
Go through, carissima mia.
And so Emily went through.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Blood and Bile
It was like stepping off a cliff into a churning ocean of blood and screaming. After tossing nauseatingly for what seemed a very long time, Emily landed hard in another room.
The room was well lit—an abrupt change from the gloom of the Great Trine Room.
Carissima mia, the call echoed to her, but it was growing fainter and fainter, until it was hardly there at all. She blinked, the ache in her head subsiding.
She looked up, her eyes adjusting to the brightness. She was in a business office, small and rather cramped; there was a calendar on the wall that was out of date. There was a desk. And