debating how rebellious he was feeling. Lucky for us, he also wanted to find the grimoire so we could strike his House’s name from its pages, making it impossible for “hh’ainun” to ever summon demons of his line again.
Taking hold of the toppled wall with his other hand, he hauled it out of the corner. As I assessed the burnt mess beneath, my lips turned down. The fallen wall had barely been scorched, but everything under it was blackened.
With the way clear, Amalia and I tossed aside scattered debris, unearthing the two-foot-tall steel safe attached to the concrete floor. She knelt in front of it and grasped the wheel combination lock.
The safe door swung open a few inches.
Amalia’s startled gaze shot up to mine, then she pulled the door all the way open. The shelves inside were empty.
“No way,” she moaned. “Dad must’ve come back to get everything.”
I crouched beside her, cold with disappointment. “Or MagiPol opened it when they searched the house last month.”
Zylas reached over my shoulder and ran his fingertips across the door’s inner edge. Bringing his hand to his face, he inhaled through his nose. “Smells like vīsh.”
Vīsh—his word for magic.
I scrutinized the safe’s locking pins. “Amalia, do these look severed?”
She examined them too. “You’re right.”
Zylas leaned closer, nostrils flaring. “I can’t scent the demon, only his vīsh. Too many other smells.”
Amalia shook her head, muttering something about a bloodhound. I rubbed my forehead before remembering the soot on my hands. I’d probably just smudged up my face.
“Someone broke into the safe using demon magic?” I muttered. “That rules out your dad and the MPD, then.”
Zylas hopped on top of the safe, startling me and Amalia. He leaned over the opening, peering into it upside down. He rapped his claws against the left side, the metal clanging, then drummed against the opposite wall. It rang dully.
“This,” he said. “It is thicker?”
“It is? How can you tell?”
“It looks different.”
The sides looked identical to me, but Zylas had two kinds of vision. The regular kind, plus infrared thermal vision. Could he see the difference in the heat signature of the safe walls?
I looked questioningly at Amalia. “Is that normal for safes?”
“How would I know?” With a wary look at the demon crouched above us, she poked and prodded inside the safe. “Could you shine a light in here?”
I pulled out my cell phone, turned on the flashlight function, and aimed it over her shoulder. She fiddled with the safe wall—and a side panel popped out and toppled into her head with a thunk.
“Ow!” She scooted backward, rubbing her forehead.
I slid a brown folder out of the hidden compartment in the safe’s wall. It was blackened from heat but intact. I carefully opened it. A charred envelope lay on top, half hiding what looked like a legal document.
Zylas jumped off the safe. Landing silently on the burnt debris, he drifted away, maybe to search for more signs of the demon that had broken into the safe. Or maybe he was bored.
I barely noticed him go, my gaze frozen on the envelope.
“What’s that?” Amalia read the blue pen looping across the envelope. “It’s addressed to Dad but I don’t recognize the sender’s address.”
My heart clenched painfully. It took me two tries to speak. “That’s my address.”
Her head snapped up.
“That’s …” My throat tried to close as my eyes traced the loopy script, the little curl on the number three. “That’s my mom’s handwriting.”
“Your mom sent my dad a letter?”
When I just sat there, unmoving, she pulled the folder from my lap to hers. Lifting the envelope, she held it out to me.
“Read it, Robin.”
I took the thin paper with trembling hands. The top had been neatly slit; Uncle Jack had looked at it before locking it in the secret compartment in his safe. Scarcely breathing, I slid the single page out and unfolded it.
Friday, April 6
Dear Jack,
I dearly hope you will read this letter. It’s been a long time since you’ve answered a call from me but, please, these are words you must read.
First, and this is something I have been wanting to tell you for years now: I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I am so sorry for everything. I can’t say that you were right about all of it, but I know now that I was wrong about many things. I’m only just beginning to realize how wrong.
I want to say more, to apologize properly, but there is something more pressing I need to share.
For twenty