Page 19 of Hell Bent

Don’t kid yourself. Our job is to make sure the kids keep the noise down and tidy up after.

“They shouldn’t get to do rituals,” she said. “They shouldn’t get to pick up right where they left off.” The anger in her voice was real.

Anselm sighed. “Maybe not. But that table is a priceless artifact and we’re lucky the crucible can piece it back together. I appreciate your … sense of fairness, but Dawes, at least, should know better.”

“Dawes was just along for the ride. I told her I needed a second person for the ritual, but not what I had planned.”

“She is not a stupid woman. I don’t believe that for a second.” Anselm studied her. “What spell did you use?”

He was testing her, and as usual, she hadn’t done the reading.

“I put it together myself.” Anselm winced. Good. He already thought she was incompetent. That could work for her. “I used an old stink bomb casting I found in one of the Lethe Days Diaries. Some guy used it as a prank.”

“That was the blow you struck for justice? A stink bomb?”

“It got out of hand.”

Anselm shook his head and downed the rest of his scotch. “The level of stupid we all got up to here. I’m amazed anyone survived.”

“So I’m in keeping with a grand tradition.”

Anselm did not look amused. He wasn’t like Darlington or even Sandow. Lethe and its mysteries were just something that had happened to him.

“You’re lucky no one was killed.” He set down his glass and met her eyes. Alex did her best to look innocent, but she hadn’t had much practice. “I’m going to put forward a theory. You weren’t trying to wreck the table tonight. You were trying to open a portal to hell and somehow reach Daniel Arlington.”

Why couldn’t he be one of the dim ones?

“Interesting theory,” said Alex. “But not what happened.”

“Just like your theory that Darlington is in hell? Pure speculation?”

“You a lawyer?”

“I am.”

“You talk like one.”

“I don’t consider that an insult.”

“It’s not an insult. If I wanted to insult you, I’d call you two pounds of shit in a one-pound bag. For example.” Alex knew she should rein in her anger, but she was tired and frustrated. The board had made it clear they didn’t believe Alex’s theory on Darlington’s whereabouts and that there would be no heroic attempts to set him free. But if Anselm was bothered, he didn’t show it. He just looked worn out. “We owe Darlington a little effort. If it weren’t for Dean Sandow, he wouldn’t be down there.”

If it weren’t for me.

“Down there,” Anselm repeated, bemused. “Do you really think hell is a big pit somewhere under the sewer lines? That if you just dig deep enough, you’ll get there?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Though that had been exactly what she’d been picturing. She hadn’t worried too much about the logistics, about what opening a portal or walking the Gauntlet might entail. That was Dawes’s job. Alex’s job was to be the cannonball once Dawes figured out where to point the cannon.

“I don’t want to be cruel, Alex. But you don’t even understand the possibilities of the trouble you could cause. And for what? A chance to expiate your guilt? A theory you can barely articulate?”

Darlington could have articulated it just fine if he’d been there. Dawes could if she weren’t scared of speaking above a whisper.

“Then get someone with the right résumé to convince you. I know he’s…” She’d almost said down there. “He’s not dead.” He might well be resting comfortably in the Black Elm ballroom.

“You lost a mentor and a friend.” Anselm’s blue eyes were steady, kind. “Believe it or not, I understand. But you want to open a door that isn’t meant to be opened. You have no idea what might come through.”

Why didn’t these people ever get it? Protect your own. Pay your debts. There was no other way to live, not if you wanted to live right.

She crossed her arms. “We owe him.”