Page 82 of Hell Bent

“I’m a sleuth,” Alex said, tapping her head and enjoying his eye roll way too much. “I did some digging. Pieced it together.” She wasn’t about to mention her lunch with Michael Anselm, or start talking about demons and vampires and the possibility that someone had bled the life from Marjorie Stephen. Not until she knew there was something more to it than her own paranoia.

Dawes clinked her knife against her water glass, the sound surprisingly clear and resonant. She flushed pink beneath her freckles when everyone turned to look at her and said, “We … should start?”

Tripp joined them at the table, his plate heaped high, a bottle of beer in his other hand. “Do we have to take an oath or something?”

“Don’t die. Try not to be an asshole,” Turner said. “That’s the oath. Let’s get on with it.”

Dawes wiped her hands on her jeans and took up her position beside the whiteboard, where she’d drawn a rough plan of Sterling. She pointed to the entrance, to the first station of the Gauntlet.

“We’ll arrive at eleven sharp to get settled. Stay in the Linonia Room. We’ll be using a very basic shrouding glamour to keep ourselves hidden when the library closes.”

“What are we going to tell Lauren?” Mercy whispered as Dawes described where in Linonia they should hide and which part of the room would be glamoured. “She’s going to be furious if we leave the party early.”

Alex wasn’t sure. It would have to be something so dull Lauren wouldn’t want to come along.

“There is very little guidance to work from,” Dawes continued. “But it would be wise to fast for at least six hours before. Do not consume any meat or dairy.”

“Only vegans go to hell?” Tripp said with a laugh.

Dawes looked at him with her stern, studious eyes. “You’re going to want empty bowels.”

That shut him up fast.

Dawes gestured to Mercy. “Our sentinel will be stationed in the courtyard. The four pilgrims will walk the Gauntlet together starting at one o’clock exactly.”

“How are we protecting Mercy?” Alex asked.

Mercy held up a small red notebook. “I’ve got my death words.”

“You’ll want to commit them to memory,” said Dawes.

Mercy grinned. “Quid tibi, mors, faciam quae nulli parcere nosti?”

“You speak Latin?” Tripp asked disbelievingly.

Mercy’s smile faded, and she cast Tripp a look of pure contempt. “When I have to. Death words work better in dead languages, okay?”

Alex was surprised at the edge in Mercy’s voice, but Tripp just shrugged. “If you say so.”

“What does it mean?” asked Turner.

“What am I going to do with you, Death, who spares no one?” quoted Mercy. “It’s funny, right? Like Death is a bad party guest.”

“I’m all for Latin,” said Alex, “but death words aren’t going to help against a demon.”

“I have something in mind for that,” said Dawes.

“Salt armor,” Mercy said.

Dawes beamed at her. “Exactly.”

Alex was embarrassed to feel a pang of jealousy at that proud look, another unpleasant reminder that she was the interloper here.

“What happens when the library closes?” asked Turner.

“We walk the stations of the Gauntlet together.” Dawes gestured to the sideboard. “Mercy will set the metronome ticking. The rhythm has to remain uninterrupted until the ritual is complete.”

That didn’t make much sense to Alex. “I don’t think they had metronomes in Thonis.”