Page 116 of Dead Beat

“Sleeping,” Darlington said. “Beyond that, I don’t know.”

Dawes had started pulling different items from the pantry and the refrigerator.

“We can just order something,” he offered.

She cast him a disdainful glance. “I already planned duck for lunch and I’ll thank you not to start managing the meals in this house. What happened at the day care?”

“The demon was just too strong.”

Turner shook his head. “I didn’t realize they could feed from multiple souls at once.”

“None of us did,” Darlington admitted. “They’re adapting.”

Clever not smart. But clever could be more than enough.

“Whatever that was,” Turner said, “Alex can’t go in again.”

“What happened to being called?”

“Being called by God isn’t a guarantee. It just means you show up for the battle.”

Dawes slammed down a cutting board. “Stop talking about her like she’s Joan of Arc.”

But Turner wasn’t having it. “You know what this is and so does she. Whether you’re at Lethe or the PD. It doesn’t matter how corrupt or flawed the institution is. That doesn’t change the job. We are the shepherds.”

Darlington couldn’t hide his surprise. “You’re quoting the Lethe handbook?”

“You think I didn’t read it before I said yes to all this? Cover to cover. I thought you were all playacting, kids in a parking lot with a Ouija board, trying to feel powerful. But I took the job and I intend to get it done. The next monster that comes through could come after my mother or my brother.” He gestured to Dawes. “Or your sister in Westport. I’m not going to let that happen.”

Dawes set down her knife. “There’s a half-moon on Thursday.”

“And?” said Turner.

“It’s a night of portent,” Darlington explained. “A tipping point, when light and dark exist in equilibrium. It’s the right time to bring the artifacts together.”

“Did you call Penny?” Dawes asked.

Darlington did his best not to squirm. “I texted her. She seemed willing enough.”

“I bet.”

“She’s in Scroll and Key?” Turner asked.

“She was,” Darlington said. “Now she’s on their board. She can get me in.”

A silence seemed to crowd into the kitchen, filling the room. As hard as things had been, they had somehow gotten used to that reality—waiting for the chimes, hunting demons, studying the puzzle the first pilgrims had left behind, hoping for a little more knowledge. But there would be no sudden moment of clarity, no assurance from on high that they knew the right path forward, that the artifacts were legitimate, that the golem was benevolent, that there really was a way out of this. They had no choice but to hurl themselves into the dark and hope a path would appear before them.

It was Turner who spoke first. “There’s something I want to show you before our meeting this afternoon.”

“What meeting?” Dawes asked.

“At Skull and Bones,” Darlington said. “There’s a good chance they’re responsible for Turner’s drowning victim.”

Dawes hacked at an innocent carrot. “Are we sure that’s wise right now?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. They didn’t need attention from the societies or the Lethe board. “But I’m not sure there will ever be a right time.”

“There’s a pattern,” Turner said. “I’m more sure of it than ever. I didn’t just look at missing persons. I looked at unsolved homicides, suicides, accidental deaths. This is going all the way back to the late 1800s, when they started keeping real records.”