Page 136 of Dead Beat

—from the Lethe Armory Catalogue, incomplete entry

49

Thanks to Darlington and his irritatingly useful ex, they had the final artifact in hand. But the half-moon happened to fall on a Thursday, which created a big problem. They had a ritual scheduled with Manuscript, a believability casting for the CEO of a start-up who was hoping to secure another round of funding. There was also the danger that some other society would run an off-the-books ritual. Sanctioned or unsanctioned, they couldn’t afford activity at the nexuses. Alex didn’t know what might happen when she climbed Harkness, but the idea of demons streaming through to the mortal world from multiple points around campus couldn’t be ruled out.

They waited to see if the Bonesmen would complain to their alumni. If the other societies knew the police were looking into one of the Houses of the Veil, they might be scared into following the rules for a while. But Montrose and the rest of Skull and Bones kept their mouths shut.

“Because they’re guilty,” Turner said. “Whether the alumni are in on it or not, the delegates don’t want the people in charge to know they got caught out.”

“We could gather the heads of the delegations,” Dawes suggested, “make an appeal.”

“We’d need to compel them,” Darlington said. “The more we tell them, the more leverage they’ll have against us.”

But Alex had something else in mind. “We go to the Praetor.”

Turner snorted. “What can he do?”

“His job,” Alex said. “It’s time for the authority of Lethe to work for us.”

She didn’t want to risk running into Charlie Girard so Walsh-Whiteley’s office was out of the question for a meeting, and Il Bastone’s parlor and dining room had been thoroughly overrun by blueprints and artifacts that would provoke far too much interest from the Praetor.

Darlington suggested the Elizabethan Club. “He and I are both members. He’ll like that.”

“Is it warded?” Turner asked. They couldn’t risk being overheard by demons.

“It is. The founder was in Wolf’s Head and took precautions to protect the treasures in the club vault.”

Alex knew they’d still need to be careful. Wards were useless when it came to Reiter’s familiars.

Darlington sent an email asking the Praetor for a meeting and he did so with all the overwrought Lethe pomp that Walsh-Whiteley adored: a formal request for the presence of all delegates of Lethe in their official capacity, as desired by Virgil and in concordance with the mission of the Ninth House. He reserved a table for five in the tearoom and they all did their best to look somber and trustworthy, though only Darlington and Turner came close.

They made sure to arrive early, and the Praetor couldn’t have looked more delighted when he bustled in. Alex was just happy with the spread of sandwiches and cakes.

“We know your time is valuable,” Darlington said once the Praetor had filled his plate and his tea had been poured.

“It is indeed,” Walsh-Whiteley acknowledged. “But I’m pleased to see you taking your duties seriously. This is about Reiter?”

“In a way. We’d like to ask for a temporary pause in all rituals.”

The Praetor blinked at them. “Starting when?”

“This week.”

“Madness.”

“If you’ll allow us to make our case—” Dawes began, but Walsh-Whiteley ignored her.

“Manuscript has an important bit of work scheduled for this Thursday.”

“We understand,” Darlington said. “But we’ve become aware of new risks—”

The Praetor cut his hand through the air. “I don’t take that lightly. But whatever your cause for concern, a scheduled ritual, particularly one involving a request from an alumnus, cannot simply be canceled. A move that radical would require consultation with and approval from the board. Put together a report—”

“Enough.”

Alex tried to hide her shock. Dawes had just snapped at the Praetor.

Walsh-Whiteley puffed himself up, his white pompadour bobbing like a cockatoo’s crest. “I beg your pardon? Oculus does not make decisions for the delegates of Lethe. Your role—”