Page 93 of Dead Beat

“Goat milk,” Dawes instructed, and Darlington raced back down the stairs to get a crate of the stuff. While they were filling the crucible, he called Turner.

The detective picked up instantly. “What happened? Why the hell didn’t you call me back?”

“We had an unexpected visitor.”

“Who?”

“Luis Huilca. Alex’s dad. In the flesh.”

Turner was silent for a moment. He’d been to hell, but Darlington knew he still struggled to accept the magic they dealt with most days. “Then I guess the call went well?”

“Went well is a little too sunny for what just happened in this house, but we know more than we did before, and only three people got stabbed.”

“Seriously?”

“Dawes is cut but okay. Huilca is fine. Alex is … We don’t know yet.” He hated saying it. He hated knowing he’d let it happen.

“If no one’s dead, I’m calling it a win.” Then he asked, “She’ll be okay?”

“I think so. I hope so. Meet us at the house. We’re going to need to get her father out of town quickly.”

Back in the armory, Dawes had gotten Alex out of her jeans and boots and was cutting through her shirt with a huge pair of shears. It was caked with blood.

“She can’t lift her arm,” Dawes explained.

“I liked that shirt,” Alex muttered. Then she looked up at Darlington. “God, you’re pretty.”

“Thank you,” he said stiffly.

Dawes cocked her head. “Are you blushing?”

“No.”

Dawes made a noncommittal noise and murmured. “In blood loss veritas.”

“Leave it.”

She held up her hands in a peace offering, and they eased Alex over the lip of the crucible and into the milk. It was disconcerting to watch the plume of red from her body turn the goat milk pink. They would need to stay close to make sure she didn’t lose consciousness and slip under before the magic had a chance to take hold.

“I’m finished,” said Dawes.

Darlington froze. Was this the thing that had pushed her too far? A secret society within the secret societies? A knife in Alex’s shoulder? Dawes’s wound was minor, but the sight of your own blood could be a clarifying thing.

She said nothing, staring at the rim of the crucible. Alex’s head was propped against it, her breathing shallow.

“Dawes,” Darlington began, unsure of what words might bring her back to the fold. He only knew none of them would survive without her on their side. “We can find a way to—”

“I finished my dissertation.”

It took him a beat to understand her meaning. It was like hearing someone say they’d discovered cold fusion. “I … When did you find the time?”

She cast him a dour look. “I’ve had six years.”

“Congratulations. Truly.”

“I still need to submit it,” she said hurriedly. “Defend it, revise it.” She rocked back on her heels looking dazed. “But yeah. I’m done. I’m just not sure it matters.”

“Of course it matters. It’s an incredible accomplishment.”