“For the time being, we will remain here,” he said. “It seems there are some safety concerns we must address before we can access the main command center.”

“Do you need help?” asked Cooper.

“Very thoughtful of you, Agent Cooper, but we can manage,” he replied. He pressed another button beneath the table, and the wall panels slid back to reveal an enormous screen depicting a score of separate images from around the Workshop. Max glimpsed the deserted café and redwoods; empty corridors; an abandoned lab where white-hot metals bubbled in dark crucibles. Rasmussen leaned back and spoke to the screen, issuing clipped commands that shifted some scenes and zoomed in on others until the whole was a disorienting matrix of motion.

“Victor,” muttered Rasmussen, eliciting a prompt response from a doughy, bearded man seated at the table, “I’d like you to transmit Emergency Code Six to our residents via their implant chips. Authorization code is currently 49653C8625. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said the man, typing rapidly into a computer.

Then something strange appeared on one of the screens.

Rasmussen uttered a command, and the image expanded to half the available screen. A figure was visible walking across a marble floor. It had the approximate shape of a human but was wrought entirely of flame. Billows of white smoke rose in waves from its shoulders; a trail of burning footprints smoldered in its wake.

“An afrit,” said Cooper grimly.

“Is that bad?” whispered Mr. McDaniels.

Cooper, David, and Miss Boon nodded.

“A spirit of fire,” explained Cooper. “Very tough. I’ll bet our friends here bought him from the witches. Through an intermediary, I’d guess. Iran. Maybe Saudi Arabia.”

Dr. Rasmussen gave Cooper an irritated frown before speaking softly into his phone. Placing it back on the table, he tapped his finger while the camera adjusted to follow the afrit, which paused at an exhibit of a narwhal. A dozen pods appeared at the bottom edge of the screen; black-armored soldiers swarmed out like hornets. The afrit ignored them, turning to inspect a nearby polar bear. Amidst a flurry of nervous shouts and commands the soldiers hurried into formation. They pointed an array of fearsome-looking guns at the preoccupied spirit, whose flames audibly hissed and popped in the background.

The soldiers fired.

Bolts of energy forked from the guns and converged at the afrit, slamming into its back. The fiery being lurched forward from the impact, melting the polar bear’s glass case as if it were beeswax. Dr. Rasmussen smiled as the soldiers marched forward, firing another volley of bolts at the huddled afrit.

“Otherworldly or not, it appears to feel pain,” he chuckled.

“Cover your ears,” muttered Cooper, pulling his cap low and promptly following his own advice.

Max and the others did likewise.

The afrit stood and turned to face its attackers.

It screamed.

Even muffled, Max found the sound almost deafening—a high-pitched, inhuman cry of petrifying rage. Glass cases shattered into a million sparkling pieces; marble tiles popped from their settings as an apparent shockwave of sound and heat rushed over them. The soldiers collapsed and covered their ears; bolts of energy arced wildly as the afrit advanced. When the first soldier erupted in flames, Rasmussen hurriedly switched to another camera. Flecks of spittle flew as he hissed into his phone.

“All troops from north sector are to proceed immediately to the Biology Museum.”

“You’re sending them to their deaths,” said Cooper. “There’s nothing they can do.”

“Thank you for your opinion, Agent Cooper.”

“I’m going to find my family,” said Jason suddenly, pushing back from the table.

“You will stay where you are, as required by Emergency Code Six,” said Dr. Rasmussen.

Jason ignored Dr. Rasmussen, walking quickly to the doors.

“Restrain him,” ordered Dr. Rasmussen, continuing to watch the screen.

Max looked on as the soldier barring Jason’s way was knocked unconscious by the strong blond boy, who then wrenched the doors open and disappeared down the corridor. Several soldiers started to pursue, but Rasmussen screamed at them to remain where they were and secure the doors.

“It’s no matter,” he muttered, composing himself. “Let him go. We cannot be responsible for him if he endangers himself through his own stupidity.” Rasmussen gazed sidelong at the fallen soldier with disgust. “I’m afraid our troops aren’t quite up to Rowan’s standards. We have emphasized other things here. I can assure you it will be remedied,” he added, with an appraising glance at Max.

A flash of fire raced across one camera. Something brown and mottled lumbered by another.

“I’m not sure you’re going to get that chance,” said Miss Boon.

Dr. Rasmussen maximized the image from another camera, which was following something as it slithered slowly up a broad staircase. It was the lamia, Lilith. Her serpentine trunk rippled smoothly as she peered through an open archway. Seconds later, she disappeared inside.

“Th-those are the children’s dormitories!” stammered a woman.

“I can see that, Dr. Bhargava!”

Dr. Rasmussen switched to another camera inside the archway. Max jumped at the sight of the heavy-lidded, beautiful face filling the screen and peering at them. A forked tongue flicked between sharp teeth. Red lips parted in a slow, knowing smile. The image was suddenly lost in a blip of static before it went black altogether.

Dr. Rasmussen made frantic calls redirecting the north sector troops. No one answered.

“Where are those dormitories?” asked Cooper, unsheathing the wavy-bladed kris.

“Northwest sector, twenty floors up,” mumbled Dr. Bhargava. “But the tubes are shut down. You’d have to go on foot.”

“Hurry up and give me a map.”

The trembling engineer tapped several keys and offered up a palm-sized computer to the Agent, who snatched it from her hands. “Stay here,” he commanded before slipping out the door. Max heard rapid footsteps fading down the hallway before the doors were shut and bolted.

“How far is it?” asked Miss Boon.

“At least two kilometers,” replied the woman, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“Oh dear,” said Miss Boon quietly, watching the images anxiously as Rasmussen scrolled through them. The screen was checkered with black rectangles as surveillance cameras flickered and failed.

A shiny bead of sweat rolled like a ball bearing down Rasmussen’s smooth head to land on the collar of his shirt. He snatched up his phone.

“Dr. Friedman, where is Dr. Braden?”

The answer apparently displeased him; the device was slammed against the gleaming redwood. Bram’s talisman sparked. Dr. Rasmussen stabbed an accusatory finger at the talisman and then at David.

“You’re causing that, aren’t you? You’re causing all of this!”

David flinched at the accusation.

“Of course I’m not,” he said quietly.

“Ha!” scoffed Dr. Rasmussen, smacking the table. “Afrits and demons and sorcerers—you’re all the same. You should all be exterminated.”

“Shhh!” hissed Dr. Bhargava as something dark went hurtling up the dormitory steps and disappeared inside. It was Cooper.

Max found the ensuing wait unbearable. He paced up and down along the table, watching the screen while his pulse fluttered like a rabbit’s. Outside the door, he could hear the many footsteps of frantic engineers seeking shelter. Dr. Rasmussen ignored them, focusing instead on the camera stationed outside the children’s dormitory.

In the shadow beneath the archway, something moved.

The thick coil of a snake bulged out into the hallway. Cooper emerged a moment later, dragging the bloated body of the lamia down the steps, where it lay in a limp mound of flesh, hair, and scales. Turning, the Agent stepped back to the doorway, which he sealed with a swirling nebula of energy that stretched across the opening like a thin film of oily water. He paused briefly to study the computer before he was gone, dashing down the steps and out of sight.

“Thank God,” muttered Dr. Rasmussen, reaching for a bottle of water.

“Where is he going now?” Dr. Bhargava asked, searching the screens.

“To find that afrit, I think,” whispered Miss Boon, sitting very straight and staring at the golem’s primitive features.

“Well, he’s certainly a brave man,” remarked Dr. Rasmussen. “I’ll grant him that. Although I don’t see what good that knife will do him against that afrit. I’ve never quite understood why you people favor them so.”

“That’s easy,” Max replied, glaring at the man. “Anyone can shoot a gun or push a button, Dr. Rasmussen. But a knife? You’ve got to get close to use a knife. It takes real skill and courage. You wouldn’t know anything about it.”

“Don’t lecture me, boy.”

“Cooper was right,” snapped Max, surveying the assembled engineers and soldiers. “Bram’s Key belongs to us, and we’re not leaving without it. He’s risking his life to clean up your mess while you sit here. I don’t even know why we’re bargaining with you. I could take it right now.”

Twenty guns were leveled at Max.

“You tell them to point those somewhere else,” said Max quietly.

“Max!” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels, lurching to his feet.

“Stay right there, Dad,” said Max evenly. Slowly, he reached back for the gae bolga and drew it from beneath his sweater. It was warm at his touch and hummed like a tuning fork. “The brave doctor’s going to tell them to lower their guns. Otherwise, there’s going to be serious trouble.”

Dr. Rasmussen looked at Max with very real fear stamped on his taut features. He glanced at his colleagues and cleared his throat.

“Put them away,” he croaked to his guards.

The guns were lowered.

“We have a deal then,” said Max, walking toward Dr. Rasmussen. The Workshop leader winced and several of the guards shifted uneasily as Max raised the gae bolga level with his chest. Drawing the razor-sharp blade across his forearm, Max let three drops of blood patter onto the table. Rasmussen watched them spread for a moment, before snarling to his neighbor.

“Don’t just sit there! Get it in a container!”

Max lifted Bram’s Key and stalked back to his end of the table, setting it before Miss Boon like a trophy. Taking his seat, he scooped Nick back into his lap and sucked at the cut on his forearm.

“What about the lymrill?” asked the other engineer, stoppering a small vial containing the blood.

Max glared at the man before returning his attention to the monitors. There was no sign of Cooper. Suddenly, the main lights turned back on; the pervasive hum of white noise returned. Three beeps sounded on Rasmussen’s phone.

“Yes?” he responded. “Good, good. We’ll have to look for her later—something probably happened at the museum. Double-check the golem exhibit. Things are looking up, however.”

He placed the phone back on the table and took a deep gulp of water.

“Power’s been restored,” he said with a contented sigh. “Several escaped specimens have been destroyed, and the situation is coming under control. I believe it’s now safe to proceed to Central Command.”

“What about Agent Cooper?” asked Miss Boon softly. “Did they say anything about him?”

Dr. Rasmussen opened his mouth and clamped it shut again.

“I, eh, didn’t think to ask,” he said with a sheepish glance at Miss Boon.

“Just extraordinary,” snapped Miss Boon, standing up abruptly. She slid the sphere back down the table toward Max. “I’m going to look for William,” she said. “If I’m not back within the hour, the rest of you are to leave this hellhole immediately and proceed to the Berlin field office. If that reptile hinders you in any way, Max, you do whatever is necessary to get your father, David, and Mum out. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss Boon,” said Max.

“Hazel, be careful, love,” pleaded Mum, clutching Miss Boon’s arm.

“I’ll be fine, Mum,” said Miss Boon, kissing the hag’s topknot. With a farewell smile to David and the McDanielses, Miss Boon strode to the door. Flinging it open, she stopped dead in her tracks. Cooper stood on the threshold, frozen in the act of knocking. Smoke rose in lazy curls from his singed boots; dried blood streaked his chin. He blinked at Miss Boon.

“I—I was coming to find you,” she stammered.

“Mission accomplished.”

Cooper staggered as Miss Boon embraced him. For a moment, the Agent looked utterly bewildered; his scarred cheeks flushed pink. His gloved hand patted Miss Boon’s back hesitantly while the teacher’s shoulders shook with muffled sobs. A second later, Mum nearly tackled the pair.

“Did you manage to contain that thing? That afrit?” asked Dr. Rasmussen.

“I did,” said Cooper, stepping inside amidst Mum’s cries and triumphant whoops.

“Well, we’re very grateful, of course,” muttered Dr. Rasmussen.

Cooper nodded, while a number of the engineers hurried around the table to shake his hand and thank him for protecting their children. The attention seemed to make the Agent profoundly uncomfortable.

“We can leave now,” said Miss Boon, straightening and wiping her face with a handkerchief. “We have the Key. We’ll fill you in later.”

Cooper’s eyes flicked to the sphere and then to the burning talisman.

“Good,” he said, crossing over to stow the sphere in David’s pack. “I’m assuming we can hitch a ride out of here?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. Rasmussen said, glancing once more at Bram’s Key before the flap was closed and buckled. “It’s the least we can do. Where would you like to go? We have a variety of options via tunnel.”

“What are they?” asked Cooper, wiping the dried blood from his chin.

Dr. Rasmussen ticked them off on his fingers.

“Immediate options are Prague, Venice, Budapest, Amsterdam, Brussels, London, and Berlin.”

“Which are still resisting?”

“Most are conquered; Brussels and Prague are still being difficult.”

“Amsterdam, then,” said Cooper, swinging David’s pack over his shoulder. “The Enemy attention will be stronger where there’s active resistance.”

The Agent turned and jabbed a finger at Dr. Rasmussen.

“And I want that homing contraption out of Mr. McDaniels,” added the Agent. “Right now.”

Max glanced at his father as Dr. Rasmussen frowned.

“Oh, very well,” he said, punching several more buttons on the keypad of his computer.

Mr. McDaniels burped, a prolonged, rumbling expulsion that apparently took him by surprise.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, massaging his belly. He blinked several times and suddenly retched, clutching the edge of the table.

“Dad!” said Max, running to his father’s side.

“He’ll be fine,” said Dr. Rasmussen. “Extrication is a bit unpleasant but harmless.”

Mr. McDaniels grimaced like a toddler sipping cough syrup.

“It’s crawling,” he gasped. “It’s crawling up my stomach!”

A formidable bloop-bloop-bloop sounded within his belly. David inched away. Mr. McDaniels gave a monstrous belch and promptly launched a silver ball on an impressive trajectory until it plunked unceremoniously on the golem’s head. Tiny hooks retracted back into the device and its small green light slowly extinguished.

“Whew!” said Mr. McDaniels, loosening his belt. “I could use a beer.”

“If you weren’t in such a hurry, we’d accommodate you,” said Dr. Rasmussen, swiveling to face the monitors. He eliminated the multiple views so that one image dominated the screen—that of a middle-aged man sitting in an enormous room filled with computers. Many engineers were busily occupied in the background.

“Hello, Sunil,” said Dr. Rasmussen. “Thank you for taking post in my absence. I’d like to know casualty numbers if we have them.”

The man nodded, his face grave.

“Ninety-seven dead, fifty-two injured, and one missing.”

“Dr. Braden, I presume?”

“Yes, sir. May I ask why you’ve elected to open the main gates, sir?”

The thin smile on Dr. Rasmussen’s face evaporated.

“What are you talking about?”

“The main gates, sir. They’re opening as we speak.”

“Well, close them!” commanded Rasmussen.

“Sir, you know as well as I do that they must open fully before they can be closed again.”

Rasmussen swore and split the screen to include another view. From a camera in the main entry hall, Max watched the pyramid’s great gates swinging outward. Each of the interlocking doors was over a hundred feet tall, sliding open on tracks that glistened with gears and machine oil. Max marveled at how smoothly they operated—each door must have weighed a million pounds, and yet they were opening without a sound.

“What are those?” asked Dr. Rasmussen, squinting at a bobbing field of lights beyond the gates.

Max drew a sharp intake of breath.

“Torches,” said Cooper. “Thousands of them.”

“Oh my God,” muttered Rasmussen. “Sunil, broadcast Emergency Code Ten. Workshop is to be put on total lockdown—all residents are to proceed to nearest seismic shelters without delay.”

The man nodded, and his image disappeared from the screen.

“Our defensive cordons have been disabled,” Rasmussen whispered. “We’re wide open.”

Max gaped at the churning sea of torches that extended beyond sight. Horns blared and drums thundered as countless needle-fanged imps and winged homunculi and long-armed goblins chattered and shrieked in a semicircle outside the yawning gates. Behind them were thousands of vyes, some in trench coats, some in soldier’s fatigues, all terrifying silhouettes of wolfish, matted fur. Beyond the vyes, huge shapes moved in the dim reaches outside the range of spotlights that now swept frantically across the jeering throng.

When the gates ground to a halt, two dozen gray-bellied ogres in horned helmets lumbered past the smaller creatures, lugging steel spikes larger than a man. Great mauls rose and fell in a jolting symphony of sparks. Moments later, the gates were wedged open with dozens of thick spikes pinning the doors back like crude metal stitches. The din from the monstrous rabble grew so great, the cameras shook.

Dr. Rasmussen had slunk so far down in his chair as to be nearly invisible.

“Why aren’t they rushing in?” he gibbered. “What are they waiting for?”

The screams and roars and drums reached a fevered pitch. Torches began to part as the motley assemblage formed a corridor in their center. Something made its way slowly toward the gate. Max ran up to the screen as the lead figure came into view.

It was Marley Augur.

The traitorous blacksmith rode forward astride an enormous horse that had been barded for war. Swinging casually from a strap at his saddle was the same black hammer that had crippled Peter Varga and nearly killed Max. A cruel-looking crown of iron had been fitted to his skull; a fine mesh of black mail was draped over long, gaunt limbs whose flesh had eroded over the centuries. The revenant’s head was held high, thin braids of white hair hanging at his temples. Hollow eyes danced with the flicker of corpse candles.

He surveyed the towering entryway, stopping his horse before the threshold. The image steadied as the din died away. A familiar voice, deep and terrible, called out.

“Come forth and pay tribute!”

All eyes in the room turned toward Dr. Rasmussen. He looked wildly from face to face.

“You can’t possibly think I’m going down there!”

“Someone is,” said Max, spying a lone shadow lengthening toward the open gates.

Dr. Braden emerged into view, appearing no bigger than a child as she stepped gingerly past the hunched, helmeted ogres leaning on their mauls. Augur watched her come, sitting patiently astride his restless horse. He acknowledged her with a solemn bow and let her pass. She disappeared into the silent horde, which closed around her as though she had been swallowed. Augur’s voice rang out again.

“In the name of Astaroth the Wise, I do hereby demand Jesper Rasmussen to come forth and to bring with him Rowan’s sons and daughters.”

Dr. Rasmussen moaned and hid his face as Augur continued.

“If you arrive quickly, my lord shall be merciful—not one among us shall cross this threshold and we will leave you be. If you delay, we shall claim each firstborn among you. Cower and we will grind every last soul and stone to dust.”

The effect was nearly instantaneous. Rasmussen was jerked to his feet by the engineers and soldiers, whom terror had transformed into a roiling, hysterical mob that kicked and beat him toward the door. Cooper swam through the mob and pulled Rasmussen away, shielding the man.

“Get out!” shrieked one of the wild-eyed engineers. “Get out before they kill us all!”

Max shooed Nick toward the door, ducking a hurled computer in the process. It shattered above his head. His father shielded David and Miss Boon as they stumbled out. Max yanked Mum along as the hag screamed obscenities and strained to throttle Dr. Bhargava, who had struck her with a briefcase. They spilled out into the hallway. The man Sunil, to whom Rasmussen had spoken, whirred around the corner in one of the gleaming pods.

“Take this and leave,” he said, jumping out.

“Sunil, help me,” pleaded Rasmussen, clutching his colleague.

The man’s expression remained strong and fixed as he stepped past Dr. Rasmussen into the control room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Rasmussen merely blinked in shock until Cooper pushed him into the transport. Max tugged his father’s elbow as they all piled in behind.

“Dad, maybe you don’t have to go,” whispered Max, squeezing his father’s arm.

Mr. McDaniels turned to his son and smiled with eyes as bright as sapphires.

“Of course I do.”

“Main gate,” muttered Cooper, tapping a white touch screen. His command made no difference. Someone else was steering. The pod careened down the passageway, merging abruptly onto a main tube that sped them toward the gate.

“Keep this with you,” he said quietly. “Don’t give it up.”

“What are you planning to do?” asked Mr. McDaniels hoarsely.

“I don’t know,” replied the Agent, looking out the window and breathing deeply.

The pod glided down the tube’s moderate decline before banking smoothly around a turn that deposited them into the enormous entry hall. Redwoods stretched toward shafts of artificial sunlight as the pod skimmed past abandoned tables and chairs and the café, whose espresso machine sputtered plumes of steam. Far ahead were the gates—a tall rectangle of swimming torchlight where distant ogres seemed no more than matchsticks propped against the great silver doors.

The ogres appeared considerably larger as the pod approached. The monsters loomed twelve feet tall, with gnarled limbs, swollen bellies, and wet eyes that leered with piggish cunning from under gladiatorial helmets. Two dozen of them stood lining the open doors, careful not to extend even a toe over the gate’s threshold. Beyond them, Augur waited astride a horse that Max now saw was no living thing at all but an undead construct of pale bone and sinew beneath its ornate plating.

The skeletal horse’s teeth champed and ground together; bone slid smoothly over bone while the horse pranced restlessly from side to side in a jingle of plates and straps and stirrups. Nick took one look at the hollow eyes and made an agitated hissing noise Max had never heard before. Grizzly-like claws extended from between the lymrill’s toes, and he scratched frantically against the windows.

“Don’t look at them,” said Max, squeezing his father’s hand as the pod slowed to a halt.

Mr. McDaniels made a sound in his throat but did not respond.

Max began to sense the same terrible coldness he’d experienced in Marley Augur’s crypt the previous year. It was an unnatural feeling, a cadaverous chill of icy bogs and frostbitten graves that crept up the fingernails and slid under the skin to tunnel deep within the marrow.

“I can’t breathe,” his father croaked.

Max was confident his father would persevere; he was more worried about David. His roommate looked like a small lump of uncooked dough that had been wedged into a corner of the pod. For all of David’s uncanny knowledge and power, Max knew he had never experienced anything like this before. Marley Augur was a far cry from the lonely spirit they’d encountered during their Acclimation.

Cooper exited the pod, keeping his wary eyes on the ogres as the rest clambered out. The blacksmith was a terrible figure indeed as he looked down upon them, proud and grim as an ancient king. Beyond the horseman was a sea of sputtering torches and glinting teeth that waited in breathless silence.

“We’ve done as you’ve asked,” Cooper said. “Remove those barricades so they can close the gates.”

“You do not command here,” said Marley Augur in a voice deep and cold. “These are the terms. You will lay down your arms and surrender the Key of Elias Bram, which we know you keep. The two sons of the Sidh shall depart with the witches, as was promised. The rest shall leave here and return to Rowan in order to arrange for its peaceful submission.”

Mr. McDaniels looked past Augur at the assembled horde. “The witches don’t sound half bad,” he whispered, glancing at Max and David.

David coughed and shook his head. “We’ll only consider the terms from Astaroth himself,” said the small boy.

Max heard the ogres shuffle behind him, rumbling with laughter at David’s demand.

The witch-fires in Augur’s eyes flared with anger. “I speak for his lordship, you miserable whelp.”

“You’re a traitor to your people,” said David, stepping forward to stand just before the monstrous charger. “You are beyond redemption and beneath contempt.”

The ogres ceased their laughter. Mr. McDaniels crossed himself and shut his eyes; even Cooper gaped at David, who stood gazing solemnly at the revenant.

A green mist gathered slowly about Augur; Max knew it did not bode well. He hurried to David’s side just as Augur hefted the murderous black hammer.

“Stop.”

The command rang from far back in the cavern, issued in a musical tenor that rose from the throng of hideous vyes and hook-nosed imps. Augur froze and looked back as a small procession came up the aisle in a merry jingling of bells. A horn blared, followed by another and another until the cavern rang with their call. The armies began to cheer and stamp and resume their guzzling of plundered wine as the procession came into view.

Max saw that it was a delicate golden carriage, pulled by two black wolves the size of plow horses. The gilded coach rolled along, flanked by four deathly knights that looked to have been raised from some long slumber to serve whatever lurked behind the closed red drapes. Marley Augur scowled and wheeled his horse away from David as the tattered flags of conquered countries were raised on waving pikes. A great cry rose up among the assembled horde.

The sound was deafening, drowning out the jingling bells and Mum’s muttered oaths and obscenities. The panting wolves brought the carriage to a stop, positioning the curtained window so that it faced them broadside. Max retched as a miasma radiated from the golden carriage, a nauseating smell of death and disease and brimstone. Several more trumpets sounded, and torches were raised in manic tribute before all subsided to silence once again.

Laughter sounded within the carriage. A soft tenor spoke.

“Do forgive the noise,” it said. “They but halloo their names to the reverberate hills.”

“What?” asked Mum, nibbling at her lower lip.

“It’s Shakespeare,” said Miss Boon quietly.

“Indeed it is, Hazel Benson Boon,” said the amused voice. “I’d wager you’re familiar with all his works. I wish you could have been with me to enjoy them at the old Globe. I was moved to participate in a performance or two, but I fear the bard disapproved of my Iago—felt I’d misinterpreted the character. I’m sure he knew best, of course. . . .And how are you, Max McDaniels?”

Max froze at hearing his name spoken by the presence within the carriage.

“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance and to thank you personally for rescuing me,” said the voice.

“I didn’t rescue you,” whispered Max.

“But you did,” the voice insisted. “Without you, I’d still be confined within that depressing Rembrandt. So dark, so dreary. As a reward, you shall have the honor of accompanying me as an aide-de-camp before fulfilling your obligation to the witches. You have no objections, I trust, Dame Mako?”

Max heard the witch’s voice inside the carriage. The old woman sounded terrified.

“Of course not, my lord,” she said.

“I’m most grateful,” said the voice. “And Max, is this the one who claims to be your father? Step forward, good sir, so I can have a look at you.”

Sweat ran in little rivers down Scott McDaniels’s face. He took two halting steps toward the golden carriage. The gauzy red drape was pulled back to reveal a pale white face inside.

For the second time in his life, Max looked upon Astaroth. The Demon was as pale as an apparition and radiated a faint luminescence within the carriage’s dark interior. Black hair fell like two bolts of silk past his shoulders and onto white robes. The face was beautiful but shone as cold and dead as a mask. Black eyes crinkled into sickle moons of merriment as Astaroth tapped a serpentine rod against the carriage’s door.

“Closer,” the Demon whispered, beckoning with a playful smile.

With another shuffling step, Scott McDaniels stood a mere six feet from the open window.

“Hmmm,” Astaroth mused, gazing up and down at Mr. McDaniels. “Max must be his mother’s son—they always are,” he added with a knowing smile. “And is the other one David Menlo?”

“He is, my lord,” said Dame Mako, huddled beneath her robes on the opposite seat.

Astaroth slid closer to the carriage window and looked David up and down.

“You fancy yourself quite a summoner, don’t you, David?” chided the Demon. “That’s a dangerous business, my young friend. Do you see Dame Mako here?”

David nodded, his hands bunched into shaking fists.

“She’s not terribly comfortable, as you can see. Dame Mako would far prefer to see me confined within a pentacle, but unlike you, she’s wise enough to know it can’t be done,” said Astaroth, wagging a long-nailed finger. “For shame. Did you really think you could compel me to come running? That hasn’t been managed for quite some time, my friend. Do you think you should be punished for your arrogance?”

“No,” whispered David.

“Speak up, child.”

“No,” repeated David, furiously wiping away tears on his sleeve.

“Shhh,” said Astaroth. “There’s no need for that. Come closer.”

David stood rooted to the spot.

“I had thought you might see the error of your ways, but here you remain stubborn and willful. Must your friends suffer for your arrogance?” inquired the Demon.

David shook his head violently, inching forward with muffled sobs. Shaking with rage, Max gripped the spearhead, but restrained himself at Cooper’s glaring insistence. Mr. McDaniels came to Max’s side and held his son close.

David’s meager form approached the dark window with the white smiling face. The great black wolves turned their wet muzzles; the vyes leaned close with expectant grins. The Demon extended two white hands out the window as if to grant a blessing. Trembling uncontrollably, David placed his hand between them.

The two conversed quietly for a moment while the Demon squeezed and patted David’s hand. Max strained to hear what was said, but could not. Suddenly, Astaroth laughed.

“Of course I shall grant your request, young David!” exclaimed the Demon. “You’re just as tender and sweet as the first spring lamb! Augur, have the stakes removed and permit the quaking craftsmen to shut their doors.”

At Augur’s command, the ogres grunted and strained, using the handles of their mauls to pry at the barricades until they could be wrenched from the rock. Swinging the spikes onto their shoulders, the ogres lumbered forward, giving the harnessed wolves a wide berth as they assembled amongst the chattering imps and vyes. Almost instantly, the gargantuan silver doors began to close in a silent display of seamless machinery. David and Astaroth conversed privately throughout, to the Demon’s apparent pleasure.

“Oh, but naturally we’ll leave them be!” cried the Demon suddenly. “We might have kept the doors open, for all you need worry. I always tell the truth, as you well know from that unfortunate book. Aren’t you a precious thing for inquiring?”

David nodded and took a long, shuddering breath.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he asked with a sudden, convulsive sob.

“Of course I am,” said Astaroth, walking his fingers across David’s palm. “You’ve been a naughty, prideful boy, and I’d be doing you a disservice to let such a thing pass. Now answer me a question. . . . Is this the hand that turned those awful pages?”

David nodded.

“And are these the eyes that read those terrible letters?” continued the Demon.

“Yes,” squeaked the small boy.

“And I suppose this is the very tongue that formed those unfortunate words?”

David’s shoulders shook fiercely as he mumbled something incoherent.

“The hand it is,” concluded the Demon, lifting it for inspection. “Witness! I shall consume your sins, leaving you with eyes to see the good I do and a tongue to spread word of my mercy.”

The Demon’s mouth yawned impossibly wide, like a great serpent unhinging its jaws. David turned away.

The jaws snapped shut with horrific force. Max screamed; David crumpled as if he’d been shot. Tearing out of his father’s grasp, Max ran forward to crouch by his roommate, whose hand had been severed at the wrist.

Astaroth looked down at David’s unconscious face with thoughtful consideration.

“The deed is done, the wound is clean, and he is wiser for my gift,” commented the Demon. “His sins are now forgiven.”

Astaroth chuckled, while Max frantically examined David’s injury. Where David’s hand had been, there was no bloody wound, but merely a stump of pale, puckered skin. Not a droplet of blood could be seen.

“Don’t be angry, Max,” said the Demon in a soothing voice. “Help your friend inside the carriage and bring that most curious Key. With the exception of Dr. Rasmussen, the others may go and pave the way of peace with Rowan.”

“But why do I have to stay?” shrieked Dr. Rasmussen.

“It’s Dr. Braden’s request,” explained Astaroth with a sly grin. “I’d overrule her, but I’d say she’s earned a bit of discretion, wouldn’t you?”

Max felt a squeeze on his hand; David’s eyes were small slits of pain. His whisper was frantic.

“Pull me away from him.”

Max did as he was told, dragging his roommate away from the carriage. Gasping with effort, David drew himself up. Astaroth watched them from the window; his smile slowly disappeared.

“Stop this foolishness and get inside.”

David glared at the Demon, leaning against Max with his injured arm bent against his side.

“Solas!”

His words were barely audible, but the effect was instantaneous. The cavern was suddenly illuminated with the light of a million flashbulbs—a blinding burst of light that made the vyes howl and the ogres roar with fury. Augur’s horse reared, almost toppling the revenant, while the monstrous wolves snarled and tugged at the golden carriage. Spots swam before Max’s eyes; he blinked rapidly to glimpse thousands of howling vyes blindly clawing at one another.

“Seize them,” said Astaroth, humor giving way to cool reserve.

Before the nearest ogre could stumble forward, David thrust a finger toward the scowling Demon in the window and gasped a sequence of strange, terrible words.

“Ea bethu gaea volk qabar!”

Max lost his footing as the ground gave a sudden jolt beneath him. The cavern floor split open into a great fissure separating them from the Enemy. Several ogres toppled, bellowing, into the crack that yawned wider as the earth shook.

David screamed and great gouts of green-gold fire and molten rock roared up from the fissure, pluming higher and higher until they came crashing down like a wave upon the carriage and nearby horde. Screams and roars filled the air as flesh split and crackled. Max and the others were flung back by the rushing backlash of superheated air that singed their eyes and set their clothes to smoking.

Cooper wasted no time.

“On your feet!” he yelled, wrenching Mr. McDaniels and Miss Boon off the ground. Miss Boon retrieved Mum from where the hag had fallen into a quivering bundle. Max called out to Nick, who ran alongside as he carried David toward the rows of silver sedans parked to the side of the gates.

“What have you done?” shrieked Dr. Rasmussen. “He’ll kill us all!”

Cooper ran back and seized the bewildered man, dragging him toward the silver car and launching him into the backseat, where he sprawled across the others. The Agent slammed the door shut and examined the ignition.

“Where’s the key?” he muttered.

“You have to enter a code,” sputtered Rasmussen.

“Tell me the code!” bellowed Cooper, punching the dash.

Max peered out the rear window. The wall of fire had subsided until only a few tongues of flame licked occasionally from the fissure. Beyond the fissure was a howling, writhing mess of bodies, but the carriage seemed unharmed. Marley Augur and the deathly horsemen had pulled back some distance from the chasm and now galloped toward its edge.

“Cooper—” said Max.

Cooper’s head whirled around; his eyes widened as the horsemen leapt the chasm in an arc of burning manes and smoking armor. The Agent cuffed Dr. Rasmussen.

“What’s the damn code?” he shouted.

“Zero zero six five nine,” blurted out the hysterical man.

Cooper punched the numbers quickly into a dashboard screen and the engine roared to life.

Max pushed David and his father down in the seat as the horsemen approached. Marley Augur lifted his hammer and leaned from the side of his saddle.

“Hurry!” Max yelled.

The sedan peeled forward just as Augur’s hammer descended, crushing the trunk and sending the occupants crashing into one another as the back axle groaned. Cooper swore and swung the wheel around, accelerating rapidly around a column of other vehicles while the horsemen galloped just behind them. Mum screamed as a mailed fist slammed against her window, cracking it into a jigsaw puzzle of fragments. Pulling the wheel hard to his right, Cooper knocked one of the riders from his horse before yanking the wheel back to the left and hugging the pyramid’s perimeter. Max watched the speedometer climb clockwise, pushing him back against the cool leather seat. The horsemen faded into the rearview mirror as they arrived at the side of the pyramid opposite the gates. None of Astaroth’s forces had been stationed here. Three enormous tunnels yawned before them.

“Which do I take?” asked Cooper, downshifting.

Dr. Rasmussen’s red-rimmed eyes blinked at their options as he strained to peer through his broken glasses. “The left one goes to Amsterdam,” he muttered. “The right to Berlin.”

“What about the center?” asked the Agent.

“The Black Forest,” said Rasmussen. “We have an emergency depot there.”

“Behind us!” yelled Mr. McDaniels, staring white-faced out the rear window.

Racing up behind them were the horsemen and Astaroth’s carriage, pulled by the rabidly snapping wolves.

Cooper shifted and stepped on the accelerator, speeding toward the center tunnel.

Max saw the Demon’s white face appear out the carriage window; Astaroth extended a grasping hand toward them. Suddenly, the entire car bucked and lifted off the ground as though batted by an invisible hand, sending them spinning about like a top. They slammed back down in a grinding squeal of rubber and gears, the car careening wildly from side to side, while Cooper fought the wheel. The Agent barely managed to guide the car into the tunnel, shaving its right side against the entrance in a screaming shower of white sparks.

Miss Boon shook Dr. Rasmussen. “What’s the exit velocity?” she asked.

“What?” said Dr. Rasmussen from where he hugged the floorboards.

“The exit velocity!” snapped Cooper. “To get through the barrier.”

“Three hundred kilometers per hour,” croaked Dr. Rasmussen. “You must be very precise!”

Max watched an imposing black wall grow larger as Cooper shifted and accelerated. Behind them, the horsemen and carriage had entered the tunnel in a distant flicker of burning manes and glinting gold. The car’s engine whirred louder. Max saw the needle wobble toward the necessary number. Sparks and smoke billowed from the damaged rear. The car rattled and shook.

“Brace yourselves,” muttered Cooper, struggling to keep the damaged vehicle straight as they hurtled toward the black wall. The engine began to whine; the needle seemed to hover and stick at 280 kilometers per hour. Cooper scowled and slammed his foot on the accelerator as the cabin was suddenly illuminated from behind. Max swiveled about to see the tunnel behind them engorged with fire. Flames leapt and raced along the tunnel walls, threatening to engulf the car as it strained to speed ahead.

The black wall filled the windshield. Max screamed and shut his eyes.

Nothing happened.

The car gave only a gentle shudder, going dark momentarily until they passed through the barrier. A dull roar, like distant surf, filled the cabin, but no flames managed to permeate the solid wall behind them. Rocketing ahead, the sedan fishtailed around a banking turn and climbed up the long, gentle incline that would bring them into daylight.