A cold, jarring shiver ran up Cyrus’s arm and into his skull. He staggered backward and sat down in smoking rubble. Patricia, her head now the size of a football, retreated to him, slowly winding her heavy body around his waist. She was shrinking quickly.
Maxi still stood, back against the wall, arms hanging limp at his sides. The keys and the charms hung from the tooth in his head, brushing against his cheekbone as he began to sway. His eyes, no longer surprised, rolled slowly toward Cyrus. His lips twitched into a final smile.
“Merci …,” he said quietly.
Cyrus scrambled to his feet. Patricia was barely a belt now, and she’d found her tail.
“Where’s Dan?” Cyrus yelled. “Where’s my brother?”
Keys jingling, Maxi fell forward.
Cyrus caught him. The man was bird-light. Rolling him onto his back, he stared into empty eyes that had seen centuries of murder and massacre and revolution, that had struck fear into the hearts of kings and chieftains and mobs. Now they were glassy and false — their secrets gone — like the eyes of some huge and horrifying doll. Grimacing, Cyrus tugged the keys from the man’s skull, ignoring the gore, and shoved them quickly into his hip pocket.
Antigone dropped to the ground beside Nolan’s smoking body. His eyes were closed, but somehow he was still breathing. The long knife stood out from his chest.
“He alive?” Cyrus asked.
Antigone nodded. “For now.”
With his huge gun raised, Rupert Greeves crashed into the room. Parts of his safari jacket were missing and the rest was smoking. He had burns on his forehead and jaw. Half of his pointed beard was gone.
Lowering his gun, he nudged Maxi with his foot and then crouched to feel for a pulse. His eyes settled on the black oozing wound in Maxi’s temple. Again, he checked for a pulse.
“Sebastián de Benalcázar,” he said quietly, “Maximilien Robespierre, you have been hung, shot, stabbed, keelhauled, and decapitated by guillotine, but now you are dead.”
Rupert looked at Cyrus and raised a long finger. “Cyrus Smith, I will give you only this one moment to speak the truth to me about what you have done and what you are carrying. Decide now if you want me for a friend.”
Nolan groaned.
“I’m sorry,” Cyrus said. “I was going to tell you today. Seriously. Antigone made me promise.” He pulled the key ring from his pocket and held up the sticky tooth. Hooking his finger through the ring, he then unwound an extremely slender Patricia from his waist.
Rupert’s eyes widened. “And a patrik?”
Cyrus nodded. “Skelton gave her to me. She and Nolan are the ones who really did the fighting. I just punched him once.”
While Greeves watched, Cyrus wiped the tooth on his pants and clicked the sheath closed. Patricia was winding around his wrist. Rupert blinked when she found her tail and vanished.
“Now you know everything,” Cyrus said.
Rupert sighed. “I know that in all the Estates of the Order, in every villain’s den and necromancer’s lair, from the hidden alleys of New Orleans to the witch doctors’ lanes of Sierra Leone, men and women will hear that Maxi Robes is dead. They will hear the name of Cyrus Smith, Acolyte of Ashtown, and they will know that he carries the Reaper’s Blade.”
He looked into Cyrus’s eyes. His voice was low but furious. “They will know that once more the immortal can die, and the dead can be raised. Cyrus, I cannot protect you from what will come, but I must protect Ashtown. Give me the tooth.”
Cyrus swallowed, looking at the key ring in his hand. Then he looked up into Rupert’s eyes and shook his head. “Skelton told me not to give it up. Not ever.”
“Rupe?” A nervous voice trickled in through the door. “You all right in there?” A head peered in around the corner.
“A moment!” Rupert yelled. His eyes hadn’t left Cyrus’s. The head withdrew.
“They got him!” the voice yelled. “Maxi’s dead!”
“Cyrus,” Rupert said. “It’s too dangerous.”
Outside, the murmur and chatter of a crowd began to grow. Three more faces peeked in the doorway.
“Go!” Rupert yelled, and they pulled away.
“Listen, um, Mr. Greeves,” Antigone said. “Could we be mad at Cyrus later? Nolan really needs help.”
Rupert ignored her. He held out his hand to Cyrus. “Let me keep it safe for you. It’s what your father would have done.”
In the corner, while Antigone winced and turned away, Nolan whimpered and raised his arm. He slowly pulled the knife out of his chest and dropped it in the rubble.
Sighing, Cyrus began to twist the charm off the key ring. “My father,” he said, “was kicked out of this place.” He reached out to drop the silver sheath in Rupert’s broad palm. He felt weak, like all his adrenaline was falling through the floor. “You don’t know what he would have done,” he said quietly.
Rupert suddenly closed his empty fist, looking at the silver sheath still in Cyrus’s hand. “Good. I can trust you, Cyrus Smith.” He looked up. “Do you trust me?”
Cyrus nodded.
Rupert leaned down eye to eye with Cyrus. “When I ask for it again, you must give it to me. Without question.” Cyrus nodded again, closing his fingers tight around the sheath. The bones in his arm tingled. Greeves continued. “The tooth stays on the patrik. Tell everyone that I took it. If they think the Avengel of Ashtown carries it, those who come will come after me.”
Antigone grimaced, listening to Nolan’s spastic breaths start and stop, and then she raised her voice. “Nolan should really be in a hospital right now!”
Rupert shook his head. “No … Nolan should be in a grave. But he will not be, no matter how hard he tries. The little thief has been cursed with life.”
Nolan’s eyes opened, sparking. His breath fluttered, and they closed again.
Rupert hoisted Maxi’s corpse easily to his shoulder and picked up his enormous gun. He looked at Nolan. “Take the thief where you will. Tell no one—no one—what you still carry.” He began to turn toward the doorway.
“Wait!” Antigone yelped. “Mrs. Eldridge? Nolan said …”
Rupert paused, and then nodded. “She’s gone. Bravely. No doubt trying to protect you.” Turning quickly, he left the room.
Antigone stood up. “What?” she yelled. “Really? You’re just going?” She looked back down at Nolan and inhaled slowly. “Cy, come here.”
Cyrus turned away from the door and began twisting the tooth back onto the misshapen key ring as quickly as he could. Then he unwound Patricia, fed her through the ring, and raised her to his neck while he moved to help Antigone.
Gripping Nolan’s arms, they pulled him to his feet, and then each slid under a shoulder.
Nolan muttered something in another language.
Outside, the courtyard and walkway were crowded. Armed guards, porters, young runners and bicyclists and balloonists, men and women with guns in hand were all parting as Rupert Greeves strode through them with a corpse on his shoulder. As Cyrus and Antigone emerged with Nolan, the sea of shocked and gaping faces swung back to them.
The stairs were crowded.
A tall boy in white workout clothes with a tattoo of a hieroglyphic eye on his neck stepped out of the crowd. “Who killed Maxi?” he asked.
Cyrus gritted his teeth and ignored the question as they moved down the stairs to the path below.
“Cy did,” Antigone said. She looked at her brother. “With some … black bone blade from Skelton. Greeves took it.”
A rumble rippled through the mob as the people in front passed the news to the back.
“Hey!” Diana Boone tore herself free of the crowd and hurried forward. Antigone was struggling. Diana relieved her, ducking a shoulder beneath one of Nolan’s arms and grabbing on tight to his waist. She nodded at Cyrus. “Come on.”