The door was unlocked.
The old-fashioned brass knob turned silently.
There’d be a Cousin inside. A Cousin who’d have been able to sense her since this morning when that idiot angel had so unexpectedly changed. A Cousin who had to know she was close. Who could be waiting, ready for her, just inside.
I can take a Cousin.
Palms suddenly damp, she hesitated, wondering why she was leaking. She could take a Cousin. Couldn’t she? At the precise moment she made form out of darkness, she could definitely have taken a Cousin, but for every moment after that, she’d been changing. Or, more precisely, the body had been changing her. Into what? That was the question. Suddenly racked with very undemonic insecurity, she froze.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. This was such a stupid idea.
It took a cold wind blowing in from the lake to get her moving again. Freezing was fine as a metaphor, she decided, pushing open the door, but in the real world it sucked big time. So maybe she couldn’t beat a prepared Cousin—no matter how pointless the whole stupid thing ended up being, it was infinitely preferable to spending another moment feeling like imps were jabbing icicles into her ears. She got enough of that back home.
It wasn’t significantly warmer inside the guesthouse.
The lobby and the tiny office behind the long wooden counter were empty of everything except a rather pitiful looking desk and an old rotary dial phone. Either the Cousin whose presence permeated the building had set a trap closer to the memory of Hell, or he hadn’t thought her much of a threat.
Byleth’s fingers curled into fists and her mood flipped a hundred and eighty degrees, insecurity trumped by insulted pride. That’s just fine, she snarled silently. If you want a threat, I’ll give you a threat.
Tossing a disdainful glance at the hunter-green walls—so yesterday’s color—she moved quietly down the hall, allowing instinct to guide her. After it guided her to the kitchen, which decidedly had never held a hole to Hell in spite of a rather eldritch pattern of grape jelly spilled on the counter, she started opening doors.
The basement wasn’t that difficult to find.
Given the history of the place, Byleth could think of only one reason for the large metal door across from the washer and dryer, although reasons for it to have been painted turquoise escaped her. A few steps closer and she saw that it was ajar.
This, then, was where the Cousin had set his trap.
“Where to?”
Setting the squirming backpack carefully on the floor behind the driver’s seat, Diana dropped into the cab and slammed the door. “The Elysian Fields Guest House, Lower Union just off King Street.”
“That’s downtown, by the waterfront?”
“Last time I checked.” Given the building in question, that wasn’t entirely a facetious statement.
“The Elysian Fields Guest House?” the cabby repeated thoughtfully, easing his car into the line of traffic leaving the train station’s parking lot. “Bet that’s a name that doesn’t draw a lot of business. Might as well call it the Vestibule of Hell.”
Diana smiled grimly at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “It’s been considered.”
“’Elysian, windless, fortunate abodes // Beyond Heaven’s constellated wilderness.’ Prometheus Unbound, Percy Bysshe Shelley.”
“Gee, and I can’t imagine why my guidance counselors keep steering me away from an English Lit degree.”
“I could also do you a great wanking piece from Henry V,” he told her, changing lanes on Days Road, “but the city’s not sanding as much as they used to and last night’s snow is a bit packed in.”
“I vote you pay attention to the road. You could even speed if you feel up to it.”
“In a hurry.”
“Definitely.”
“Meeting a boy?”
“What happened to paying attention to the road?”
“Just asking.” His reflection frowned slightly. “You got a cat back there?”
“No.” It came out a little fast, but Diana thought it still sounded sincere. The last thing she wanted to do was mess with a Bystander’s mind in a moving vehicle. Okay, not the last thing, but it was definitely in the top ten somewhere between seeing the N’Sync movie and having a root canal. “It’s just a backpack.”
“You think you could get it to stop sharpening its claws on the back of my seat?”
“If she opens the way…”
“It, not she. It’s a piece of darkness given physical form, it’s not a person.”
Ducking back into the right lane to pass a Mazda Miata toddling along at a mere twenty kilometers over the limit, Dean shook his head. “Diana seems some certain there’s a person involved.”
“Diana also believes that The Cure is the best band in the world.”
“They’re decent,” Dean acknowledged.
Trying not to feel old, Claire stroked a comforting hand down Austin’s back, but whether she was comforting him or herself, she couldn’t say. “It won’t be that easy to reopen the site. There were three Keepers involved in closing it, as well as you and Jacques, and it’s not that easy to find a hotel keeper from Newfoundland and the ghost of a French Canadian sailor in downtown Kingston on a Wednesday afternoon during the Christmas holidays.”
“On a Saturday night in mid-January?”
“Not impossible.”
“Demons have their own connection to darkness,” Austin reminded her. “She won’t need to reproduce all the factors.”
“It,” Claire reminded him. “And I know. But all the convolutions should slow it down.”
“Should?” Dean wondered.
“Will. Why are you slowing down?”
“Exit ramp.”
“Right.”
“And there’s a police cruiser on the shoulder up ahead.”
“Let me worry about that.” Reaching into the possibilities, Claire reset the radar gun to the Disney Channel. “You just drive.”
There was no trap on or around the furnace room door.
Standing at the top of the stairs leading down to the bedrock floor, Byleth wet her lips and stepped forward. One step. Two.
No Cousin. So far, no Keepers.
“Oh, sure, ignore me all you want, but I’m not going away.” The slight echo in the room made her sound more petulant than defiant. Definitely the echo…
On the bottom step, she paused, suddenly worried she was about to do the wrong thing.
“Wait a minute.” The smack, palm to head, was a little harder than it needed to be. “I’m supposed to be doing the wrong thing.” Stepping off onto the floor, she walked quickly to where the memory was the strongest and, before yet another mood swing could come along, dropped to her knees, placing her hands flat against the stone. The connection was there, but what should have been a rush of power revitalizing every dark molecule of her being was no more than a mere trickle of low-end possibilities it took forehead-furrowing concentration to feel.
WE’RE SORRY, THE NUMBER YOU HAVE DIALED IS NOT IN SERVICE. PLEASE INSCRIBE A PENTAGRAM AND TRY AGAIN.
“Oh, for…” Both palms slapped down hard. “I don’t need a freaking pentagram, I’m a piece of you!” All the hair on the back of her neck lifted as her anger lent the connection new strength. They were listening down there, no doubt about it; probably arguing about who was going to take the call. “This isn’t evil, guys, this is irritating. Do you want to be released into the world or not? I’ve got better things to do than sit around waiting for you to get your head out of your ass.”