"It's not his anyway."

"He bought it."

"We were told he acquired it. That doesn't necessarily mean he bought it. He might have kil ed somebody to get it, and he probably did. You don't know."

I glowered at him. "Is that how you plan for us to acquire this thing?"

"I plan to avoid going to that extreme."

I shot him an angry look. "I'm not kil ing anybody. Reapers, yeah, sure, but only because they'l kil me if I don't kil them first."

"Wel , what if this guy pul s a gun on you? Are you going to let him shoot you?"

"I'l . . . run away."

"Sure you wil ."

He was infuriating sometimes. "How'd you even rent this van? I thought you didn't have a job."

"I don't," he explained, smugly imitating my voice in a high-pitched whine that, in fact, sounded nothing like me.

"Nathaniel funds just about anything we need. I need to eat and my clothes get torn a lot. I have to replace them. His job at the library is more of a hobby."

I huffed, half expecting him to tel me he was a professional thief. When we got close, we pul ed out the directions Nathaniel had printed out for us back at the library. We found the gigantic house set off a main road that was nearly deserted in the early-morning hours. Wil instructed me to pul the truck over a hundred feet or so down the road and we hopped out.

"If this thing we're looking for is big enough that we need this huge truck, why the heck are we parking so far away?" I asked. "Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose? We'l just have to carry that big-ass thing al the way over here from the house."

"I can get the artifact out of the house by carrying it, but it won't be quick. The truck is so we can make a fast getaway. If there's one thing I've learned in the last few centuries, it's that it's better to be safe than sorry."

I crossed my arms and laughed. "Why do you always make so much sense?"

He shrugged. "I've had plenty of chances to make no sense at al . It's about time I got things right. Are you ready?"

"Yeah." Or not.

"Aren't you excited? We're about to undertake a heist. That's cool, isn't it?"

"In the movies, Wil . In real life, it's not such a great idea. I don't want to get shot."

"You won't get shot, I promise," he said. "We need to secure the perimeter first. We'l move through the Grim so we can see any reapers hiding there."

We circled the house careful y, looking for any possible windows to enter through or any employees who might stil be working inside. The mansion spanned the width of at least two of the lots like my house sat on. When we reached the backyard, I was absolutely amazed. Fine flowerbeds and topiaries outlined the lawn, and tal , majestic statues stood in strategical y designed areas. The stone figures shone silver beneath the moonlight. There were replicas--or at least I thought they were replicas--of ancient Roman sculptures, medieval stone figures of knights with jousting lances, iridescent orbs, and dazzling fountains. I blinked several times, certain I was imagining things.

Wil passed them without a glance and settled on the doors to the walkout basement. He pul ed out a kit containing various smal tools from inside his coat.

I almost laughed. "Did you pluck that off your utility belt, Batman?"

He put a finger to his lips, presented a thin device that looked like it came from James Bond movie, and inserted it into the keyhole. A minute later, the door clicked and he opened it slightly. Then, he froze, stil as a statue. He didn't even blink. He was listening.

He slipped inside, and I fol owed him into the dark basement, only it resembled no basement I had ever seen. The lower level of this mansion was vast. It was like an entire house down there. There was a fine kitchen, a living room, a dining room, and several hal ways leading off to other rooms. We heard voices upstairs and the clinking of glasses. Once my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw that artworks like those outside were also to be found indoors. Priceless-looking paintings decorated the wal s, and statues sat atop marble stands around the wide room. And there, just beyond a plush wraparound couch, was a large, dark box placed on a low slab blanketed in red velvet.

Wil made a beeline for it. When I reached it, I was surprised at how large the box was. It was about seven feet long and three feet wide and high, excluding the few inches the slab raised it off the floor. Even in the failing light I could see how elaborate the box was. It looked to be made of sandstone, with gold accents and jewels embedded in the surface. I recognized the seal of Azrael on the lid, surrounded by strange markings, scratches, and more inset jewels. Wil careful y examined the markings.

"What is this?" I asked, my voice as quiet as I could possibly muster.

"A sarcophagus."

My eyes widened. Could it have been this easy? Was the Enshi contained within?

"Who are you?" shouted an unfamiliar voice. A light flicked on, blinding me for a second.

I cried out and spun around. Wil jumped in front of me fearlessly. We were caught. I was going to jail. My mom was going to slaughter me. I was--

"Why are you in my house?" A man in a very nice casual suit stood at the bottom of the stairs. He was clearly the owner of the mansion, and it surprised me that his voice was so aggressive. I would have expected him to have gone running for a phone to cal the police.

"We are taking this now," Wil said in a deathly cold voice. It was then that I felt that familiar, frightening energy prickling the hairs on my arm. And I remembered that we stil within the world of the Grim. Could the man be a psychic?