“But have you seen it?”

“No way. Not here. If Abraham still has it, he’s not dumb enough to keep it on him. He’s evil, but he’s not stupid.”

My heart sank.

Ridley rattled the bars again. “Hurry up! I’m really stuck. Protection Casts, from what I can tell. I’m going crazy in here.…”

Then I heard a terrible crash, and a pile of equipment crates next to me toppled to the ground. Broken glass and broken wood flew everywhere—like I had upset Abraham’s project for the science fair. Some sort of glowing green goop was splattered in my hair.

Whoops.

Uncle Macon was trying to untangle himself from John Breed, who had one foot caught in the remnants of a wooden crate.

“Where are we?” Uncle M stared at the cage in disbelief. “What kind of twisted place is this?”

“Uncle M?” Ridley looked as relieved as she was confused. “Were you Traveling?”

“I found him out front,” John said. “He wouldn’t let me go. When I tried to come back, he just sort of came along for the ride.” John must have seen my face, because he got defensive. “Hey, don’t look at me. I wasn’t exactly planning on picking up hitchhikers.”

Uncle Macon glared at John, who glared right back at him.

“Lena Duchannes!” My uncle looked angrier than I’d ever seen him. Green goop was dripping from his otherwise impeccable suit. He glanced from Ridley to me, then pointed at both of us. “You two. Come out of there this instant.”

I grabbed Ridley’s hand and muttered the Aurae Aspirent while Uncle Macon tapped his foot impatiently. A second later, my cousin and I reappeared on the outside of the cage.

“Uncle Macon,” I began.

He held up his gloved hand. “Don’t. Not a word.” His eyes flashed, and I knew better than to keep talking. “Now. Let’s focus on what we came here to do, while we still have time to do it. The Book.”

John had already started pulling open boxes, scanning the shelves for The Book of Moons. Uncle Macon and I joined him, looking until we had searched every possible hiding place. Ridley sat sullenly on a crate, not making things easier—but not making them more difficult either. Which I took as a good sign.

From what I could see, Abraham Ravenwood appeared to be the Caster answer to Dr. Frankenstein. I couldn’t recognize much beyond the occasional burner or beaker, and I had taken chemistry. And at the rate John and Uncle Macon were trashing the room, it was going to look like our search was conducted by Frankenstein’s monster.

“It’s not here,” John said, finally giving up.

“Then neither are we.” Uncle Macon straightened in his overcoat. “Home, John. Now.”

Traveling was one thing. The speed at which John managed to get us home—without so much as another word from Uncle Macon—was another. I found myself out of Abraham’s hideaway and back in my room before Ridley could wipe off her smeared, raccoon-y mascara.

The viola was still playing Paganini’s Caprice no. 24 when I got there.

CHAPTER 23

Dar-ee Keen

The next day it was raining, and the Dar-ee Keen was leaking as if it was finally giving up. More depressing, Uncle Macon hadn’t even bothered to ground me. Apparently, the situation was hopeless enough without locking me in my room. Which was pretty hopeless.

Rain fell everywhere at the Dar-ee Keen, on the inside and out. Water dripped from the square, buzzing light fixtures. It crept down the wall like a slow stain of tears beneath the crookedly mounted Employee of the Month photograph—from the look of it, a member of the Stonewall Jackson cheer squad, of course, though they all were starting to look the same.

No one worth crying over. Not anymore.

I scanned the nearly empty diner, waiting for Link to show up. Nobody was out on a day like today, not even the flies. I couldn’t blame them.

“Seriously, could you cut it out? I’m sick of the rain, Lena. And I smell like a wet dog.” Link appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the opposite side of the booth. He looked like a wet dog.

“That smell has nothing to do with the rain, my friend.” I smiled. Unlike John, Link was apparently human enough that the natural elements still affected him. He assumed normal Link posture, leaning back in the corner of the booth and doing his best impression of someone physically capable of falling asleep.

“It’s not me,” I said.

“Right. Because it’s been nothin’ but sunshine and kitty cats out there since December.”

Thunder rumbled in the sky. Link rolled his eyes.

I frowned. “I guess you must have heard. We found Abraham’s place. The Book wasn’t there. At least we couldn’t find it.”

“Figures. Now what?” He sighed.

“Plan B. We don’t really have a choice.”

John.

I couldn’t say it. I curled my hand into a fist on the seat next to me.

Thunder rumbled again.

Was it me? I didn’t know if I was doing it or if the weather outside was doing something to me. I had lost track of myself weeks ago. I stared at the rain dripping into the red plastic bucket in the center of the room.

red plastic rain

her tears stain

I tried to shake myself out of it, but I couldn’t stop looking at the bucket. The water dripped down from the ceiling rhythmically. Like a heartbeat or a poem. A list of names of the dead.

First Macon.

Then Ethan.

No.