“Did you find anything good?” Ben asked after a moment. The question seemed callous, and I almost said so, angrily. But he was only stating the obvious: what was I supposed to do with all of Zora’s spells and knowledge that she’d wanted to save? Use them, of course.

Cormac said, “Her name was Amy Scanlon. She was from Monterey, California, and dropped out of college to travel the world and learn what she could. Amelia sees a lot of herself in the kid. She had some talent as well, some natural psychic ability. Always seemed to know where to find the good stuff. The real deal.”

“Like Kumarbis.”

He gave an offhand shrug. “They seemed to feed into each others’ obsessions. If they’d kept going they’d have either taken over the world or destroyed it.”

Ben chuckled. “For real?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

I huffed. “If magic was going to destroy the world, someone would have done it by now.”

Cormac gave me a look. A mustached frown, a calculating gaze. “If it hasn’t happened yet, it may be because there hasn’t ever been one person who’s gathered enough power to be able to do it. At least not yet.”

“Yet,” I said, staring. “And what about Dux Bellorum? The Long Game?”

He blew out a breath, looking thoughtful. “Hard to say. Her diary, the personal stuff, she wrote out, like she was just typing it in whenever she could. The meat of the thing—the spells, the lore—she wrote in a code. There’s probably a couple of hundred pages of information she learned about Roman and the Long Game, either from Kumarbis or from scrying or who the hell knows what else, but it’s all coded.”

“Are you kidding me?” I said, slouching back, feeling defeated all over again.

“It’s a common practice,” he said, although I had the feeling this was Amelia now, making the explanations like she often did. “In medieval times alchemists and mages were competitive and jealous, always trying to steal each other’s secrets while protecting their own. They’d invent their own arcane systems for encrypting their work. Very effective—some old books of shadows still haven’t been deciphered.”

“This doesn’t help us at all,” I complained.

The glass door swung open then, bringing in a blast of cold air and Angelo, light hair tousled, face ruddy with recently drunk blood, wool coat flapping. He only hesitated a moment, glancing around until he found me and marched to meet me.

As usual, Cormac stayed seated and calm, but his hand had disappeared into a jacket pocket and the stake he likely kept there. Angelo didn’t even notice.

He regarded me, and I raised a brow at him, prompting.

“What did you do?” he said finally.

“What do you mean, what did I do?”

“Marid called. Marid. He’s a legend, you know, and he doesn’t call anyone. He appears mysteriously, that’s it. But he called me. Roman has fled Split in something of an uproar, I gather. Left behind henchmen, odds and ends. But apparently he found what he was looking for right before being chased off. No idea where he’s gone next, but Marid is sure something spooked him. So of course I assume you did something, to answer for Antony. So does Marid. He asked me, I’m asking you.”

I hesitated, because my first thought was that I hadn’t done anything, not really. I was the victim here, right? I tilted my head, pursed my lips. “If he calls back, can you ask him if he’s ever heard of a vampire named Kumarbis?”

Angelo’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“I’m not asking if you’ve heard of him, but has Marid?”

“This one’s old, then, I take it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And he’s the one responsible for making Dux Bellorum bolt?”

Credit where credit was due. “I think so, yes.”

“And where is this astonishing person now?”

I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

“Ah,” Angelo sighed with understanding, and finally sank into one of the empty chairs at the table. “So. What happened?”

“I’m not sure I even know anymore.”

“Is he coming here next?” Angelo said. “If Roman’s on the move, and he thinks you had something to do with flushing him out of his last hideout, will he be coming here? Do I need to worry?”

“If I could predict what Roman was going to do I’d have staked him a long time ago. How many times can I say it, I don’t know.”

“So the answer is—maybe,” he said.

Yeah, it was. Silence gave him his answer.

I expected him to whine. To wilt and moan about the unfairness of it all. To blame me for putting him this position, for driving Rick out when Rick was the one who should have been here, defending the city. But he didn’t do any of that. Straightening, he set his expression, put his hands on the table as if we’d been at a formal conference.

“Right, then,” he said. “Might not hurt to prepare. Call in favors and such. Kitty, Ben, I’ll be in touch.” He gave a decisive nod and swept out just as abruptly as he’d swept in.

We all stared after him. “Is it weird that I found that reassuring?” I said.

Ben rested his hand on my leg. A point of contact, a touch of comfort.

He said, “We need everything we can get on Roman. Cormac, do you think you can decipher the book?”

“I’ve got some leads. Not many, but it’s a start. In her diary, she lists some of her mentors, some of the people who got her started in magic. One of them’s a great-aunt who lives down in Manitou Springs. We could get in touch with her, find out if she knows Amy’s code or has any ideas about cracking it.”

Next of kin. I hadn’t even thought about trying to find Zora’s—Amy’s—family to tell them what happened to her. Not something I was looking forward to, but it looked like I might have to. I rubbed my eyes, suddenly tired. “Yeah, okay.”

“I can take care of that,” Cormac said. “I—we—know what to ask.”

“You and Amelia can talk to her, magician to magician like?” I said, trying to make light. He turned a hand in agreement. Didn’t say a word. Already making plans, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ben asked, like he had a dozen times a day since rescuing me from the mountain.