small, reassuring smile. Stepping past Ms. Richter, Max walked inside.
There were others within, but Max hardly noticed them. His attention was fixed on Rolf’s corpse, which lay upon a long table in the middle of the common room. The boy’s neck had been cleaned and bandaged and someone had had the decency to place coppers on his eyelids. But whether due to rigor mortis or careless oversight, Rolf’s mouth remained open—frozen on the threshold of a scream. It was several seconds before Max realized that the body was lying within a summoning circle.
In the dark room, the hexagram glowed faintly orange, as though embers simmered beneath the floorboards. Glancing about, Max realized that all of the room’s rugs and clutter had been cleared away to reveal many such circles upon the floor. Some were large with complex symbols and runes about their periphery while others were small and simple. While each was etched with a jeweler’s skill upon the hardwood floor, only Rolf’s was glowing.
Max looked to the room’s other inhabitants. Bram was absent, but Mina was on the floor near Mrs. Menlo, who was rocking in her favorite chair and stroking Lila. Miss Boon sat on a long bench beneath three frosted windows. At her feet blinked a pair of feral yellow eyes.
“What is that?” exclaimed Max.
“Don’t be frightened,” said Miss Boon. “Grendel is Cooper’s charge.”
The rest of the creature’s body seemed to materialize from thin air. At first glance, Grendel looked like an ash- gray panther. As the creature rose and approached, however, Max saw that his snout and ears were more wolflike, while his coat was dappled with a tiger’s camouflaging bands. With each breath, Grendel’s body faded into his surroundings so that he nearly disappeared. Only the eyes remained, fierce and predatory. Growling deep in his throat, the animal circled Max, gliding once against him before padding back to settle at Miss Boon’s feet.
“So that’s a Cheshirewulf,” Max muttered. He’d read about them but had never seen one before. The creatures were very rare and dreaded by superstitious farmers and foresters in the north. It was said that they could smell blood from miles away and that no homestead was safe if one wandered into the vicinity. Like many magical creatures, Cheshirewulfs had been hunted to near extinction. Cooper had never mentioned Grendel before, and Max imagined that the creature probably lived deep in the Sanctuary among other wild charges whose stewards had died or no longer looked after them. “What’s he doing here?”
“He showed up yesterday,” replied Miss Boon, stroking the animal’s scruff. “We rarely see Grendel, but when William went missing … It’s as though he knew.” Her voice broke and she checked herself.
“We’re hoping Grendel can help,” explained Ms. Richter. “Some doing of the Enemy has rendered scrying ineffective. If we cannot find Agents Cooper and Polk using magical means, we must use more conventional methods. The bond between charge and steward is very strong, and Cheshirewulfs are legendary trackers. Perhaps Grendel can succeed where we have failed.”
Max nodded before glancing back at Rolf’s body. “Has anyone told his family yet?” he asked quietly. “I think they live near Wyndle Farm.”
“Nigel’s already on his way,” replied Ms. Richter. “We must work quickly. They will naturally want to see the body and I would not keep it from them. But we must have answers.”
“What are you planning to do?” asked Max uneasily. “Some sort of autopsy?”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” David declared, rising from his chair. “Not a physical autopsy but a spiritual one. I doubt Rolf was any kind of traitor; in fact, I doubt he was acting of his own will at all. The Atropos often used possession as a tool for assassinations. I think Rolf was the unfortunate vessel they chose. But we need to be certain, and we need to know if there are others in our midst.”
“How are you going to do that?” Max wondered.
With unblinking concentration, Mina set to pouring the beaker’s fine grains so that they filled up the circle about the hexagram’s perimeter. Once David was satisfied with her progress, he returned his attention to Max.
“
“But hasn’t his soul already gone?” asked Max.
“I don’t think so,” David replied sadly, regarding the deceased. “A soul—particularly a young one—often stays with its body for some time. Some take hours or even days to realize that their body has died. My hope is that Rolf’s soul or some part of it is still inside. If a spirit did possess him, we might be able to reel it back. That will do, Mina.…”
Having finished her task, the girl took Mrs. Menlo’s hand and quietly led her into the guest bedroom and closed the door.
Once David heard its bolt slide into place, he continued. “Even before Astaroth’s edicts, most Mystics considered summoning taboo,” he said. “It’s often associated with necromancy and black magic of the worst sort. I know that none of you have much experience with calling spirits, much less the sort of demon that might come tonight. I need to prepare you for some things.”
At David’s direction, Max took a seat next to Ms. Richter and Miss Boon. Grendel was breathing heavily, growling low with each exhale.
“It may be that nothing happens,” David mused, leaning over the circle to sprinkle its interior with a fine talc. “There’s always the slim possibility that Rolf Luger was working with the Atropos of his own volition. There’s also the chance that his soul departed swiftly. In either case, no spirit will answer our summons. But if one does …” Setting down the powder, he placed white candles about the circle’s perimeter. At his command, they kindled into flame—seven golden lights that shone like stars about the circle’s ruddy glow. “The demon will try to conceal its presence,” continued the sorcerer. “Once discovered, it will lie; it will seek to deceive us until we discover its name.
The summoner normally has this information—it’s the usual way of calling upon a spirit. Since we’re using another means to summon it, we’ll have to extract its name. Until we do, it will seek to mislead and manipulate us. The demon cannot physically leave the circle, but you must ignore whatever it says. Its words will be designed to hurt us, to turn us against one another and play upon whatever fears it can divine. Do not listen or speak to it. Let me do the talking. The demon will give six false names before it reveals the true one.…”
Placing incense within an ancient-looking thurible, David began slowly walking counterclockwise around the circle. A thin yellow smoke trickled from the censer, filling the air with a sulfurous fug. The boy spoke evenly in Latin, saying each phrase forward and backward until he moved on to the next. Three times he walked around the corpse, never pausing or gazing at the body. David’s attention was rigidly fixed on the circle. It was growing brighter.
When he’d finished, David seated himself by the fireplace and calmly struck a silver church bell. Its pure note reverberated in the room before fading slowly, reluctantly to silence. Max watched the circle intently, but nothing happened. The minutes ticked by. Outside, Max heard Old Tom chime ten o’clock. There were calls and laughter from the paths below and the patter of footsteps as students raced to reach the Manse before curfew. When the final chime sounded, the campus grew quiet once more.
More minutes ticked by and Max began to grow restless. His gaze wandered about the room, taking in the maps and a small Rembrandt hanging above an armillary sphere. Max knew that Bram and the Dutch artist had been close friends. Astaroth’s very prison had been a Rembrandt. It seemed like ages ago that Max’s own blood had enabled Astaroth to escape its confines.
He would never forget the Demon’s prim smile, so ancient and knowing. Shifting his position, Max’s eyes wandered along the walls and nooks, skimming the books and rugs that had been moved aside to reveal the summoning circles. His gaze paused at the mirror hanging between Bram’s study and the bedroom. Max’s heart skipped a beat.
Rolf’s reflection shone in the mirror.
The dead boy was staring at them from its depths, his face as white as alabaster. Max bolted upright.
