“Who taught you to fight?”

She lifts her chin. “Didn’t need much teaching. Some people just have a knack for it, isn’t that right?”

There’s a knot in my gut about this girl, pulling in different directions. One side tells me that she’s Gideon’s niece, and that I can trust her for that reason alone. The other side takes one look at her and tells me that niece or not, Gideon couldn’t control her. No one could. She’s got agenda written over every inch of her body.

Thomas is moving around on the second floor. His footsteps creak and we hear the rush of water as the shower turns on. It feels strange, being here. Almost like an out-of-body experience, or a waking dream. Most of the things are just how I remember them, right down to the organization of the furniture. But others are glaringly different. The presence of Jestine, for instance. She moves through the kitchen, cleaning up, wiping things down with a cloth. She looks at home; she looks like Gideon’s family. I don’t know why, but that essence of belonging makes me miss my father in a way that I haven’t missed him in years.

The door opens, and seconds later Gideon tramps through the kitchen. Jestine takes his grocery bag and starts to unload it.

“Theseus,” Gideon says, turning. “How did you sleep?”

“Great,” I reply, which is a polite lie. Despite the jet lag and overall exhaustion, there was too much unease in the air. I lay awake until time didn’t exist, listening to Thomas’s gentle snore. When sleep did come, it was light and laced with menace.

Gideon studies me. He still looks so young. I mean, he looks old, but he doesn’t look much older than he did ten years ago, so that’s young in my book. He’s got the sleeves of his gray shirt rolled up to the elbow above his khaki trousers. It’s a rakish sort of look, a retirement-age Indiana Jones. Makes me wish I wasn’t about to accuse him of being a lying, backstabbing member of a secret society.

“I suppose we should talk,” he says, and motions out of the kitchen.

When we reach the study, he pulls the doors shut behind us, and I take a deep breath. They say that smell is the strongest memory. I believe it. Your brain never forgets a distinctive smell, and the odor of the ancient, leather-bound pages that populate this room is definitely distinctive. I glance through the shelves, built into the wall and stuffed full with not only occult books, but also copies of the classics: there’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, A Tale of Two Cities, and Anna Karenina standing out amid the stacks. The old rolling ladder is still there too, resting dormant in the corner, just waiting for someone to ride it. Or use it, I suppose.

I turn around with a big grin on my face, feeling all of about four, but the feeling fades quickly when I see just how far Gideon’s glasses have slid down his nose. This is going to be one of those conversations where things get said that won’t ever go away, and I’m surprised to find that I don’t want to have it yet. It would be nice to relive things here, to listen to Gideon’s old stories of my father, and to let him show me around. It would be nice.

“You knew that I was coming,” I say. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“I imagine most of the paranormal world knows why you’re here. Your search has been as subtle as an elephant stampede.” He pauses and adjusts his glasses. “But that doesn’t quite answer the question. I suppose you could say I know what you’re after. But not exactly why you’re here.”

“I’m here for your help.”

He flashes a smile. “Just what kind of help do you think I could give you?”

“The kind of help that lets Thomas and me open a door to the other side.”

Gideon’s eyes flicker back toward the hall. “I told you before, Theseus,” he says carefully. “That it isn’t possible. That you need to let the girl go.”

“I can’t let her go. That cut that Anna took after the first ritual at her house. It’s tied her to the athame somehow. She’s breaking through. Just tell me how to get her out, and everything goes back to normal.” Or at least as normal as it ever was.

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” he snaps. “What makes you think I even know how to do such a thing?”

“I don’t think that you do,” I say. I reach into my back pocket and pull out the photograph of him and the rest of the Order. Even looking at it in my hand, it doesn’t seem real. That he could have been involved with something like this the whole time, and never spoken of it. “I think that they do.”