Page 19 of Vanish Into Light

Becket flicked a fast grin. “That still requires faith, dear. If you don’t believe, you don’t get to go. At least, that’s how I understand it.” He bent his head over the book again, black hair sliding from behind his ear to settle against his lean cheek, black-tipped claw tapping at the page. “Fordham spent his life studying occult rituals. He collected witches’ talismans and rams’ skulls. All but eye of newt and wing of bat.” His voice took on a softer quality when he was playing at scholar, Lance noticed; it was lilting and engaging; everyone had leaned in closer to the table, even Gavin, who had a sneer plastered to his face. It was a good voice.

And Lancehatedthat he even thought such a thing.

“Not that this isn’t fascinating, professor,” he bit out, “but any chance you’re going to get to the point sometime today?”

Rose looked at him first, frowning.

And then Becket, straightening so they were eye-to-eye. His lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile. “Straight to the point, then? Fine. Based on the small amount of research I’ve been able to do” – he indicated the two dozen or so books stacked on the table – “none of the sigils or signs will work unless you have two things: a blood sacrifice, and an origin object.”

Lance wanted to punch the smug look off his face. He wanted to snap his horns off. He wanted to…

He didn’t know what.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “What’s an origin object?”

“It’s simple, really. To open a gateway to hell, you need a piece of it. Likewise with heaven.”

Rose whipped around to look at him. “The dagger.”

“Yes. And that means that somewhere out there, someone’s got a piece of heaven. The trick is finding it.”

~*~

Morgan assured them that, should she be within reasonable range of such a heaven-forged object, she would be able to sense it – though she could sense nothing of the sort now.

“The Rift opened over the Atlantic the first time, and over New York the second. I think it’s safe to say it’s here – or, at least it was,” Beck said.

Rose agreed. The rest of her team…wore varying masks of doubt, from Gallo’s worry, to Tris’s stone-cold indifference.

Lance…Lance was actingstrange. He hadn’t said or done anything out of character, but she kept hearing him take these sharp little breaths; kept noticing the flex of uneasy tendons in his arms and hands and throat. His jaw seemed permanently clenched, and whenever he made eye contact with Beck, she swore she could feel the frisson that moved down his spine. Hatred? Disgust? Fear?

What must a man feel when you told him you loved him, and that you also loved someone else?

She’d never thought to be in this position.

As a team, they decided the best course of action would be to split their time between research and recon. While research would be less dangerous, the recon would be, in truth, easier. More straightforward, at least. If Morgan went with them on patrols, she should be able to detect what they were looking for –ifit was indeed in the city.

But the city was big.

And as they flipped through the mildewed books on the table, the sky opened up, and rain beat mercilessly at the windows.

“Right, then.” Beck straightened from the table. “No sense going out in this. It’s a good way to get ambushed. I’ll show you all to your rooms.”

“Our rooms?” Gavin asked, with great skepticism.

Beck tipped his head. “Of course. I’m not the best housekeeper, but I tried.”

And for Beck, Rose knew well,tryingwas generallyexcelling– even if she did remember his old, dusty, cup-ridden study all too well.

He showed them the kitchen first, a huge, industrial room with stainless counters, and a massive butcher-block island running down the length of it. The tiles were chipped in places, and showed their age; there was rust around the sink drain. But Beck had scrubbed it until it shone, fixed the fridge, and stocked it along with the pantry.

“Did you buy any of this food?” Tris asked.

“No,” Beck said, lightly. “There’s cups, and plates, and silverware leftover from before, all clean.” He showed them the cabinets. “I got a coffeemaker and coffee, too. Hope everyone likes French roast.”

From there, they went back down the hall – rain was pouring in through the hole in the ceiling in the great hall, the rush and hiss and patter of it like the roar of a waterfall – to a velvet-carpeted stairwell, and up to the second floor. “Not every room was salvageable,” Beck explained, opening a door to reveal a musty, but fairly well-preserved bedroom. “I washed the linens and scrubbed the bathrooms – there’s an en suite for everyone. Gallo, I thought you and Tristan could have this one.” He lifted a single brow. “I assume you want to share?”

“Yes,” Gallo said, color staining his cheeks, briefly.

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