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climb it, either. Too high. Jay will break his neck falling from that height.

“You got night vision. Read me the inscription,” Hillerman says to me.

I press my face to the bars to get a clear view. “Looks like two parts. The first part…Imperium…Immortal?”

“Immortalis?”

“Okay, yeah. Imperium Immortalis.”

“And the second part?”

“Easier. Marco and Deus.”

“Imperium Immortalis, Marco Deus?”

“That’s it. Meaning?”

“‘Immortal power, banner of the gods.’”

“Oh, is that all? Underachievers.”

“Basically.” Jay adds, “It says ‘Necromancers wanted, apply within.’”

Hillerman turns to Russo. “That means you. Got that business card?”

He pulls it from his coat pocket. “This gate, though. Unless somebody brought bolt cutters…” His voice trails off when the thick chains go slack, then fall from the bars. The gate swings open with a low, ominous creak.

Russo takes a deep breath. “After you guys.”

“The card was given to you, Detective Russo. Only you.”

“Tough titties,” I say. “We’re not letting him go in alone, are you kidding? You. You’re the demon expert. You’re going in with him.”

“Out of the question. You’ve seen how demons react to me. I hardly think I’d be welcome. We can’t risk it. I’m sorry, Detective Russo. Would I? Yes. Should I? No.”

“Just Danny,” he says. “Call me Danny.”

Kicking absently at a weed growing out of the snow, she says quietly, “All right. Danny.”

“Talk to me. What do I do?”

“Simple. You walk right up to the front door. After that, I’m sure the way will present itself, just like this gate opening. Another possibility is instruction. It’s likely you might hear voices, like whispers in your mind, telling you what to do.” The idea seems to appall Russo, so Hillerman moves on quickly. “I can tell you that we know of at least one person who came here, and he was just fine.”

“Who?” I ask.

“King Paul. He swore fealty to East Side and wielded the power of necromancy. At some point he must have come through here, and he was fine.”

“Sure, yeah, he was dandy, except for the part where he was a psychopathic serial killer, and now he’s dead.”

“Yes, except for that. Thank you. You’re so helpful.”

“No worries,” Russo says. “If Charlotte says it’s fine, it’s fine.”

To me, she says sharply, “It’s fine.” Then she directs a much softer tone at Russo. “I’m not trying to push you, Detective—” She corrects herself. “Danny. Believe it or not, I still remember how it feels to be in your shoes. It never really goes away or gets any easier.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not gonna lie. The night club, I was definitely feeling. This place, not so much.”

“See, and that’s it, right there. That’s why you’re so well equipped for this. You’re not going to crack, when others would.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re not putting on a front right now. You’re scared, and you’re nervous, but you’re not trying to act otherwise. You’re an honest and open person with no filter. You don’t lie—not to others and especially not to yourself—not even in the form of exaggeration, because when you do talk a big game, it’s because you actually believe every word of it. Bottom line—there’s nothing false about you, which makes you damn near demon-proof. They won’t be able to worm their lies and deceit and corruption into such a genuine mind. The first false note out of your mouth, we’d recognize it—even me, and I just met you.”

Russo stands in awe of her assessment, which would have come across as flattery if it weren’t so spot-on, as though she’s known him for years. They stand there looking at each other in silence, each true to form—Hillerman unreadable and Russo an open book. He’s absolutely conquered. Stick a fork in this one—he’s done. As chemistry arcs between them, I try to make eyes at Brenner, but he’s too busy studying the lovebirds closely.

Hillerman breaks eye contact first, kicking at that weed again. “Or…I could be totally wrong about you.”

“You’re not,” Jay says quickly. “He’s the real deal.”

Russo winks at me. “My wingman, everybody. None better. Feeling it right here.” He taps a fist to his chest. “Group hug?”

“Go,” Hillerman barks.

“Already gone.” He enters the courtyard, walking past rows of headstones. Twice, he whirls suddenly, startled.

Hillerman curses under her breath. “We’re attracting too much attention.”

“You see them?”

“They’re watching through the gate. They don’t seem to want to go into the courtyard. Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“But they’re just ghosts. They can’t do anything.”

“Yes, they can, and they’re doing it right now.”

I jump back from the iron gate. “What? Are they touching me?”

“They don’t have to. They bring an aura, and the more there are of them, the stronger the aura. You’re feeling it right now. Fear and anxiety.”

“My heart’s pounding,” Russo says. “Something’s not right.”

“Don’t stop.”

Russo slows his steps. “If I keep going, something bad will happen to you guys.”

“No, it won’t. That’s just what they want you to feel. It’s manufactured. Push through it.”

I hear leaves crunching behind me. Jay whips around, raises his gun. When he starts to move away from us, toward the sound, Hillerman loses it. “Dammit, stay your ass put, Brenner, do you hear me? There’s a whole lot of chatter going on right now. I need you to listen to me. My voice. Brenner?”

“I hear you.”

“Get over here next to me. None of us goes off on our own. Not for any reason. Got it?”

As Jay obeys, sidestepping toward Hillerman, I feel a slight tickle at the base of my spine. It starts as nothing but a breeze, raising goose bumps across my back, but then it seems to thicken somehow, gaining weight and form—the form of five fingers and a palm, sliding effortlessly beneath my clothes to caress my waist. Even though I haven’t made a sound, Hillerman turns toward me, and her mouth drops open. She’s looking at something behind me, just over my shoulder.

I want to cry out, but an ice-cold dread has lodged in my throat. When I try to move, the hand tightens, digging its fingertips into my skin.

“Don’t,”

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