After that, it was simple.

We went back to our ascension point, drank our watered-down flying potions, and bounded up the rocky face of the valley wall like mountain goats. Or possibly squirrels. Either way, it made the eighty-degree incline feel about as difficult to handle as a long stairway.

“Harry,” Susan said, panting, as we reached the top. “Would you burn that truck for me?”

“My pleasure,” I said, and dealt with the cargo truck the same way I had the cars in the parking lot. Thirty seconds later, it huffed out its own explosion, and Susan stood there nodding.

“Okay,” she said. “Good. Hopefully that makes it harder for them to do whatever they’re going to do.”

“What did you find?” Martin asked.

“Mayan ceremonial gear,” I said. “Not focus items, but the other stuff. The props. They were on the truck to be shipped out next.”

Susan rustled in the nylon bag and held up a sheet of paper. “Bill of lading,” she said. “Shipment number 000938. The next outgoing package after the original shipment, and it was initiated two days after the focus items went out.”

Martin narrowed his eyes, thinking. “If it was going to the same place as the first shipment . . .”

“It means that we can make a pretty good guess that wherever it’s going, it’s within two days’ drive,” I said. “That gives the vampires time enough to get the first shipment, realize that some things got left out, and call in a second shipment to bring in the missing articles.”

Martin nodded. “So? Where are they?”

Susan was going through the contents of the bag she’d appropriated. “Mexico,” she said. She held up a U.S. passport, presumably falsified, since most people don’t tote their passports around in manila envelopes, along with a wallet full of new-looking Mexican cash. “They were planning on taking those cloaks and things to Mexico.”

I grunted and started walking back to the Way. Martin and Susan fell in behind me.

“Harry? Will destroying that gear ruin what they’re doing?”

“It’ll inconvenience them,” I said quietly. “Not much more than that.

The actual magic doesn’t need the costumes. It’s the people performing it who need them. So any replacement sixty-pound cloak of parrot feathers will do—and if they want it badly enough, they can do the ritual even without replacing them.”

“They’ll know who was here,” Martin said. “Too many men saw us. Interior cameras might have gotten something, too.”

“Good,” I said. “I want them to know. I want them to know that their safe places aren’t safe.”

Susan made a growling sound that seemed to indicate agreement.

Even Martin’s mouth turned up into a chilly little smile. “So other than somewhat discomfiting the sleep of some of the Red Court, what did we actually accomplish here?”

“We know where they’re going to do their ritual,” Susan said.

I nodded. “Mexico.”

“Well,” Martin said. “I suppose it’s a start.”

Chapter 18

Mrs. Spunkelcrief was a fantastic landlady. She lived on the ground floor of the old house. She rarely left her home, was mostly deaf, and generally didn’t poke her nose into my business as long as my rent check came in—which it pretty much always did, these days, on time or a bit early.

A small army of crazy-strong zombies had assaulted my home without waking her up, probably because they’d had the grace to do it after her bedtime, which was just after sundown. But I guess the visit from the cops and the FBI had been even louder than that, because as Molly pulled the Blue Beetle into the little gravel parking lot, I saw her coming up the stairs from my apartment, one at a time, leaning heavily on her cane. She wore a soft blue nightgown and a shawl to ward against the October chill in the night, and her bright blue eyes flicked around alertly.

“There you are,” she said irritably. “I’ve been calling your house all evening, Harry.”

“Sorry, Mrs. S,” I said. “I’ve been out.”

I don’t think she could make out the words very well, but she wasn’t stupid. “Obviously you’ve been out,” she said. “What happened to your nice new door? It’s wide-open! If we get another one of those freak thunderstorms, the rain will pour right in and we’ll have mold climbing up the walls before you can say Jack Robinson.”

I spread my hands and talked as loudly as I could without actually shouting. “There was a mix-up with the police.”

“No,” she said, “the lease is quite clear. You are responsible for any damages inflicted on the apartment while you are a tenant.”

I sighed and nodded. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“Oh, not so much sorrow as surprise, Harry. You’re a good boy, generally.” She peered from me to Molly, Susan, and Martin. “Most of the time. And you help out so when the weather is bad.”

I smiled at her in what I hoped was an apologetic fashion. “I’ll take care of the door, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said. “I thought you would. I’ll come check in a few days.” Mouse emerged from the darkness, not even breathing very hard from running to keep up with the Beetle. He immediately went over to Mrs. Spunkelcrief, sat, and offered her his right paw to shake. She was so tiny and the dog so large that she hardly had to bend down to grip his paw. She beamed broadly at Mouse, shook, and then patted his head fondly. “You can tell a lot about a man from how he treats his dog,” she said.

Mouse walked over to me, sat down panting happily, and leaned his shoulders against my hip affectionately, all but knocking me down.

Mrs. Spunkelcrief nodded, satisfied, and turned to walk away. Then she paused, muttered something to herself, and turned back around again. She dug into her robe’s pocket and produced a white envelope. “I almost forgot. This was lying on your stairs, boy.”

I took it from her with a polite nod. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Welcome.” She shivered and wrapped her shawl a little more tightly around her. “What is the world coming to? People breaking down doors.”

I shot a glance at Molly, who nodded and immediately went to Mrs. Spunkelcrief’s side, offering an arm for support. My landlady beamed up at her, saying, “Bless you, child. My cane arm got tired on the way down.” Molly began helping her back up the little ramp to her apartment’s front door.

Mouse immediately went to the bottom of the stairs, his nose questing. Then he turned back to me, tail fanning the air gently. No surprises lurked in my apartment. I went on down into it, waving the candles and fireplace to life with a murmur and a gesture, tearing open the envelope as I went to the fireplace to open it.

Inside was a piece of folded paper and another, smaller envelope, upon which was written, in Luccio’s flowing writing, READ ME FIRST. I did:

If you are receiving this letter, it is because someone has rendered me unable to contact you. You must presume that I have been taken out of play entirely.

The bearer of this note is the person I trust the most among every Warden stationed at Edinburgh. I cannot know the particulars of my neutralization, but you can trust his description implicitly, and I have found his judgment to be uncommonly sound in subjective matters.

Good luck, Harry.

-A-

I stared at the note for a moment. Then I unfolded the second piece of paper, very slowly. This one was written in blocky letters so precise that they almost resembled a printed font, rather than handwriting:

Hullo, Dresden.

Luccio wnted me to bring this note to you in the event something happened to her. No idea what her note says, but I’m to give you whatever information I can.

I’m afraid it isn’t good news. The Council seems to have gone quite mad.