I paused as I thought how best to answer him. I really didn’t want to get Godfrey in trouble, and I certainly didn’t want to get myself in it either. Things were already strained enough.

“It was the map,” I said, fishing the crumpled and smoky piece of paper from the pocket inside my jacket. I pointed at the dots I had connected earlier with Godfrey’s help. “When I charted out the path from the massacre on the booze cruise to the death of Dr. Kolb, I simply followed the trajectory. It led straight in that direction, toward the Guge, and I guess I got lucky finding the door.”

“I see,” he said.

I peeled my jacket off, careful to avoid rubbing it against my burnt wrists, and put it over the back of my chair. It had finally stopped smoking. I lowered myself at a snail’s pace and tried to collect my thoughts, only to have them interrupted.

“So Godfrey Candella has nothing to do with this?” Connor said.

“Argh,” I moaned. “I told him not to tell you.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t do deception quite the way you do,” Connor said. “The second he left the art museum, he came back here and info-dumped it all on me.”

Once again, I felt trapped. “I would have found the place eventually without him,” I said in my defense. “He just sped up the process.”

“Do you have any idea how screwed you’ll be if any one of the Enchancellors finds out about you putting an archivist in the line of danger out in the field? On top of what you already did at MoMA with this mysterious Mina of yours? The whole point of having archivists is to keep them out of harm’s way so that our records don’t come into question.”

“You should have seen him,” I said. “He was so excited to be out in the field.”

“That may be, but this isn’t a free-for-all here, kid,” Connor said. “There are rules for a reason.”

“But as part of F.O.G.,” I said, “I work outside of—”

“Stop hiding behind the goddamned F.O.G. excuse,” he said. “Even if you are one of their chosen few, that doesn’t put everyone in this place at your disposal.”

Connor stood up and headed off toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to Inspectre Quimbley in person,” he said, and I felt my heart leap to my throat.

“Don’t.”

Connor looked back and sighed. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m not going to rat you out, although I should.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Connor said. “There are bigger things on our plate than getting into a pissing contest with you over this. I mean, look at you . . . You’re burnt, your wrists are gross, and your hair . . . Well, I probably won’t be able to watch Edward Scissorhands ever again without thinking of you.”

“Then why’d you get so pissed at me?”

“I don’t feel like breaking in another partner,” he said. “Even as dumb as you are sometimes. Besides, you look like you’ve suffered enough for one night.”

“Well, thanks,” I said, feeling all warm and fuzzy but kind of confused.

“Don’t get too comfy there. The night’s not over yet. Get yourself cleaned up while I tell the Inspectre about this, minus some of the details.”

Connor started walking off.

“Oh,” I said, “I almost forgot. You’ll be thrilled to hear that there may actually be vampires involved. I’m pretty sure I ran into one this time, no question.”

Connor sighed, shook his head, and pointed over toward the incident sign. I started heading for the ladder.

“We’re gonna discuss protocol when we’re done with all this,” he said. “If we live through it all, of course.”

Returning to the scene of Para-lyzed felt much safer with half of the Department crawling all over the subterranean exhibit. A change of clothes and new wrapping on my wrists had also helped to change my spirits for the better. The smell of roasted zombies, however, did not.

The investigation was already in full swing by the time Connor and I got there, and I was surprised when Wesker appeared from behind a stack of crates with three familiar faces in tow.

“Well, well, well,” Connor said. “If it isn’t the Illinois gypsies.”

The Brothers Heron looked somewhat panicked. Marten was in yet another hideous tweed suit and Lanford looked a little more sickly than usual—the result of being on the run, I guess. Julius looked just as healthy and robust as ever, towering over us all.

“Returning to the scene of the crime, eh?” I said. “Or just a follow-up sales call?”

Marten shook his head. “Sorry we had to run out on you at the convention,” he said, all manners now, “but the look on your face told us you weren’t willing to be reasonable.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I wasn’t willing to be. Not much has changed on that front.”

“He said he was sorry,” Julius’s voice boomed out.

Wesker stepped out from behind them. “I caught these three attempting to liberate those two chupacabras from one of the glass cases where they were being stored. It looked like some sort of art exhibit in progress, but damned if I could tell what Cyrus was going to do with them.”

“Something that tied in to Will Wegman,” I said. Everyone turned to stare at me. “Hey, I don’t know what the hell that means; it’s just what he said.”

Marten nodded. “We tracked them here after Lanford followed you to the park to where that unfortunate jogger met his demise,” he said. “If we had any idea that splitting them up would have caused such a string of tragedies, believe me, we never would have sold one of them to that guy dressed as an undead pirate in the first place.”

“Your sincerity is underwhelming,” Connor fired back. “You were still trafficking paranormal livestock. That’s a crime in the tristate area.”

“How could you even think to bring something so heinous into this city?” I asked.

Marten looked shocked, like I had slapped him in the face.

“What did we do wrong?” Lanford asked, turning to Julius.

“Heinous?” Marten said, talking to me directly now. “How can you say that? Would you say the same thing about a shark for simply doing what it was meant to do?”

“I say,” the Inspectre’s voice called out. “Is that the analogy you’re going with?” He was standing by the entrance to the exhibit proper, but came over to join the conversation. “When a shark attacks a person, it’s only when we’ve entered its natural environment. Last I checked, gentlemen, the chupacabra is not native to New York City. It’s an introduced creature, and as the introducers, you are accountable for its crimes.”

Marten looked at me strangely, squinting not just at me but into me.

“Stop that,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “What are you doing?”

“I see the curse wore off,” he said. He looked concerned. “So soon. I didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be surprised what a little bit of panic does to help a guy take charge of his life again,” I said. “So how are you involved with Cyrus, exactly?”

“I take it he’s the pirate-looking gentleman?” Marten said.

“I think ‘gentleman’ is too kind a word for him,” I said, “but yes.”

“Wait,” Connor said. “You’re telling me you didn’t even know the name of a person you were selling those . . . those . . . things to?”

Marten gave a sheepish grin. “In our business, it’s sometimes better if we don’t ask too many questions. Not if we want to make enough to support our little clan back in Illinois.”

“How very familial of you,” Connor said, “but where you’re headed, I think they’re going to have to fend for themselves for a while.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening,” said Marten, and he flourished his arms in a grandiose and arcane gesture. Lanford and Julius joined in, too. I braced myself for whatever was about to happen.

But when the gesturing stopped there was nothing but silence and the three of them still standing there.

Lanford looked at both of his hands, then turned to his shorter, balding brother.