“A little?” She grinned. “You should have seen your face.”

“You really did find the Tomb.”

“I told you I did, didn’t I?”

“Not in so many words.”

Kit sniffed. “Well. I didn’t deny it, anyway.”

“And it’s still alive? A whole city … like this?”

“Let’s put a hold on the questions until we figure out if you’re going to survive,” Kit said. “El’s friendly enough, but Naumoriel is the boss here. If he tells her to kill you, she will.” She glanced at the silent, dark-muscled figures. “And don’t doubt that she can.”

“I don’t. What are those things?”

“What did I say about questions? Just listen. I’m going to try to convince Naumoriel that I need you to get the Analytica and that he can trust you. You need to help me. If he asks you a question, be honest.”

“Is he coming here, or—”

Kit laughed. “Just watch, Halfmask.”

After a few moments, Elariel finished what she was doing, and the room was filled with a rising hum. Bits of tendril overhead extended, quivering with effort. In front of Elariel, fat blue sparks crackled from crystal to crystal, then abruptly rose into the air to form a shimmering, shifting curtain of blue light taller than a man. Elariel stepped away as the curtain wavered, then cleared like frost melting from a window. In the empty space where it had been, the image of a ghoul stood, half-transparent and outlined in blue light.

Gyre was hardly an expert on ghouls, but he guessed that this one was much older. His fur was a ratty gray and had fallen out in places, showing fish-belly-pale skin broken by angry red sores. The crown of his head was bald and liver spotted, just like a human’s, and one of his eyes was a milky white. Like Elariel, he was naked, but the left-hand side of his chest was covered by a steel plate studded with crystalline protrusions. From underneath the metal, tiny tendrils extended a few centimeters before plunging into the ghoul’s flesh.

The arcana that brought his image up from the Tomb evidently enabled him to see them as well. His good eye swept over Kit and Elariel and focused on Gyre at once. His long, gray-tufted ears went stiff, and his voice was cold.

“Who is this?” he snapped.

“The boy called Gyre, Master,” Kit said, stepping forward to stand directly in front of the flickering image. “I mentioned him in my last report.”

“He has seen too much already.” The old ghoul waved a hand. “Dispose of him.”

“I need him, Master,” Kit said. “The Twilight Order’s centarchs are already here. We have only one chance to get the Core Analytica—”

“Because you waited too long!”

“The dux is careful,” Kit said.

“I care very little for the dux,” Naumoriel said, “and not at all for your excuses. You know the price of failure.”

“I do.” Kit bowed her head. “With Gyre’s help, we will have the Analytica in hand tomorrow evening.”