My eyes widened, and I nearly did look over my shoulder.

“Don’t,” he ordered. “They are flanking us as we walk.”

“Riley,” I whispered, clutching his hand in fear. “What are we going to do?”

“They are cultists… They will not attack us until we have the book in hand,” he predicted, continuing his brisk but steady gait.

“And then what?” I whispered.

“And then, I will keep you safe,” he promised, his expression darkening.

We found the rental lockers, lined in identical rows. We only had seven minutes, but Riley pushed forward, not paying attention to any of the signs or numbers, seemingly guided by something else.

Out of the corner of my eye down one of the aisles, I caught sight of a black-robed figure. I gasped and turned away, clinging tighter to Riley, frightened. I didn’t know how we’d get out of there with the book, much less—

“It is here,” Riley said. I tightened my hand around his arm for one moment more before I released it to let him work.

It was number L1890, just another in a row of lockers. But a strange sort of energy seemed to be building within it. It set my teeth on edge and raised the hairs on my arms.

Riley placed his hand on the normal-looking combination lock. “Aeons and aeons and he’s still using the same combination,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes, and then he looked at me. I glanced over my shoulder and my eyes found a clock on a nearby wall.

11:59 p.m.

“Whatever happens,” Riley whispered, “you will do as I say.” It wasn’t a question, but an order that allowed no argument. I nodded.

The seconds passed with agonizing slowness as his hand poised upon the door, waiting for the appointed time. I tried to calm my breathing, tried to prepare myself for whatever might come next. I had to pull it together, if for nothing else, then for Riley.

The clock struck, its mighty chime echoing through the terminal. In a flash of movement, Riley had the lock off and the door open. He plunged his arm into the locker, as if reaching into unfathomable depths. He suddenly grimaced and gripped the locker edge desperately with his other hand. I nearly grabbed him as he abruptly surged back from the door, and then surged forward again as if to punch something inside. He then reached once more, as deeply as he could, into the locker. His eyes widened, and with a grunt, he pulled something out of it.

It was a brief case.

“Neil,” he growled, and plunged his hand back into the locker. “Of course his accursed briefcase would come first.”

Riley seemed to root around within the locker’s depths, struggling to find the book.

“I have it!” he finally cried, and with a mighty pull, his hand emerged clutching a slim tome bound in ancient red leather. The Eldrich Grimoire.