Still humming, Al opened the small black bag. White glove gone, he reached in and removed a handful of gray grit, tracing a foot-long Möbius strip on the slate between us. The greasy dust sifted from him as his humming took on the sound of a chant. Low and tonal, the sound struck deep in my primitive brain and made me sit straighter. It was like the chant of Asian monks, the foreign power of something else, mysterious and alien. Though nothing changed, Al looked utterly different, sitting before me with words I’d never understand coming from him.

“That’s not salt,” I said as the last spilled from his hand and he wiped it on a white cloth that he pulled from an inside pocket.

“I’m not going to use salt,” he said, and tossed the soiled towel at me. “What do you take me for? It’s cremation dust.” Al’s gaze went distant. “She died screaming. I was inside her at the time. God, I could feel everything. It was like I was dying with her.”

What am I doing here?

Repulsed, I leaned away, my breath hissing in when Al reached over his glyph and put his hand atop mine. I pulled back, but he gripped me harder, forcing my hand to the table. His gloves were still missing, and his skin was darker than I would’ve thought. A tingle was spilling from him to me, and I yanked out from under him, thinking it shouldn’t feel that good.

“It’s power, Rachel,” Al said softly, gaze fixed to mine. “Thinking that it’s evil is only because of your bad upbringing. You should go with your instincts and enjoy it. Gordian Nathaniel Pierce does.” His hand returned to his side of the table, and I remembered to breathe. “Give me the pyramid.”

I couldn’t get the frown off my face, and I stared at Al. He was waiting, confident that I’d reach across the table and hand it to him—when he was closer to it than me. The drug was completely out of my system and I felt drained. Al’s gaze slid to Pierce in a silent threat, and I reached for the pyramid. To show defiance now would only hurt Pierce more.

Al’s thick lips parted in a smile as my fingers pressed into the warm metal, finding purchase on the engraved figures. It was heavier than it looked, and I could feel my arm take the weight, but I hesitated as I looked at the odd writing on it that my ley-line pyramid lacked. The metal, too, wasn’t friendly copper like I’d originally thought, but something denser, darker, feeling like salted iron to my fingers.