“A new flavor of tea?” Matthew asked.

“Senna Salastre, who was ninety-four when he passed into the master’s hands last August, wrote some of the books Valeriani was seeking. Matthew, you are so uneducated. You have no idea how Maestro Salastre has worked to benefit the true believers, what he has done in this world to overturn the fictions that you and others of your ilk labor under. You don’t see that the master’s way is freedom. Total, unadulterated freedom the like of which you have never known.”

“Freedom to cut the hearts out of children, is what you mean?” said Matthew. “And gouge out as many eyeballs as will fill a White Velvet bottle?” He felt the heat rising in his face. He brushed away a floating specter that seemed to be formed of scrabbling claws and a blue tongue a foot long. “And, oh yes, the freedom to cut as many throats as possible and carve that ridiculous symbol on their foreheads, as if it really means you have any power at all? Your freedom, sir, will end when the rope drops you, and I will be there to—”

“From one of Maestro Salastre’s books,” Black went on, as if Matthew had not spoken a word, “Ciro Valeriani created in his workshop a free-standing, full-length mirror. Valeriani as a scientist had been interested in mirrors for years, so this project intrigued him. Maestro Salastre helped him with the construction and added the mirror’s reflective element from his own workshop. I understand that very soon the glass turned dark, as expected.”

“A dark mirror? To what point?”

“With Maestro Salastre’s guidance,” said Black, “Valeriani created a mirror that is not simply a mirror. It is a passageway. Can you imagine in your earthbound mind what planes of existence are connected by that passage?”

“I don’t wish to imagine,” Matthew quickly replied, though he knew fully well what Black must be getting at.

“A demonic being can be called to come through.” Black put the pipe’s bit between his sharpened teeth. “A chosen one, of the caller’s choosing. I understand that there is a time limit and a risk of injury, but—”

“Good Christ, you are mad, aren’t you?” Matthew felt ready to explode. “Demons coming out of dark mirrors! That’s sheer insanity!”

“Ah,” said Black, with a slight nod. “Would you say the same thing to Professor Fell?”

Matthew was struck into silence. Behind him the fire burned brightly and before him the wind of a pre-dawn storm blew currents of snow past the oval glass.