Once on the gallery, we went past a display of articles from Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show—saddles, wooden rifles that had been carried by the show's cowboys and Indians alike, cavalry bugles, feathered war bonnets, beaded vests, moccasins, ancient old boots, several worn old tomtoms, and about a million old photographs. Beyond that was some kind of interactive ecology display, and just past that there was a table bearing the weight of an enormous, malformed-looking dinosaur skull.

Butters checked again and nodded toward the skull. "I think it's there."

I went down to the skull. The display proclaimed that it was Sue's actual skull, but that geological shifts and pressures had warped it, so the museum had created an artificial skull for the display. Holding my light up, I walked slowly around the skull—an enormous block of rock now. I peered into darkened crevices in the rock, and when I didn't find a book I got down on the floor and started checking under the heavy platform that supported the skull.

I found a manila envelope duct-taped to the underside of the platform, and snatched it. I got out from under the platform and tore the envelope open, my fingers shaking.

An old, slender black volume not much larger than a calendar notebook fell from the envelope.

I held it in my bare right hand for a moment. There was no tingle of arcane energies to the book, no sense of lurking evil or imminent danger. It was simply a book—but nonetheless I was sure I had found The Word of Kemmler. My fingers shook harder, and I opened it.

The front bore a spidery scrawl of cursive writing: The Word of Heinrich Kemmler.

"Hey, that was kind of fun!" Butters said. "Is that it?"

"This is it," I said. "We found it." I glanced up at Butters and said, "Actually, you found it, Butters. I couldn't have done it without your help. Thank you."

Butters beamed. "Glad I could help."

I thought I heard a noise.

I lifted a hand, forestalling whatever Butters was about to say.

The sound didn't repeat itself. There was only thunder and rain.

I put a finger to my lips and Butters nodded. Then I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses, slow and careful. For the barest second I felt my thoughts brush against a stirring of cold energy.

Necromancy.

I drew back from it with panicked haste. "Butters, get out."

The little ME blinked up at me. "What?"

"Get out," I said, my voice harsher. "There's a fire exit at the far side of the gallery. Go out it. Run. Get out of here and don't stop until you're someplace safe. Don't look back. Don't slow down."

He stared at me, his eyes huge, his face deathly pale.

"Now!" I snarled.

Butters bolted. I could hear terrified little sounds escaping his throat as he sprinted toward the far end of the gallery.