My mind was racing so hard I barely noticed Harry leave. When he returned, he silently handed me a scrapbook. I took it grudgingly and began flipping through it, only to find pages and pages of obituaries. By the time I reached the last two entries—a little girl, Cora, whose forlorn pose in her grade school picture could have doubled for one of mine; and my own grandmother—my eyes were teary enough that I could barely read. But still I protested. “These people all died of random diseases. There’s nothing here to prove there’s any connection between them.”

“The cut-out cloth men came in the mail. There is no mistake.”

“There is a mistake. Nothing is wrong with Lulu, and nothing’s wrong with me.”

Harry held out his hands, palms out and fingers up, trying to calm me or keep me back. “Listen to me, Eden. Someone has tapped into Avery’s energy line and is drawing his power. He was the only one who was ever strong enough to attempt the magic needed to resurrect John Gray, and whoever this is will certainly need every ounce of it he can get. You and your aunt Louise and her younger sister are the last remaining descendents. Only a few days remain before the gateway closes and they lose Gray forever. That’s why we have to find that book. Without the book, they have nothing—not the power to harm us nor the power to resurrect him. They can’t raise Gray, and they can’t hurt any of you.”

I pivoted and slammed the cabinet closed, then planted my hands on either side of the sink. The mirror splintered, leaving the image a fragmented, bug’s-eye view, but I could still see Harry’s tragic, haggard reflection in the mirror. His gray eyes were bloodshot and tired, but his jaw was set. He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Don’t you understand, Eden? Before I came to Eliza, I was Father Harold Frazier. If they bring Gray back, we’re all done for. You, your aunt, and me too. I’m a member of the order they’ve targeted. They’re coming for us all.”

I looked down and turned the faucet handle. The pipes squealed and hissed, then finally provided a tepid stream that grew hot as I held my hands under it. “You’re off your rocker. You ought to be out there with Malachi. The two of you could talk about God all the livelong day. I’m sure you’d have a fabulous time.”

“Eden, you can’t ignore this. It’s too close now.”

Steam was rising from the sink, and the water was hot enough to scald my hands, but I held them under the nozzle anyway. The broken mirror went damp and muted with white fog just the way I wanted it, and after a minute or two I couldn’t see Harry’s pleading eyes boring into the back of my head. “It isn’t true,” I said, reaching for the soap in order to validate my use of the sink. “It just isn’t true.”