“I have not been able to experience the world directly for thousands of years,” said Hieronymus Moon. “But it is sad to see that some things never change. I want to endorse what that nice woman just said about children who are being abused. This man”—he pointed a ghostly finger at Jupiter Peacock—“is not just a child abuser, although that is bad enough. He has kept my spirit prisoner in a ceramic bottle for hundreds of years, taking over my captivity from the man who owned me before him. He has used dark alchemy to keep himself alive longer than the normal human life span. And his spell worked as long as he had me in my bottle, and as long as he kept my eternal soul from the Flow. Well, now I depart at long last, and, sadly, therefore so must he. Goodbye, Jupiter Peacock—the very worst translator I ever had.”

There was an ominous rumble of thunder, and as Hieronymus Moon ascended, Jupiter Peacock slumped to the floor, dead.

A different audience may have felt sad for poor Jupiter Peacock, cut off in his prime by a vindictive ghost. But this one just clapped and whooped. Some people called for an encore. But, sadly, JP could only die once. Lexy was particularly glad to see him gone.

As the clapping died down, the curtains finished opening.

Onstage was a complicated scene.

Perhaps the most immediately compelling sight was Tabitha Quinn, dressed in an extremely unfashionable white peasant smock, tied to a chair and blindfolded, being freed by Raven Wilde, who had a black cat sitting on her shoulder. Tabitha Quinn didn’t seem at all grateful to be rescued. In fact, she roughly pushed Raven Wilde away and rushed off the stage in tears, muttering something about maiden sacrifice and getting her revenge on the Diberi.

Stage left, Maximilian Underwood was sitting at a grand piano, with his hands raised to begin playing the opening notes of the third movement of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto, while the university’s music students accompanied him from the small orchestra pit. The Binder, whom Maximilian had been controlling ever since their unfortunate meeting that afternoon, was having a little sleep after all the energy he’d used suppressing Jupiter Peacock’s magic while Hazel Bottle had been speaking.

The music Maximilian now played was joyful and celebratory—with just a hint of wonderful complex darkness. He was playing it not only because it provided a glorious soundtrack to these last moments of this Midwinter cycle but also because one of the many things he’d learned at the University of the Underworld was how to use music to create a magical aperture that everyone can access to heal, to understand themselves better or just to feel uplifted for a few minutes.