Ariadne certainly had a wicked streak in her that complemented her bubbly cheerfulness, a love of things that were just a bit … naughty. Anna felt she should encourage this impulse.

There was no clear point of access on the flat front of the house, so they moved down to the end of the street and found a narrow alley backing the houses. This was bricked up to the third floor. There was, however, a drainpipe. Anna got a hold on this and made the climb. She could not reach the third-story windows from there, but she could get onto the roof. She looked down to see Ariadne climbing up after her, again showing more skill than she had in the training room. They managed to pry open an attic window. From there they crept down the winding stairs, Anna first, with Ariadne behind. Ariadne kept a hand on Anna’s waist, possibly for guidance as they walked, or …

Anna would not think about it.

They were burning a great deal of incense in the house tonight. It hummed through the hall and up the stairs, almost causing Anna to cough. It was not a pleasant smell—it was acrid and hard. She detected wormwood, mugwort, and something else—something with a metallic edge, like blood. The group was unusually quiet. There was only one voice, speaking low. A female voice with the Germanic accent. She heard the incantations.

Anna knew a summoning when she heard one. She turned to Ariadne, who had a look of concern on her face.

Anna reached for her seraph blade and murmured, “Adriel,” indicating to Ariadne that she would go ahead and look. Ariadne nodded. Anna crept down the hall. She pushed back a bit of the velvet curtain that closed off the main sitting room. Everyone there was turned toward the center of the room, so mostly she saw backs and the faint flicker of candlelight.

Anna could make out the form of a circle drawn on the floor. The woman in the turban was just on the edge of it, her face tilted up in ecstasy. She wore a long black robe and held a book with a pentagram over her head. The book was bound in something odd. It looked like skin.

Towering above all was the warlock Leopolda, her eyes closed and her arms raised. She held a curved dagger in her hands. She was chanting in a demonic language. Then she looked to the woman in the turban and nodded. The woman took a long step into the circle. Green flame flashed all around, making the mundanes murmur and back away. There were not, Anna noticed, many Downworlders present.

“Come forth!” cried the woman. “Come forth, beautiful death. Come forth, creature, that we may worship you! Come forth!”

There was a terrible smell, and the room filled with darkness. Anna knew she could no longer stand still.

“Get out!” she yelled, pushing her way into the room. “All of you!”