You find that old mother yet, Grandmother Charles? I ask inside my head. I could use some of those red flames right about now.

‘Young folk never listen,’ she mutters, scoffing so loud it rattles my ears from the inside out. ‘I’m not findin’ her. She’s comin’ to you. And no, she ain’t here yet. ’Spect she’ll be by shortly.’

I don’t even bother responding, for fear I’ll say the wrong thing and she’ll find a way to slap me again.

The three Scions bend in unison and smear their thumbs over their names in the carved Lines of the Wall. As they do, the Lines blaze to life, streaking up to the top of the Wall in three distinct colors—red for Lamorak, green for Gawain, and deep orange for Bors. Right as they reach the gemstones at the top, a deep grinding sound shakes the room and the tables and files inside it.

“Oh, shit,” Russ says, his irritation now replaced with unsuppressed glee. “Oh, shit!”

We step back as hidden gears, still working even though they must be centuries old, pull the door inward inch by inch. A rush of stale, damp-smelling air blows into the room, and we cover our noses. The passage beyond must be filled with mildew and decay. I can taste it in the back of my throat. It’s so strong, even my grandmother pulls back.

Just as the door comes to a squealing, echoing halt, the door behind us opens, and Tor and Sarah walk in. “We’re going too,” Tor says in a surprisingly strong voice.

“Oh no you’re not!” William points a finger at her and Sarah both. “I should have told Whitty to knock you both out.”

“Oh, shut it, Will,” Tor says, even though her movements are stiff and her breath is already leaving her mouth in rattling pants. “I’ll be healed soon enough. And they need more firepower.”

“I said no!”

Tor reaches the group and leans against a cabinet to gaze into the gloom beyond the Wall. The tunnel has no lighting installed, so we can only see what the fluorescent lights in the room reveal: a pounded charcoal-black dirt floor, smooth from wind-distributed dust. A pathway about six feet across that disappears ten feet in. No ceiling, as if the Wall marks the boundary between the Lodge’s foundation and the passage to another world. An older world. One that is deep, dangerous, and much nearer to the demons’ plane. Beyond the Wall, in total darkness, we’d be in their court, not ours.

And what’s worse is that just a foot before the light weakens, we can see a rounded antechamber that ends in six openings. The first branch in the network.