“We surmised as much.” Granach pressed a hand to the glass. “Can’t you conjure up a crystal ball or a magic mirror to show us the face of our enemy? Or summon a genie and wish that enemy into nothingness?”

“I could pull Aladdin’s lamp into our world, sure.” I continued to study the manananggal. What happened to Chesa’s organs when she separated her body to hunt, and how did they repair themselves afterward? The average human being had twenty-two feet of small intestine alone. If her magic could be duplicated by Porter surgeons to heal—

“The lamp,” Granach prodded.

“Sorry,” I said. “The lamp would fit through the book, but the transition from the fictional world would destroy the genie’s mind. On the bright side, I doubt we’d survive long enough to worry about a murderous libriomancer. As for mirrors and such, they come preprogrammed for another world. Take Tolkien’s palantir, for example.” I stared at their blank faces and sighed. “It’s a crystal ball. Didn’t you people at least see the movies?”

Doctor Shah cleared her throat.

“Right. The point is, I could use the palantir to try to find our enemy. Likely as not, it would show us the dark lord Sauron from Lord of the Rings. And if we’re really unlucky, Sauron would reach through that connection to attack or possess whoever looked upon him.”

“So you have no other way of finding this libriomancer?”

I hesitated. “Taking Chesa up to the surface will be fastest.”

“We could send others through the air lock to subdue her,” Granach said slowly. “If she were kept unconscious, sealed in an airtight coffin . . .”

A whoosh of heat and flame seared my hip. I swore and jumped, which only rattled Smudge further. He was burning like a blackened marshmallow, running vertical loops within his cage. Smoke poured from my jacket as I yanked it back.

Lena ripped the cage free, tearing my belt loop in the process. She set him gently on the floor, then flexed her reddened hand. “Have you considered asbestos-lined jeans?”

“Yes.” I flapped my jacket, trying to find the source of the smoke. The material was blackened, but nothing appeared to be burned or melted.

“That’s not smoke,” Kyle said softly.

It was mist, thick and black, which poured from my jacket and rushed toward the guard, where it coalesced into a familiar figure. Rupert Loyola, also known as Mister Puddles, grabbed the guard’s head and twisted, then hurled the body at Alice Granach.

A slash of Loyola’s blackened nails tore through the air hose into Chesa’s cage. Kyle grabbed him in a bear hug. They staggered, but Loyola kept his balance long enough to smash a heel into the small air lock.

Lena shoved Doctor Shah back, picked up her chair, and shattered it against Loyola’s ribs. The broken chair back shifted in Lena’s hands, growing sharpened points.