“In part, yes.” He began stacking books on the desk. “The truth, Isaac, is that I don’t know precisely what they are.”

“They?”

He shrugged. “I believe so, but I know only four things for certain. Whatever they are, they have existed at least as long I have, though they could be far older. As old as the universe itself, perhaps, though I doubt it. In these past centuries, they have grown stronger. They hate with a fury unlike any other. And sooner or later, they will find a way to fully enter our world.” He scowled at me. “Sooner, if idiots like you and Hubert keep flinging magic about with abandon and weakening the boundaries of our world!”

“How many people know about this?” I whispered.

“Twenty-three, now. The risk has always been that shortsighted madmen would work to summon and command these things. It’s happened before.” He opened the office door and walked out into the parking lot, where he stared into the sky. “The first time they struck at me, I thought they were the host of Hell itself. I’ve broadened my theories considerably since then, though I’ve found nothing to either confirm or disprove that original belief.”

“How do you fight them?”

“The same way you fight any enemy. With knowledge.” He smiled. “As I recall, you once expressed interest in a research position . . .”

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

I FINALLY MADE IT HOME AROUND SUNRISE the next morning, jittery from caffeine and magic both. Lena’s motorcycle was in the garage where she had left it. I could probably pay Dave Trembath to drive it down to Dearborn on his trailer . . . or I could use it as an excuse to call Lena.

And then what, Vainio? Ask how she and Nidhi are getting along? Tell her you’re always here if her current lover gets kidnapped by vampires again? I shook my head and turned away from the bike. I could deal with it later.

Inside, the house was every bit the disaster it had been when I left. Despite my precautions, flies and mosquitoes had found their way in through the back door. I halfheartedly pressed the duct tape back into place, trying to fix my makeshift curtain, then gave up.

I checked the library next, mentally cataloging which books I might be able to use to repair the bullet holes in the walls and ceiling. The back door was a lost cause.

My voice mail held six increasingly pissed-off messages from Jennifer Latona, demanding to know why I hadn’t returned to work and asking for an update on the insurance claim.

Crap. I knew I had forgotten something . . .

All things considered, I should have been happy. I had stopped the man who murdered Ray Walker, and earned a promotion in the process. For years I had imagined this moment: I would have full access to the Porter archives, centuries of magical research to explore.