Only I wouldn’t get to choose which project to join, which research to duplicate and expand, adding my own ideas and insights. I had a single assignment, one which could only be shared with a handful of others Porters cleared by Gutenberg himself: find the origin of the thing I had seen in Hubert’s mind, and figure out how to stop it.

Gutenberg would be sending me material from his own personal library. Scanned copies of documents five hundred years old, including firsthand descriptions of his encounters with our unknown enemies, and an uncensored account of the founding of Die Zwelf Portenære . . . including the identities of the twelve men and women who had been transformed into automatons.

Only six remained. Six trapped souls, forced to serve and protect their master. Gutenberg had offered to free them . . . if I could come up with a better way to protect and enforce magical law.

With a sigh, I headed for my office. While I waited for the computer to power up, I stared out the window, my thoughts drifting back to my clumsy, glorious landing on the surface of the moon. Going back would be difficult in this body, but not impossible. Science fiction had spent decades on such matters, designing energy suits that could protect me from the cold and the vacuum.

“I’m going back,” I whispered. And not just to the moon. Wherever magic could take us.

I sat down at the desk and pulled up the Detroit Free Press Web site. They described last night’s events as an explosion caused by a natural gas line rupture, though one eyewitness in the comments section insisted it had been a terrorist attack and the government was trying to hide the truth. The photo showed a simple fence where people had posted photos of missing loved ones. Flowers and other tokens were piled at the base of the fence.

Nothing was said about vampires or metal giants, or the magic used to bring the chaos under control.

I closed the site, choosing to focus instead on the lives we had saved. How much longer would it have been before the damage grew too widespread to contain? Another hour, maybe two, and the events Hubert had started would have led to war the likes of which the world had never seen.

I glanced at the phone, tempted to call and check on Lena. The Porters would have made sure she and Nidhi were safe. By now, they should be back home . . . and knowing Lena, they probably didn’t want to be disturbed right now.