Rain pours down in billowing gray sheets when we duck out of the terminal at Heathrow and jump into a waiting cab. I give the driver an address on Park Vista, a row house on the north side of Greenwich Park. The entry portal to the north wing is familiar ground, and once I’m in, the Winter wing will put me closer to Lyon’s old office.

I wipe my face on my sleeve, but my jacket’s just as soaked. The familiar damp cold is as bone deep as it is depressing, and every inch of me aches for our home in Cuernavaca. For Fleur.

I drag my phone from my pocket. As Kai makes small talk with the driver, I use the last of the dying battery to check my messages. My last voice mail came hours ago, right after we boarded our flight.

“Jack, it’s Amber. I’ve been trying to reach you. We found Poppy. She’s on her way to London. Please don’t do anything stupid until we get there. Call me when you get this.”

I try reaching each of them, but my calls go straight to voice mail, and then my battery dies.

Kai pulls back her wet hood, stripping off her wig as soon as we’re clear of the airport. She shoves it inside her backpack, the zipper catching carelessly on a long pink strand as she closes the bag around it. The sight of it invites mental images that make my stomach turn.

I lean against the window, willing the cab to move faster as beads of rain slide sideways across the glass. It’s nearly an hour’s drive to the Observatory, and then there’s the matter of figuring out how to get in without being spotted.

Kai stares straight ahead, her thoughts unreadable in the dark. I don’t know what she’s expecting once we get through the portal, but as far as I’m concerned, once we make it into the Winter wing, she’s on her own.

I turn to read a sign as it rushes past.

“Hey,” I call up to the driver, rapping on the partition as he detours toward Peckham. “Where are we going? This isn’t the way to Greenwich Park.”

The driver’s eyes flick to Kai in the rearview mirror.

“We’re making a stop first,” she says.

“We don’t have time for any stops.”

She pitches her voice low. “You may think you have it all figured out, Lancelot, but I know what’s waiting for us in there, and I’m not stepping foot in that place without a weapon. Neither should you.” Brightly colored streetlights reflect off her face as we approach a part of town I’d prefer not to venture into at night.