“Emery, it’s time to finish our game. You have two choices. As you can see, I have John-Henry safely locked away. If you don’t do exactly what I say—” The video stream cut to a grainy image that looked like it had been processed with light-enhancing software, showing a bucket and something small and white suspended above it. “—I’ll press a little button, and chlorine tablets will fall into buckets of ammonia. It’s a horrible way to die, Emery. I hope I’m making myself clear.”

“Holy shit,” Dulac said, trying to get out of bed. “Holy shit!”

“It’s clear,” Hazard said, his voice rough, although a part of him knew that the audio only ran in one direction.

“I want you to meet me at the Empire Fruit building. I’ll be waiting there for you. You can bring your gun, of course. And any other weapons you like. But you have to come alone. This is a showdown. Do you understand? Wahredua’s most brilliant detective pitted against the Keeper of Bees. If you get to me before sunrise, you can do whatever you like. I won’t have any weapons of my own. But if you don’t get here, I’ll press this little button and ride off into the sunset.” A pause, and then the voice added, “And, of course, there’s a chance you might die getting through my obstacle course. If that happens, I’m sorry to say, I’m still going to press this button. Think of it as a mercy; John-Henry wouldn’t want to live without you.”

The video feed switched back to Somers and Nico asleep on the steps; the location looked familiar, but Hazard’s brain kept short circuiting and rebooting, and he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even narrow down possibilities.

“If you’re not here by dawn,” the voice said, “he dies. If you enlist anyone to help you, he dies. If you decide you’re going to try to rescue him, he dies. Sunrise is at 5:44 AM today, Emery. The clock is ticking.”

The video feed froze, and the timer at the bottom stopped ticking.

Hazard couldn’t explain exactly why he did what he did next: he tapped the voicemail icon on his phone. A little bit of shock, maybe. He needed more information, too, and he hoped that the voicemail might be from Somers or from someone else who could help him. And, of course, the unknown caller had been persistent, trying several times that day to reach him. But mostly, a part of him suspected, he was just committing himself to a delaying action, anything to hold off the reality of the Keeper’s threat.

An unfamiliar voice played over the speaker: “Emery, this is a friend of John-Henry’s. He wanted me to get a note to you, but you’re not answering your phone. I wasn’t sure if I should leave a voicemail or not, but—but you weren’t home tonight, and I can’t find you, and I think you need to know. I’ll read it to you. ‘Ree, the Keeper went back to Wroxall, back where it all started. I’m going to catch him. Come as soon as you can.’ That’s all. I hope this isn’t too late.”