The shadows erupted from the floor like lava and wrapped around each guard in an instant. Any screams they might have made were instantly shoved back down their throats as viscous darkness poured into their mouths, their nostrils, their eyes. They dangled, suspended by the bloody vines, and twisted back and forth as Liam curled his fingers. Then he slammed his palms together—and they folded away into nothingness.

The hallway stood empty before them.

“Wh-where did they go?” Rebeka asked.

“Through the veil.” Liam’s hands trembled as he dropped them to his sides, wisps of shadow still trailing from his fingertips. “Let the—the creatures over there deal with them.”

Daniel recalled the faceless behemoth stalking through the underbrush and savored his sudden flush of cruel delight.

Liam cocked his head toward Daniel. “Now, as for the archives door—”

“Just a moment.” Daniel slipped his makeshift lock-picking tools from his pocket and made quick work of the doors. They were finely carved, the wood trim swirling with flowers and the remnants of paint. Such a needlessly elegant building for such appalling purpose. Rebeka scanned the corridor while he worked, but Daniel sensed Liam’s gaze on his fingers and felt a blush creep up the back of his neck.

The doors swung open.

The chamber had once been a music hall. The floor gently sloped and was studded with bolts where rows of chairs had been ripped up; a stage was shrouded at the far end. Now the hall was crammed with hastily constructed shelving and stacks and stacks of reinforced file boxes. Weak sunlight wafted in from the courtyard windows that lined one wall, but otherwise everything was dingy gray, redolent with decades of must.

“Well.” Daniel swallowed. “Where do we start?”

“I’m after the confiscated property and inventory records. If you’re looking for officer names and postings . . .” Liam met his gaze, some kind of judgment behind that stare. Not disapproving of his quest, exactly, but sad for it—sad that it had to happen, sad for where he feared it might lead. With a scowl, Daniel looked away. He’d had enough of that from Rebeka. Forgiveness was not a virtue. Vengeance was the least he deserved. What happened after—that was not Liam’s concern.

“Inventory records are here,” Rebeka called from the far-left row. She gave Daniel a similar look to match Liam’s.

“Then I’ll take the right.” Daniel turned away from them.

“I’m looking for Porta ad Tenebras. Tomasi Sicarelli. The cover is pressed leather, looks like swirling lines feeding into an archway,” Liam told Rebeka, but Daniel shut them out. He found a row of Wehrmacht and SS reports, and with a taste like gravel in his mouth, he forced himself to dig through them.

Boxes and boxes of invoices and receipts. Accounting records, troop authorization orders, payments, rations records, requisitions forms.

Carefully tabulated accounting and procedure for confiscating the property of deceased Jews.