Bluma’s mind was racing.

The one true secret that you know.

The one true secret…

I brought you to this place.

Her hand slipped down into her apron pocket for the comfort of finding what she knew was hidden there.

I am the way that you must go;

I wear your frowning face.

The spoon.

The feeling of turning its handle between her fingers, the pleasant shock in finding herself relieved of the burden of her face.

I am the fountain of your fear,

The secret of the cold.

Even now the spoon’s surface was so icy and frost-kissed that it seemed to cling to the warm skin of her fingers.

It seemed incontrovertible.

The spoon. The answer must be the spoon.

But…

I’m whispered into every ear,

Yet I am never told.

How could that be? Every ear? How could each of the dead scholars who made his way down to this desk be expected to have come into contact with the spoon in her pocket?

That couldn’t be.

Unless it could.

A dim and terrible knowledge had been growing in her mind for some time now, and she was unsure if she could continue to ignore it.

What was the spoon, after all? Where had it come from?

The One True Secret that you know…

Bluma ran the pad of her thumb through the basin of the spoon in her pocket.

She knew the Answer.

—

The young man took his seat behind the desk.

“What is your response?” he said.

“The answer is—” said Bluma softly.

“I think it’s—” said Yehuda Leib.

And “Death,” they said at once.

Death.

The young man at the desk showed his teeth in a broad grin. Behind him, the door cracked open.

“Correct,” said the young man.

Yehuda Leib took a deep breath. He could see firelight jumping on the other side of the door, irresistibly warm and inviting.

But something was odd. The room into which Mammon had gone had been huge: vast and echoing. But the room on the other side of the door now seemed small—intimate.

Almost cozy.

What was in that place?

He had to know.

Yehuda Leib reached up, grasped the door handle, and prepared to push inward.

“Wait,” said Bluma behind him.

With a start, Yehuda Leib wheeled about. He’d almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Why not?” said Yehuda Leib. “I want to meet Lord Dantalion.”

“So do I,” said Bluma, and with a lunge and a tug, she grabbed Yehuda Leib’s arm and pulled the door shut again.

Yehuda Leib was furious. “Hey!” he said, pushing hard against the fixed door, rattling it on its hinges. It wouldn’t budge.

“What did you do?” said Yehuda Leib.

Bluma sighed. “Don’t you remember what Mammon said? If you answer correctly, the door leads somewhere you don’t wish to go.”

Yehuda Leib’s keen eyes widened.