The young man at the desk grinned. “Your friend is wise,” he said.

She was right. “Where does it lead?”

“This door leads to answers—whether they be Lord Dantalion’s or your own.”

“Our own?” Yehuda Leib was confused.

Until, with a lurch, he realized:

The answer they had just given.

He would’ve walked through the door to meet his Death.

Yehuda Leib swallowed and looked to the young man, whose grin had not faded.

“Thank you,” said Yehuda Leib to Bluma quietly, but she was already moving toward the desk.

“I wish to ask Lord Dantalion a question,” she said.

The young man at the desk nodded. “You have earned the privilege.”

Bluma seized the spindly pen from the young man’s desk, and as soon as the thick book was opened, she scrawled out her question on the indicated line. With the same practiced set of motions, the young man at the desk shut the tome and then opened it again to reveal a cream-colored card between its pages, marked in Bluma’s handwriting with a string of letters and numbers. The door behind him cracked open as she removed the card from the book.

“Lord Dantalion will see you now,” said the man behind the desk.

With a deep breath, Bluma strode forward and pushed her way inside.

The young man tugged the door shut behind her and took his seat once more.

“And you?” he said to Yehuda Leib. “Do you wish to consult Lord Dantalion?”

“Yes,” said Yehuda Leib. “I do.”

The book was opened, the pen proffered, before Yehuda Leib had a chance to explain.

“Oh,” he said, his cheeks warming with a blush. “I want to ask a question, but…”

The young man cocked his head to the side. “Is there a problem?”

“Well,” Yehuda Leib said. “I never learned my letters.”

“Ah,” said the young man, leaning back in his chair. “That is a problem.”

“Can you just write the question for me?” said Yehuda Leib.

The young man shook his head. “That would be highly irregular—I might even say unprecedented. And even if I were to do so, it wouldn’t solve the problem.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” said the young man gravely, “Lord Dantalion is a book.”

“A book?”

“Yes.” The young man nodded. “A book in many, many volumes. And if you are unable to read the answers he provides…”

Yehuda Leib’s cheeks were burning. Tears began to fill his eyes. It was the old story, again and again and again: rough, foolish Yehuda Leib, not good enough, not smart enough, making trouble wherever he went. What could he do now? Even leaving aside the question that burned in his chest, both Mammon and Bluma had disappeared through that door. What if he could not rejoin them? What if he was alone down here for good, buried deep beneath the corpse of the Dead City?

He was growing angry.