“We can’t show the tape to Margot,” Lindsey said, then looked around at the other guards in the room. “She’d freak, and there’s nothing she can do about it.”

   “We can’t show this to her,” Ethan agreed. “Nor does anyone outside this room see it.” Each guard nodded his or her approval.

   “We’ll still have to warn the Novitiates,” Luc said quietly, not wanting to argue with his Master. “Just in case.”

   Ethan nodded. “Send an electronic bulletin, and make sure they’re on alert. In the meantime, we investigate. We figure out what followed us from the cemetery.”

   “First things first,” I said, rising from my seat. “I want to take a look at the tunnel.”

   • • •

   If I was being honest, I didn’t want to look at the tunnel; I wanted to put a cork in this night and climb into bed with Ethan and a bottle of that Pinot. But I needed to look at it, because I stood Sentinel of the House and Margot was a friend.

   A short set of stairs led down from the basement, ending at an imposing metal door with THREE stenciled in black paint. Luc pushed it open, flipped on the lights, and we followed him inside.

   The floor was concrete, the walls brick, the lights industrial—metal cages with bare bulbs. The room smelled of old and damp air, brick dust and water and earth, and the tang of spilled wine from the broken bottle in the middle of the room. A dark puddle had stained the concrete.

   It was cold. Both because it was underground and because of the dense lingering magic. The same magic we’d felt in the cemetery.

   Ethan, I silently said.

   He nodded. I can feel it.

   I ignored the grasping fingers of fear and walked into a small alcove on the room’s left-hand side. The wine racks, a dozen rows of dark wood, were tucked like library shelves in the nook. There were hundreds of bottles, some of them clean and shiny, others covered in a layer of dust.

   “You have quite a collection,” I said.

   His mouth curled with amusement. “Didn’t you ever wonder where the wine you enjoy comes from?”

   “I presumed France or Chile or California,” I said with a sly smile. “I hadn’t really gotten more specific than that.” I paused. “I don’t see any evidence of magic.” There were no symbols, no char marks, no books or random bits of charms. I wasn’t entirely sure how to investigate a ghost who didn’t leave physical clues.

   I thought of the ghosthunters we’d met at the cemetery and looked back at Luc. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any of those gadgets they use on TV to find ghosts.”

   “Merit,” Ethan quietly said, the word nearly a sigh and full of regret.

   “No,” Luc said, excitement dawning in his eyes. “But I’m pretty sure I could hire someone who’s got them.” He looked at Ethan. “You ready to commit to a full EMF sweep of the premises?”

   I guessed this wasn’t the first time Ethan and Luc had had this conversation. Sorry, I told Ethan, but had trouble biting back a smile. Luc’s enthusiasm made this situation a little less disturbing.

   Ethan simmered silently for a moment. “Merit will get a message to Catcher and Chuck, and she’ll call Annabelle. Perhaps this is an issue Annabelle’ best situated to investigate. If not, we happened to run into individuals who might be.” He walked to the front rack, selected a bottle of wine. “As for now, I need a drink.”

   • • •

   He took crystal glasses from his office, met me in our apartments. We didn’t need the warmth, but he turned off the lights and lit the fire, letting shadows dance across the room’s high ceiling.

   While he uncorked the wine, I sent the Ombuddies a message and called Annabelle.

   “Hey, Merit,” she answered. “Did Chuck find something?”

   “Not that I’m aware of, although something else has happened that might be related. Is it possible for a ghost to travel?”

   “Sure,” she said, and my stomach twisted at the simple confidence in her word. “That’s how they move from plane to plane, after all. Why do you ask?”

   “Because I think one may have followed us home.” I told her what had happened to Margot and what we’d seen.

   “Interesting,” Annabelle said. “It’s unusual for a spirit to hitchhike, so to speak, but not unheard of. He must have been drawn by your magic, or maybe your immortality.”

   Knowing that was a possibility didn’t make me feel any better. But there was still work to be done. “We’ll want someone to, I guess, take a look at the tunnel, supernaturally speaking, and whatever goes along with that. Is that something you can do?”

   Annabelle’s flat and decisive “no” surprised me.

   “Oh,” I said, taken aback. Not the answer I’d been expecting, and I was more than a little stung by the quick refusal. After all, we’d come when she’d called.

   “I mean—damn it,” she said. “I’d like to say yes. And not just because I’d love to take a look inside Cadogan House. The thing is, I’m not allowed to.”

   “Why aren’t you allowed to?”

   “Because of the Order,” she said.

   If I remembered what she’d told me correctly, the Order wasn’t particularly fond of necromancers and had refused to grant them membership in their organization.

   “I work in graveyards,” she said. “And according to the deal made by the Order and the MVD”—that was the necromancers’ group—“I’m only allowed to work graveyards. Anything else is a breach of that contract.”

   I knew enough about the Order from Catcher and Mallory, and while nothing Annabelle had said was especially shocking, it still sounded unusually harsh.