“Right here,” said a voice behind us. Catcher jogged up, stuffing his car keys into the pocket of the dark-wash jeans he’d paired with a gray T-shirt. NO MAGIC? NO PROBLEM was written across the front. The Ombuddies were showing love for everyone.
“I parked on the other side of the block,” he said, running a hand over his shorn head. “Didn’t want too many cars parked in one spot, just in case. Catcher Bell,” he said, extending a hand to Annabelle.
“Annabelle Shaw. You’re the sorcerer.”
“And you’re the necromancer.”
“All night long.”
We chuckled. Supernatural inside joke.
“Heard you were dealing with the Order tonight,” I said.
Catcher’s lip curled. “They have the bureaucracy of a DMV office with one hundred percent less effectiveness.”
“Any news about the sorcerer?” Ethan asked.
“Not from the Order. They maintain they have no knowledge of a sorcerer with expertise in alchemy, nor of alchemy being used in the city. And they’re holding the line on Reed—that no union sorcerers work for him.”
“Adrien Reed?” Annabelle asked. “Is he involved in this? With the alchemy?”
“We believe so,” Ethan said. “But we’re still trying to figure out the mechanics.”
“And who the sorcerer is.”
“Exactly,” Ethan said with a nod.
“Sometimes I wish I was more involved in the city’s supernatural communities,” she said. “And sometimes I hear about nonsense like this and I’m glad I live under the radar.”
“Stay sequestered,” I recommended. “Unless there’s a potluck.”
And that reminded me: I needed to plan a potluck.
“Fair enough. Shall we?” she asked, and when we nodded, she walked to the cemetery’s gate, used an enormous key on an equally enormous round key ring to unlock it.
We followed her inside and down another crushed-stone path.
“They never sleep as well when their memorials are disturbed,” she said.
“Then by God,” I said, trying to step as lightly as possible in her footsteps, “let’s not do that.”
We followed her over a low hill. Heavily pregnant or not, she moved like a sprite, walking under a copse where dew glimmered in the moonlight like fallen coins, and then stopping outside a small brick building.
“It used to be a maintenance facility,” she said, stepping back onto the paved walkway that led to the front door. The glass in the windows and door had been painted white, not unlike the treatment at La Douleur. An open padlock hung from the door’s handle. Annabelle pulled it off, pushed open the door, and flipped on the light switch just inside it.
“Welcome to Symboltown,” she said, the room illuminated by a bare bulb that swung from the ceiling.
Its circle of light shifted back and forth across the square room, illuminating the symbols that had been drawn in black across the whitewashed walls.
“That’s affirmative for alchemy,” Catcher said, spinning in a slow circle to take it in.
“The scale is impressive,” Annabelle said, hand on the small of her back, her gaze on the walls. “But I don’t get the point of going to all this trouble. Alchemy seems more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Maybe this is magic that only alchemy can accomplish,” I said, nearly skimming my fingers over the symbol for mercury until a hand gripped my arm.
I glanced up, found Ethan’s hand there, his expression concerned. “You looked like you might dive right into it. Perhaps a step back, Sentinel.”
I took the advice and made it a big step.
“Alchemy’s not my bag,” Catcher said. “But I see your point. This is a lot of symbols.”
“Does any of this look familiar?” Ethan asked. “In the specific equations, I mean?”
I walked around the room, trying to find the starting point, settled on a symbol near the ceiling of the back wall where the symbols seemed a little bit larger than the others, as if he’d shrunk them slightly as he worked to fit them all in.
I followed the symbols as they moved down the wall, looking for a pattern, part of the equation that might have matched the ones I’d seen while helping Paige. The symbols were basically the same—the primary symbols of the alchemical language, along with some of the same hieroglyphs we’d seen at Wrigley.
“It looks like the same set of symbols,” I concluded, “but that doesn’t really tell us anything, except that he’s decided he needs them in a second place.”
“Did you know alchemists sometimes put false symbols in their texts?” Annabelle asked. “I thought it would be a good idea to read up.”
“Maybe that’s why none of it makes sense,” I said. “How are we supposed to tell the true from the false?”
“To do that,” Catcher said, “we need to understand the context. That’s what we’re missing.”
“Even if it takes him time to get the code together, Jeff’s algorithm might still be the faster option. I mean, unless we find the sorcerer and can ask him.”
Ethan glanced at Annabelle. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”
“Actually, I might have.”