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The old man barely blinked. “If you’ll come this way?”

It wasn’t like he had much choice.

Jack followed the High Princept from the sterile quiet of the visitors’ waiting room into the lush inner sanctum of the Order. As they traversed the winding passageways designed to disorient any would-be attackers, Jack could not help but wonder why they had summoned him. He’d remained quiet and out of the way these past weeks, just as they’d requested. What could have possibly drawn their attention? And why was the Princept himself acting as escort?

Finally they came to the library where everything had gone to shit on the solstice. The doorway to the Mysterium stood open in the ceiling above.

“After you,” the Princept insisted, waving his hand in the direction of the steep metal staircase that led upward.

Interested despite himself, Jack accepted the invitation. When he emerged into the room above, it wasn’t empty. His uncle was there, as were the other members of the Inner Circle. They were draped in ceremonial sashes, and each wore a golden medallion with the Philosopher’s Hand hanging from a cord around their necks. Only his uncle betrayed any irritation that Jack had arrived.

Like the library below, the Mysterium felt hollow and somehow less impressive than it had the night of the solstice. In the center of the room, a sculpture of iron and gold meant to represent the Tree of Life waited, its branches empty of the artifacts that should have lived in the spaces designed to house them. During the solstice, the tree had glowed with an otherworldly light, protection for the one artifact that had slipped away. Now its gilded branches stood cold and powerless.

But as interesting as it was to be summoned by the Inner Circle and escorted personally by the High Princept, his patience was at an end. The Chinaman waited with all the promise of his feral magic. Jack didn’t have time for these games.

“I assume that eventually you’ll get around to telling me why you’ve called me here tonight,” Jack said, enjoying the way his uncle visibly bristled at his irreverent tone.

“Watch yourself, boy,” Morgan growled. “You stand in a sacred place.”

“Not by my own choice,” he reminded them. “I was told that your summons couldn’t wait.”

“What could you possibly have to be so busy with?” Morgan asked, sneering down his large nose. “More of your chorus girl trollops? Do the family a favor and keep the next one alive.”

Jack felt his blood go hot, but the High Princept stepped between them.

“Enough,” the Princept said, lifting a hand. “We called you here because of the events that transpired earlier today.”

Jack waited, barely breathing, as the Book seemed to pulse in warning against him. They can’t know. He’d been so careful to make sure that no one would suspect that the events at St. Paul’s had been his doing.

“It seems that we’ve underestimated you,” the Princept said, glancing at Morgan.

His uncle wore a look as though he smelled something rotten, but he didn’t reply.

“What you did at Barclay’s wedding was… admirable,” the Princept continued.

“It would have been more admirable had Barclay’s grandson not ended up dead,” Morgan muttered.

Jack realized then that the older Barclay was missing from the meeting. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Jack murmured. “Theo’s death was a true tragedy.”

“It was murder.” Morgan’s nose twitched as he narrowed his eyes at Jack as though he suspected. “The Barclay boy didn’t even get his wedding night, and the bride is gone. Vanished without a trace. Likely dead, and if not dead, then ruined beyond saving.”

Jack remained silent. There was nothing to be gained by speaking.

“But those beasts,” the Princept said. “You cannot deny that Jack was instrumental in helping to quell the danger.”

Quell… Inspire. It was all of a piece, really.

“It’s put us in a damned impossible position,” Morgan bristled.

“I’m sorry my actions today inconvenienced you,” Jack said, refusing to show even a glimmer of the amusement—or the temper—he felt stirring. “Perhaps next time I should stand aside when maggots attack our people.”

“There was nothing wrong with what you did today, my boy,” the Princept told him. “You likely saved the chapel with your quick thinking. But news has spread quickly, and the events that transpired today are unfortunate for more reasons than the tragic loss of Theo Barclay.” He stepped over to the windows that faced out over the city, turning his back to Jack as he spoke. “As of late, we’ve heard murmurings throughout the Brotherhoods, concerns about our ability to remain in control of the maggots in this city.”

“Somehow word has spread that we may no longer be in possession of those objects that gave us our power so long ago,” his uncle added, glaring at Jack.

“If you are implying that I told others—”

“No,” the Princept said. “That isn’t what we’re saying.”