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D ’A GOSTA DIDN’T HESITATE—NOT EVEN for a second. On the other side of that shimmering door was Laura.

He stepped up to the portal—feeling again that sense of unearthly energy, hot and cold simultaneously, that made the hairs on his neck stand at attention—and jumped.

At the same moment, the gateway flickered—a piece of gossamer, sliced diagonally from top to bottom by an invisible knife—wobbled, weakened, then disappeared.

Caught unawares, D’Agosta fell onto the cobbles of the alley. He rolled, instinctively using his shoulder to break the fall. It still hurt like a son of a bitch.

“ What the hell? ” he cried as he lay on the ground. The look on Pendergast’s face was one of pure horror and despair. He felt the same sudden madness and fury: what kind of sick, twisted joke was fate doing to—

With a snap that was not a sound, but some phenomenon having nothing to do with his five senses, the portal abruptly came back to life, its brilliance once again filling the alley. D’Agosta didn’t need a second invitation. He leapt…

… And found himself half staggering, half falling onto the floor of Pendergast’s basement laboratory. He glanced around on his knees. Proctor was there, staring at him, along with some guy in a wheelchair.

“Get ready!” he cried. “We’ve got Pendergast and Constance coming through. She’s stabbed in the abdomen, bleeding out!”

The portal rippled briefly, brightened, and a moment later—with a glittering, blinding flash—Pendergast staggered through, Constance in his arms. He was caught by Proctor’s steadying hand.

“Call an ambulance,” Pendergast cried. “We need AB negative blood—lots of it.” He turned to D’Agosta. “Please assist me.”

As he helped Pendergast carry Constance out into the hallway, the last thing D’Agosta saw was Proctor, raising a phone to his ear at the same moment the stranger in the wheelchair shut off power to the machine.