Such a fallacy, though.

Getting out, she almost didn’t lock her car. But an echo of the fear she’d felt in that crowd of humans had her putting her key in the door and turning it.

As she walked over the flagstone path, Tallah opened things up, and the sight of the stooped older female standing in that familiar archway made Mae blink quick. Tallah was always the same, dressed in one of her loose housecoats, this time in a periwinkle blue, and she had on matching blue-and-yellow slippers. Her cane was likewise coordinated, a pale blue ribbon wound down the metal stalk of the support, and there was a corresponding bow at the end of her braid of white hair.

“Hi,” Mae said as she came up to the front step.

“Hello, dearest one.”

They embraced across the threshold, with Mae being careful not to squeeze too hard—even though all she wanted to do was pull Tallah close and never let the old female go.

“Come,” Tallah said. “I have tea on.”

“I’ve got the door,” Mae murmured as she entered and closed things.

The kitchen was in the back, and as she followed Tallah through the tiny, familiar rooms, everything smelled the same. Fresh bread. Old leather armchairs. Faded fires in the hearth and fragrant loose tea leaves. The furniture was all too big for the small house, and it was of absurdly high quality, the tables marked with marble and gilt, the secretary set with fine inlaid woods, the chairs and sofas clad with faded and now-worn silks. Oil paintings in heavy gold-leafed frames hung on the walls, the landscapes and portraits executed by Matisse. Seurat. Monet. Manet.

There was a fortune under the roof of this tiny cottage, and Mae frequently worried about thieves coming out here. But so far, things had been okay. Tallah had been living here since the eighties and had never been bothered. It was a shame, though, that the female had refused to sell even one of those paintings off to better her living conditions. She had been steadfast in keeping her things with her, however, even if it meant that necessary improvements couldn’t be afforded. The obstinance didn’t make a lot of sense, but then it wasn’t anybody else’s call, was it.

Neither of them said anything as Mae took a seat at the kitchen table and Tallah busied herself at the counter with the plug-in kettle and two teacups. The urge to help the female with the tray was nearly irresistible, especially as Tallah hung her cane off her forearm and seemed to struggle with the load of creamer, sugar, and filled cups. But self-sufficiency was the pride of the elderly, and no one needed to take any more autonomy away from the female before it was absolutely necessary.

As Tallah set the things down, Mae nodded to the far corner of the table, where some kind of display of objects was covered with a threadbare monogrammed towel. “What’s under there?”

Usually, the female kept everything neat as a pin, the minimal amount of stuff out on the counters, tables, shelves, mantels.

“Tell me again what happened last night?” Tallah said as she lowered herself down into her chair and passed a cup and saucer over.

The porcelain twosome rattled in her unsteady grip, and the sound reverberated through Mae’s entire body. It was a relief to take the tea and end both the acoustics and the risk of a total spill, and she covered up her rush by giving a factual this-then-that of everything. Naturally, the report had redacted parts. She cut out the part where she roughed up that human woman in the wait line, and yeah, boy, there was a whole lot of gappage when it came to Shawn.

“The Reverend lied about the Book,” Tallah said as she poured some milk into her tea. “He knows exactly what it is. But perhaps not where.”

“Well, he’s not going to be a resource. He was pretty clear on that.”

As they fell into silence, Mae watched the curl of steam rising from her tea. With the cooling of the Earl Grey, the breadth of it was diminishing.

“Tallah . . .”

“What, dearest one?”

She pictured Rhoger in that cold water. “I don’t know how much more time we have.”

It wasn’t that the body was decomposing—yet. But it would. And more than that, she wasn’t sure how many more nights she could hit that Shell, and buy that ice, and go to that tub to drain the water and refill things . . .

Oh, who was she kidding. She would keep doing the job until there were only pieces of him left, nothing but a body-fluid soup in that bathroom—provided there was hope. And maybe that was what was dying for her at this moment.

She pushed the teacup away. “Tallah, this is hard for me to say.”

“Please.” The older female leaned forward and put her hand on Mae’s arm. “You can tell me anything.”

Mae focused on the flower print of the housecoat’s sleeve, the little yellow and white flowers set off in the sea of blue.

“This Book, whatever it is.” Mae looked into those watery eyes, and tried to keep the demand out of her voice, out of her expression. “I mean, what are we really doing here. I don’t want to doubt you, but I can’t . . . I’m finding it hard to keep going on this goose chase. You said the Reverend was our last hope, and we’ve come up dry. Again.”

Well, and then there was the larger issue of what she’d been told the Book would do for her. She so needed to believe resurrection was possible, but she was beginning to worry that this was how urban legends set up shop and propagated: Someone in a vulnerable state, who needed to believe there was a metaphysical solution for their problems, got served up a hoax.

Desperation could mold truth out of any lie. And even if it was from a well-intended source, there was a cruelty to the false promise of help.

With a nod, Tallah took a sip from her cup. Then she sat back, holding the tea between her gnarled hands as if they were cold. “I thought that my losing my station would be the lowest ebb of my life. But watching all that you have endured these past few years . . . it surmounts even my saddest moments. How could I not help you?”

Mae had never asked for specifics, but at one point, Tallah had been at the highest level of the aristocracy, mated unto a member of the Council. Mae’s mahmen, Lotty, had worked for her as a maid. Something had happened, though, and when Tallah had come here, Lotty had insisted on cleaning the house for free on the side—and soon enough, the whole family was involved in taking care of the older female.

How ironic that that fall from grace had ultimately saved the female’s life. If she had still lived in that grand house? She would have been killed during the raids on the property, just as Mae’s parents had been.

“The Reverend’s real name is Rehvenge,” Tallah said. “He is a member of the glymera—or was. I’m not exactly sure how many are even left the now. As I told you, I knew his mahmen very well. She used the Book herself once, and she told me of its power. That is how I first learned of it. It will provide you with what you need. I swear this on what little is left of mine own life.”

Mae ducked her eyes. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It is the truth and we both know this. I shall die soon—but unlike your brother, my time to go is as it should be. I have lived my allotment of nights. His life was taken far too soon, however, and that is a wrong that must be righted.”

Tallah reached across to the draping at the end of the table. As she pulled back the bath towel, what was revealed made no sense: White vinegar. A silver dish. Salt. A sharp knife. A lemon. A candle.