“Where is it?” she asked, stepping over a burnt two-by-four.

I scanned the overcooked wreckage. Most of the drywall that had divided the rooms was ash, which made it difficult to get oriented. About halfway down the northernmost wall, I spotted a metal pillar, about three feet wide, that stretched up to the second story. The wooden planks that had formed a closet-sized enclosure around it were little more than charcoal now.

I nodded toward the structure. “This way.”

We picked a path through the maze of melted plastic, scorched furniture, and the odd lump of super-seared god-knows-what. I stopped at the pillar.

She shone her light over it. “It doesn’t look like anything.”

“That’s the idea.”

As I ran my hand over the blackened steel, searching for the indent Quentin had described, a new beam of light swept across the room. I spun around, Lienna mimicking me.

A silhouette in the doorway pointed a much brighter flashlight at our faces, and I scrunched my eyes painfully.

“This building’s off-limits,” the man called.

“Crap,” Lienna muttered.

“Rogue mythic?” I guessed, shielding my eyes with one hand.

She released her satchel. “Security.”

The man lowered his eye-abusing light enough that I could make out his clothes—a security guard uniform. As he strode into the rubble with a self-important bent to his shoulders, I eyed him. Late twenties but sporting a thick, immaculately groomed brown mustache that belonged on a much older man.

“You two can’t be in here.” His jaw smacked as he chewed a massive wad of pink bubblegum. “Door is that way. Move along.”

“MPD.” Lienna flashed her badge at him. “We’re here on official business.”

“Whoa there, miss. Let me get a closer look at that badge.”

Rolling her eyes, she held out her badge once more.

I stifled a grin. It was nice to see someone else on the receiving end of that eye roll. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

The guard examined her badge. “I’ve never seen one like this before. MPD? What are you two kids trying to pull?”

Kids? Seriously, dude? He wasn’t that much older than us. Big brother older, sure, but definitely not father-figure older, which was how he was acting. What did this guy do for fun? Shake his cane at teenagers, take early walks in the mall, and compare prune juice brands?

Lienna pushed her ponytail of dark hair off her shoulder. “You don’t know what the MPD is?”

“No, and I’m not playing your game. Now take yourselves to the door, please.”

Blinking, she glanced at me as though asking what to do. I shrugged in answer. Guess an overzealous security guard hadn’t come up in her one whole case before this, which had been arresting me in LA.

Drawing herself up, she levelled the man with her stern agent stare. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to explain. You’ll need to contact your superiors for an explanation.”

His patronizing smile fizzled away. “Excuse me?”

“Call your superiors and tell them that an MPD agent is investigating this building.”

The guard crossed his arms. “I don’t appreciate being the butt of practical jokes.”

Of course you don’t, grandpa.

Lienna mirrored his stance with a scowl. I could practically see her patience level plunging into negative numbers.

“Make the call,” she ordered.

After an unexpectedly protracted standoff, during which I had to stifle several amused snorts, the guard gave in and pulled out his cell phone. He grudgingly dialed a number.

“Hey, this is Trevor Eggert.” He turned half away from us as though that would prevent us from overhearing his every word. “I’m over here at the Skyler building on Clark and Powell … No … no, the one that burned down last week … Yeah …”

While Eggert tried to convey his location to whoever was on the other line, I leaned toward Lienna and whispered, “You should’ve just hit him with a doom marble.”

Eggert finished describing the two “kids” trying to bypass his authority, then paused to listen. “Are you sure? Absolutely sure?”

Apparently, the person on the other end was for sure sure, because our friendly neighborhood watchman hung up with a defeated frown.

“I don’t know who you two are,” he grumbled, “but I’ll be just outside here, so no funny business.”

“Sure thing, Eggsy.” I waved as he trudged back across the room, then canted my head at Lienna. “You MPD agents are like the FBI. You just say the word and all lowlier forms of law enforcement get lost, huh?”

“The system wouldn’t work if MPD agents were getting arrested left and right.” She gestured at the pillar. “Go ahead.”

Eyebrows arched, I turned back to the steel structure. Maybe I was biased, but the MPD had too much power. Magic was a big secret, but like most good secrets, all the important people in the world were in on it—the uppermost ranks of police, military, government, and business included. And the MPD used those connections to keep mythics out of prison and law enforcement well away from magic.

Musing about checks and balances and magical oligarchies—not that I’m an expert, but you learn things when you hang out with smooth criminal types—I stepped close to the pillar again.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

I slid my hands over the scorched surface until my fingertips bumped across a shallow etching. “This.”

She felt the spot and frowned. “A rune?”

“I just need to remember the password.”

“You mean the incantation?”

“Sure, yeah. An open sesame kind of thing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We came all this way and you don’t remember the spell?”

“One of the words started with an A, I think.”

“If this is all a misguided attempt to waste my time or figure out how to escape, I will make sure they tack extra years onto your sentence.”

“Hold on, Kojak,” I said. “How good’s your Latin?”

“Very.”

“Really?”

“I’m a sorcerer. I’ve been studying Latin since I was six.”

“Okay, so can you say the word ‘open’ in Latin?”

“Patentibus.”

“… and then the word ‘door’?”

“Ianua.”

We both waited for the glowing outline of a door to appear, Mines of Moria style. At least, that’s what I was waiting for.

When nothing happened, I tapped my chin. “How about the Latin word for ‘friend’?”

She glared at me.

“I thought it would work,” I protested innocently. “I Google-translated the phrase after Quentin told me so I wouldn’t forget. I’m pretty sure it was just ‘open door.’”

“Latin is too complicated for an online translation. There are close to eighty versions of the word ‘open,’ depending on the meaning.” She put her hand on the rune again and whispered, “Ori aperio ianuam.”

The rune beneath her fingers lit up like a glow stick and we stepped back. The bright light spun in concentric circles, and as it died down, a loud click echoed through the space.