“It’s okay,” she said again, emphatically. Her look of concern was gone; her expression was now one of soft surprise. “Uncle Norm and I have dealt with a lot worse over the years. He and I always take care of each other. You don’t have to worry.”

  Leopold gave a small nod. “I’m sure that’s true,” he said quietly, fixing her with a steady look. “But I will anyway.”

  Her eyes rounded before she looked away, staring at her boots as she smiled. “Uncle Norm and I appreciate your concern.”

  A small, sharp feeling flared to life inside him, the sensation both painful and joyful. Through the window behind her a flurry of yellow sparks lit the dark, then vanished.

  When Isabel looked up, her face had changed. Her smile had become a grimace, her brows knit together. Her hands had balled into fists.

  Leopold tensed.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, waving away his concern as she grimaced in pain. Her cheeks had gone a deathly pale. She pressed one hand hard against her side.

  “What do you need?” he said urgently. “What can I do?”

  “You can stop…freaking out,” she said, her breath coming in uneven gasps. “And you can get me…that vial…” She nodded down at her belt. “With the black liquid.”

  Hurrying, he flipped open her cloak. Secured with a snap between the looped rope and the old TV remote was a small glass vial in a leather pouch.

  “This one?”

  She nodded. He unsnapped the piece that held it in place and drew it out. A splinter of wood floated in murky liquid. The vial was etched with the word Enceladus and stoppered with a cork.

  “Need to drink,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  He opened it, careful not to let any spill as the car leaned around a curve. She was fading by the second, and it was scaring the hell out of him. He slid a hand behind her neck and raised her head until her lips met the bottle. She took a sip, paused, then took another. Isabel squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw like she’d swallowed poison, but after a few seconds her face began to relax.

  Her eyes opened.

  She took the bottle from his hand with a faint thank you, then took another sip of her own accord. She grimaced again as color began returning to her cheeks.

  “Maybe we should get you to a hospital,” said Leopold.

  “They couldn’t help me anyway. And I’m fine now.”

  “You’re not fine. Nothing about that was fine. What just happened?”

  She took another sip. And then he realized.

  “The Doppel-Buddy,” he said.

  She nodded, then squinted at him. “So Norm told you.”

  “Yeah. But I don’t get it…That was a pretty minor spell, right? Not like portaling us across the city.”

  Then again, in the aftermath of that escape he’d been unconscious. He had no idea what torments she might have endured before he awoke.

  “I didn’t think it would be this bad,” she said. “But the effects of multiple casts are cumulative, like radiation exposure. I guess I needed more time to recover from last night.” Shaking her head in frustration, she pushed up the sleeve that covered her right arm. Beneath was the maze of pink scars he’d noticed earlier, but now there was a new one: red, angry, and tracing a crooked line from wrist to forearm.

  “God. Isabel.” His chest constricted at the sight. “Why do you—if you know it’s going to hurt you—”

  “Most are from when I was younger. And angrier, and stupider.” She tapped a drop of the murky liquid from the vial onto her fresh wound. It hissed like a branding iron. She winced as a curl of smoke rose from her arm. “And sometimes you don’t have a choice.”

  He looked at her, letting a moment pass before he said, “What do you mean?”

  Isabel hesitated, returning his gaze for only a moment before her eyes darted away. She capped the bottle, stowed it back in its holster, then yanked her sleeve down again.

  “Isabel.” His mouth pulled into a grim line. “Please. I need you to promise me you won’t cast anymore.”

  The windows flashed from dark to light as the trolley emerged briefly from underground, and for a moment Leopold couldn’t see her against a blinding blast of sun. He shaded his eyes, and when she came into focus again, she had a curious, slightly bemused look on her face.

  “What?” said Leopold.

  “Nothing.” Isabel turned away as the window dimmed.

  “Look,” he said with a sigh, “whatever happens, whatever the situation is, we’ll deal with it some other way. You don’t need to cast. You can count on me—I’ve got your back.”

  Her eyes were heavy and uncertain, as if she wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure how to begin. Then she turned suddenly to look out the window, where a new subway platform came flashing into view. She reached up to pull a cord that ran along the ceiling and a sign came alight above the operator’s station: Stop Requested.

  With a squeal of brakes, the trolley began to slow.

  Fifty-Nine

  With the empty subway car idling behind them, they hurried across another small, bunker-like maintenance platform. A low corridor led to a steep concrete staircase. Halfway to the top Leopold felt pressure build in his ears, then release as they passed through a veil. At the landing there was a posted reminder about hiding focusers and extinguishing any visible spells. They pushed through a metal door and stumbled out into blinding sun and traffic noise.

  Leopold pulled his beanie low and donned his sunglasses. They were on Santa Monica Boulevard, across the street from a bustling carwash and a payday loan place, only a few blocks from the gates of Hollywood Forever. With a bang the heavy door slammed shut behind them. It had no exterior handle and was built into the side of an aggressively anonymous two-story building, its windowless edifice betraying nothing of the secrets that lay within. Leopold scanned the blank door and surrounding wall for a slot, a keyhole, or some other method of reentry, but there were none.

  There’d be no going back this way.

  They headed for the cemetery, inexplicably beheaded palms striping the sidewalk with their pencil-thin shadows. As they dodged pits and potholes, Leopold’s spiraling thoughts returned to Emmet. Once they got his friend to safety—and found a way to help him—Leopold would figure out what the device suctioned to his chest was for. There’d be time to discover what his mother had wanted from him—and what other purpose the Thomas Guide was meant to serve in his life, if any.

  There would be time for all of it, he promised himself.

  Leopold and Isabel walked alone into the cemetery, through a flank of iron gates, past a wooden sign carved with an infinity symbol and words veiled from slack eyes: All-Realm Resting Place.

  They crossed an expanse of manicured lawn where peacocks roamed, fanning their tailfeathers for tourists, and hurried into the cemetery proper. Beyond a few rows of modest graves by the entrance, the cemetery was dominated by ostentatious crypts and tombs, their size appropriate to the egos of the old-Hollywood moguls and movie stars whose bones they contained. They avoided a tour group snapping selfies by the grave of Rudolph Valentino, then another meandering toward a mausoleum that housed the earthly remains of Judy Garland. Leopold and Isabel were headed for the southeastern end of the cemetery and one of the newer celebrity interments: the grave of Johnny Ramone. His life-sized, guitar-wielding monument was unmissable, and Leopold had suggested Emmet meet him there because it was one of the few landmarks he was certain Emmet would know, even with his memory revised back to age fourteen.

  Leopold quickly checked the sky: no spying crows in sight.

  In the distance he could see the wall that marked the border between Hollywood Forever and the Paramount Pictures backlot, a block-wide metropolis of soundstages and prop workshops whose tall, curving roofs gazed down upon a million graves. He’d always thought it the height of LA weirdness that such an insubstantial border separated this self-contained city of make-believe—the place where they’d shot CSI and Star Trek—from the final resting place of the people who’d made them. As if the studio might one day reboot The Ten Commandments and resurrect Cecil B. DeMille to pop next door and direct a few scenes.

  Leopold pulled out his phone and checked for new texts, but there were none. He’d been struggling to compartmentalize his anxiety about Emmet all morning, but they were so close now that he could no longer rein it in. They jogged around a grove of cypress trees and an enormous crypt, and then, despite pleas from Isabel to be cool and not attract attention, Leopold broke into a full-on run.

  There, lounging in the grass beside the bronze statue of Johnny Ramone and his guitar, was Emmet. He wore one of their old, homemade paladin costumes, black boots and a green army coat with a bandolier of fake Aether vials strapped across his chest. He was munching from a greasy bag of Astroburger, a slightly concerning absence in his expression as he studied the clouds.

  Leopold shouted his name.

  Emmet snapped out of it, surprised—then visibly annoyed. “Jesus, what took you so long?” He dropped the Astroburger bag and hopped to his feet. “I’ve watched, like, three funerals already.”

  “Hey, are you okay? How are you?”

  “What? I’m fine—”

  “You didn’t talk to anybody, did you?” Leopold had grabbed him by the shoulders and was peering into his eyes. “Who’s the president? What year is it?”

  Emmet shook him off uncomfortably. “Why are you being weird? And where’s your costume, Mister Berry? This whole video project was your—”

  Emmet stopped midsentence.

  “Uh, hi,” he said over Leopold’s shoulder. Then, to Leopold in a whisper: “Larry. Girl.”

  Isabel raised her eyebrows at Leopold. Mister Berry? she mouthed, stifling a laugh.

  Leopold grimaced. “Isabel, this is my old friend Emmet. Emmet, this is my new friend Isabel.”

  “Hey.” She lifted a hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “What’ve you heard?” Emmet said, looking both confused and suspicious. “Wait—how do you two know each other?”

  “We, uh—we met at school,” Leopold improvised.

  Emmet’s eyes narrowed. “Our school?”

  “Different school,” Leopold said quickly. “Hal’s school.”

  “Your stepbrother goes to our school, idiot.”

  “Right. That’s what I meant. Same school.” Leopold forced a casual smile, but he was starting to sweat. “Look, Emmet, we have to get going. Let’s pack up your tripod.”

  “But you just got here!” Emmet shouted. “We have a full day of shooting ahead of us!”

  “I know, I’m sorry, something important came up—”

  “Excuse us a sec,” Emmet said to Isabel, then pulled Leopold around to the other side of Johnny Ramone’s grave. “Seriously, Larry, what the hell is going on? You come all the way over here just to cancel the shoot?” He frowned, looking Leopold up and down. “Wait a second, did you get taller?”

  Leopold stalled. “No?”

  Emmet’s frown deepened, but he let it go. “Is this about her?” he said instead. “I mean, no offense, you’re a handsome gentleman and everything, but your chances with a girl like that are insanely low. Forget it. I’ve already got this shot framed up—”

  “Hey,” Isabel said, coming into view. She looked wary. “Everything okay?”

  “This is a private conversation,” Emmet said irritably.

  “Not when you’re shouting,” she pointed out. “Everyone in this graveyard can hear what you’re saying. And you should know: Leopold is only trying to help you.”

  “Leopold?” Emmet barked a laugh. “Nobody calls him that. His name is Larry—”

  “Emmet,” Leopold hissed. “Let it go, man.”

  “Whatever.” Emmet was studying Isabel unkindly. “Listen, Yoko, you’re already in costume, so I guess we can pencil you into the script—”

  “You can call me Isabel.”

  “—but it won’t be a major part, so don’t get your hopes up—”

  “All right, that’s enough.” Leopold grabbed Emmet by the arm, half dragging him across the grass. “She’s not wearing a costume.”

  Emmet broke away from Leopold angrily. “What the hell is your deal, man? I know an apprentice paladin’s cloak when I see one. The props on her belt are a dead giveaway—and you can’t just drag me out of here, all my gear is still on the ground.”

  “Fine. Grab your things, but we’re leaving. I’ll explain everything later, I promise. Right now you’re just going to have to trust me.”

  Emmet dusted himself off, then shot Leopold a scouring glare. “This is massively uncool,” he said. “At least tell me where we’re going.”

  “To my place,” Isabel cut in. She was already walking, Emmet’s tripod gathered under her arm. “We’re, um, going to watch a movie.”

  “Hey!” Emmet was pointing. “She’s taking my stuff!”

  Leopold had forgotten how much Emmet used to shout when he was younger. Drove his parents crazy.

  “I’m just helping,” Isabel called back to them. “Where’d you park your car?”

  “What car?” Emmet scoffed. “We can’t drive!” He turned to Leopold as they started after her, lowering his voice a little. “Who the hell is this girl? How old is she? And what’s up with everyone today? God, my head is killing me,” he said, rubbing his temples. Leopold scooped up Emmet’s camera bag without slowing. “Everything has been so weird. My room is different. My phone’s all different. You’re hanging out with some hot girl who’s probably going to rob us. Even my parents were acting weird today—my mom kept crying for no reason and my dad refused to let me leave the house. I had to sneak out, can you believe it? I took the bus here.” Emmet paused, fixed Leopold with a funny look, and said, “You know, you really do look different. When did you start working out?”

  “There’s a metro stop a couple blocks from the cemetery!” Isabel shouted from up ahead.

  “Hey,” Leopold said. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. We’re going to fix this, I promise—”

  But Emmet’s eyes had gone glassy. A drop of blood leaked out of one nostril and blotched his costume.

  Leopold tried not to panic. “Whoa—you okay? Your nose—”

  “Ahh, crap,” said Emmet, still walking as he pulled an old, bloodied tissue from his pocket. “This has been happening all day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Probably just the dry air…”

  Emmet’s faraway look had returned.

  Everything was coming unraveled. Leopold wondered whether they’d even be able to guide him through a crosswalk without a full-blown freak-out. They’d just cleared a small hill when Leopold heard something that made him go cold.

  “Larry! Emmet!”

  Emmet frowned, then turned around. “What the…Mom?”

  Dr. Laura Worthington was hiking toward them, small in the distance but fast approaching across the grass. But that wasn’t the half of it—or even the worst of it.

  Striding along beside her was Richter.

  Sixty

  Leopold, Emmet, and Isabel came to a crashing halt, the three of them toppling together, then freezing in a parody of a police lineup. Leopold wondered if he was dreaming.

  Then he heard his name, bellowed by his father.

  “Larry! Don’t you dare run away from me!”

  That nails-on-a-chalkboard voice, somehow both nasal and baritone, was evidence enough: This was no dream. I can’t believe he used to scare me, Leopold thought.

  Isabel grabbed Leopold’s arm. “That’s your dad?”

  He met her eyes, then stared down at her hand on him, surprised. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Hey, uh, you’re cutting off my circulation.”

  “Sorry.” She pulled away, then looked ahead. “I just—I swear I’ve seen him before.”

  Leopold frowned. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know— His face looks so familiar—”

  “You probably saw him on a billboard,” Leopold suggested. “That big one on Sunset?”

  “Mom!” Emmet hollered, then waved. “Did you bring any snacks?”

  “Stay right there, baby!” Dr. Worthington waved back from afar. “Don’t move!”

  “Okay, Mom! Love you!”

  “Dude. Stop.” Leopold yanked Emmet’s arm down. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

  Emmet reared back. “Whoa, Mister Berry, language. When did you start using the F-word?”

  Leopold narrowed his eyes at his dad. “Yesterday.”

  Emmet started giggling. He looked high, and his nose was bleeding again. His head swung around as he took in the scenery, then wobbled upright. “Holy moly, your girlfriend has a limiknife!” he said, his words slurring a little. “Can I hold it?”

  Leopold cast a sidelong glance at Isabel. “Take care of him, I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” she said, sounding panicked. She was looking from him to Emmet, who was making half-hearted efforts to snatch the knife off her holster.

  “I have to talk to the parents,” Leopold said. “Convince them to give us some space.”

  “Then take this with you.” She pressed something into his hand. “There’s an easy trigger.”

  He felt the slide of cool metal, the warmth of her hand, a spark of heat in his belly. For a fraction of a second, he forgot what he was doing. He blinked, looking at her. “What is it?”

  “My uncle calls it a bewilderlite. Theoretically, it’ll make them forget everything that happened to them in the last half hour.”

  It was the size and shape of a small light bulb, but heavy, cast entirely in riveted gunmetal. Leopold raised his eyebrows. “Theoretically?”

  “It hasn’t been tested much.” She had the decency to look sheepish. “Maybe try not to use it if you don’t have to.”