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She gestured toward the closet’s open door. An antique steamer trunk sat on the floor.

“It’s in there. I started trying to sort his things. I thought maybe his parents might want them . . .”

She drifted off. Dautre gave her a consoling glance as Adam looked with his Sight to make sure there weren’t any traps waiting for them.

He opened the lid to find a tray full of clean socks and underwear, all rolled and folded with more care than he’d expected. Lifting it out, he immediately recoiled.

A wolf mask, not unlike the ones worn by the Lost Ones who’d chased him the day before, sat atop a shiny black cloak, the kind you’d buy for a Halloween costume. Beneath that, something glowed.

Adam set the mask and cloak aside to extract a bottle. There were twelve in total. Mason jars, like the kind his aunt had used for canning when her tarot clients brought her vegetables in trade for their fortunes. All were tightly sealed, their lids marked with runes and spells drawn in black marker.

Six contained a glowing insect, each like a tiny, winged star. They had different auras. Adam handled them carefully as he lifted them out and lined them up on the floor.

“What are they?” Emily asked.

“Souls.” Adam sorted through the row and picked one up, feeling his way with his Sight. The essence within was butterfly shaped. It glowed a mossy green. “This one is his.”

“Clever,” Dautre said. “Hiding them behind the wards on this house.”

Adam had to agree. Dautre himself had reinforced them, and Emily’s craft was not weak. Their summoning hadn’t worked because the jars were here, behind a magical firewall.

“But why are they here?” Emily asked. “Why is he here?”

“He expected to catch more.” Adam counted the empty jars. The spells on them were primed but hadn’t been triggered. “At the concert, I suspect. But we stopped the banshee before it could do more damage, before it grabbed more of us.”

Adam shuddered. If he hadn’t had his earbuds . . . If White hadn’t tortured him . . .

He had to push it aside. He couldn’t play what if, not right now. What had happened, had happened. They’d gotten lucky that he’d thought to bring something to help with the noise.

“Going to the concert was Cole’s idea, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah . . .”

“He did it on purpose,” Adam said. “He gave himself to the banshee.”

“But why?” Emily repeated, and there was some anger mixed with her grief.

Adam’s eyes flicked from the jar in his hand to the anarchy flag hanging on the wall and the dirty Magneto Was Right shirt lying in the corner. He thought back to every conversation with Cole. Cynicism had laced them, a sense that there was no making it better. He’d particularly hated that Adam worked with the elves.

“Because he wanted to burn it down, all of it—the royals, the watchtowers. He had to know he might get trapped too, but he was willing to die for the cause.”

“You think Cole did this?”

“I don’t see how anyone else would have,” Adam said, turning the jar around. He had to admire the spellcraft. More ritual magic, it was complex and set to go off when a final phrase was uttered. Cole had likely muttered it at the concert. It would be easy to pretend he was singing along.

“Why?” Emily shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Which is probably why the cult didn’t try to recruit you.”

Dautre looked pained, like he wanted to comfort Emily. It was a strange look for the stolid elf, but Adam had to admit that seeing it endeared Dautre to him just a little bit more.

“What should we do with the souls?” Dautre asked.

“We take them to the hospital and break the seals. They should return to their bodies.”

“What about Cole?” Emily nodded at the jar in Adam’s hand.

“We’ll set him free.”