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Clara paced the front parlor, glancing out onto the street every five minutes, waiting for Marguerite's return. She had gone out to the police station, despite Clara's protests, to warn them of Red's kidnapping and the most likely perpetrator. She swore the department would look more kindly on their actions to get him back if they were kept informed.
Wesley sat in a chair against the wall where no prying eyes could spy him. His foot beat out a tattoo as he read through the newspaper. "It appears that Lady Beltza's funeral has been announced," he said absentmindedly.
Clara wrung her hands, completely uninterested in society gossip. "What could be keeping her?" she uttered aloud for the twentieth time. "Do you think that Marguerite has been taken, too?"
"Clara," said Wesley. "Come here."
She walked over to his chair and sat on the floor beside him, resting her head upon his leg. "She should be here by now."
Wesley glanced up at the mantle clock. "She is only an hour late." He bent over and placed a comforting kiss upon her head. "She will be back."
"If anything happens to Red..." Clara stated, her sentiment trailing off. She clutched Wesley's arms. "What if they kill him?"
He shushed her. "They won't kill him. If they've figured out who he is, they'll know how valuable he is to us. They won't kill him for as long as they can use him."
"Was this all for nothing, though?" asked Clara. "Did we place the life of our friend at risk for absolutely naught?"
"Clara," Wesley said, stopping her train of thought. "He knew what he was getting into. He has survived among a much rougher crowd. He would not have placed himself into any sort of danger if he thought there was any lurking."
Clara clung to the scarab which now she, Wesley, and Marguerite wore. Perhaps Red had experience with fighting off the thugs in town, but this danger was not the sort which could be solved with smarts or fists.
At that moment, Mr. Willard entered with a note on a silver platter. "This arrived just a few moments ago," he said, holding out the tray to Clara.
She took it off and tore open the envelope. She pulled out the paper. Sure enough, it had the four door watermark in the corner. "It says that we are to bring the money tonight to a cemetery located at the address enclosed if we wish to see Red alive again. A cemetery..."
"Wait," Wesley said with sudden interest. He stood, took the newspaper, and spread it out on the coffee table before Clara.
"What is it?" she asked, leaning forward to see.
"The burial announcement for Trevor's mother," said Wesley, "Look! It is for the same address."
Though the trapping of a formal funeral had fallen out of fashion, it stood to reason that the Beltza family would most likely have a large procession with mourners.
"What a perfect opportunity for the Quatre Portes to gather in one place," mused Clara.
"No one would suspect them of ulterior motives," added Wesley. He pointed to a map which had been placed in the paper. "How interesting that they would put a map with the procession route to the new cemetery."
"Look at how the streets are laid out!" Clara exclaimed. She ran into the study and began looking through the stacks of paper which had built up in the past few weeks. She came back with a small, crumpled paper. The night that Marguerite's partner, Norman Scettico, had died, he had drawn a maze. She had thought it just a map of Horace Oroberg's basement, but now she placed it on the table beside the picture in the newspaper. It matched the roads on the map perfectly.
Wesley gave a low whistle. "So not only is this group building these rooms with four doors in the cellars of homes, they have controlled the entire layout of the city?"
Clara nodded fearfully. "If these rooms are capable of holding and focusing power, imagine what could be unleashed if such a structure was scaled larger, so that the power gathered was from all the living souls in the town."
Wesley shook his head fearfully. "And what is at the center of this? What is our room with four doors?"
"The new cemetery," said Clara, pointing at the square green park with gates on four sides. "And at the center?"
"I am terrified to ask," confessed Wesley.
"Then let me inform the both of you," said Marguerite walking into the room with a large bag in her hand.
"Marguerite!" Clara exclaimed.
"Sorry about my delay," she said, "But I figured out what was going on the moment I saw the funeral announcement for Lady Rhoda Beltza." Marguerite walked over to the map and placed her finger on the cemetery they had just been looking at, confirming Clara's worst suspicions. "This cemetery, to stay at the front of fashion, has decided to break away with common themes and to introduce an Egyptian flair to the architectural design of their new mausoleum."
"Oh no..." said Clara.
Marguerite looked at the little slip of paper Clara had placed on the map. "What is that?" she asked.
"The night Norman died, he drew this," said Clara. "It matches perfectly."
Marguerite smiled affectionately, shaking her head. "He figured it out before all of us."
"It just took us this long to understand," Wesley added.
"So what do we do now?" asked Clara.
Marguerite placed her bag upon the table. "As you know, Norman and I tracked something wicked across the continent for over fifteen years. We learned a thing or two about protecting ourselves from the monsters Peter Nero's artifacts stirred up."
Wesley took a look at all of the items Marguerite had brought back with her. Candles and swathes of cloth and weapons of various sizes. "What are you proposing, Marguerite?"
Marguerite looked over at Clara. "I don't know about you, but I’m getting a little tired of the Beltza family ruining our lives. I say we go and get Red back."
"We are with you," said Wesley.
"Good," said Marguerite. "Because I have a plan." She threw a long white sheet at Wesley. "What do you say we help all those death-lovers see a ghost?"