"All right let's get the hell out of here. I think we've seen enough," said Donnie. He was eyeing the door they came in from, as if he expected somebody to pop out of it. No one came. Before they left, Sam documented their findings and what she believed their implications were.

  They exited the building through the back entrance they came in from. There would be no need to alert the doorman that someone he didn't recognize was exiting, in case they had to come back.

  As they walked, they discussed the findings in the office. Evening had faded into night while they were inside. Donnie suggested heading to a nearby diner.

  "What do you think, someone was kidnapped there?" asked Donnie.

  "Did you notice the scuff marks in the chalk?" replied Sam.

  Donnie smiled. So he had noticed. Sam was impressed with her mentor's powers of observation. She wouldn't be surprised if not a single thing got past him. That meant eventually she was gonna have to come clean about a handful of secrets she had lied to him about, but for now she was happy to be learning.

  "Yeah, I did. Did you notice that room had been completely cleared out? It wasn't just the grimoire missing. There wasn't a single implement there that could be used to draw the sigil that was on the ground. Usually don't diviners keep, you know, bat piss or whatever it is they need to do magic with?"

  "Huh, you're right," admitted Sam. "No, I was so excited by noticing that the grimoire was missing and seeing that little scuff. Oh also the jacket, the jacket in the hallway closet. He thought he was gonna head into the office and then leave. What I don't understand is how he would have been taken. Someone would tend to notice a guy carrying another guy, right? Especially if he was unconscious or fighting back and not wearing his jacket."

  "Yeah, this is an odd one, Sam. Something's definitely going on. What do you make of David Wilson?"

  "Well, the whole place was just so darn clean. He spent all that time there but seemed like nobody lived there, so unless whoever took him tidied up real good afterwards, the guy was a neat freak."

  Donnie smiled again. Sam couldn't help but be proud that her teacher approved of her response. She wasn't the type to try hard in school, but if any of her teachers had ever given her a tough time, she'd apply herself for a few days and get good enough marks that they'd get off her case, then go back to not paying attention. In the military her training went smooth. Learning sorcery came pretty naturally to her. Emil kept on calling her thick but he didn't have to show her nothing twice.

  "That's my read, too. That, combined with what his ex-wife told us, I don't think he's on vacation."

  "Hey Donnie, mind if I ask you a question?"

  "Shoot."

  "You said your name was Dante. Why do you go by Donnie?"

  Donnie laughed. "That's a good question," he said.

  "See, when I was a soldier working in the city, city soldiers are given a partner after a certain rank. My first partner, a guy named Carl Willis, was a prick. He was a racist old bastard. He wondered why they would hire a black guy for an investigative position. He said my name was too ethnic so he started calling me Donnie. The uneducated bastard didn't know that Dante is an old Italian name. It's actually short for an older name: Durante. But the guy that wrote the tour guide to Hell, he was named Dante."

  "Anyway, me and Carl were working a case. Despite being a racist piece of shit, he did show me the ropes. He said it was so that I wouldn't get him killed one day when we were out on the job.

  "So we were working a case. A woman got robbed but she ID'd the attacker so we found out where the guy lived and went to pick him up. He didn't want to open the door so Carl told me to kick it down. I did knock down the door but I stumbled and fell. The guy had a gun. It was the first time I saw a gun. I had no idea where he got it. He must have stolen it from some rich guy. Anyway, the guy shoots at me. Carl jumps in front and takes a bullet for me. Three, actually. I'll never understand why he did that, 'cause he died. But ever since then I let people call me Donnie.

  "I'm not big on prayin' or grieving but Carl saved my life. Old asshole."

  "Pretty good reason for a nickname," said Sam.

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  The next morning Sam and Donnie met a few blocks away from Philip Hoffman's house. The diviner lived in the suburbs, not technically outside the city but far enough out that the houses had lawns and the streets had trees. Electric street lamps still lit the early morning. Housewives walked their dogs across the street.

  Sam and Donnie reviewed their plans. They didn't bother stopping by City Hall for blueprints of Mr. Hoffman's house. They'd be able to tell enough of the layout from the outside.

  The house was squat, one-story, with wood siding painted blue. It was a cute place with a manicured lawn, a few ornamental trees and bushes in front of the house. It was the sort of place Sam imagined herself living if her life was really boring. She'd live here if she was a housewife who collected coupons for the local grocer and waited on her man to come home from work.

  They walked past nonchalantly, waiting for there to be no traffic or dog walkers. As they walked, Donnie explained that suburban neighborhoods like this always had eyes on you.

  "You never can tell when some old lady is going to be staring at you through the curtains or has herself designated as neighborhood watch, or some bored housewife is going to stick her head out and look at the strangers. We've got to make our way in quick. Let's go around back," he explained.

  They went around the back of the house. They knew Philip Hoffman was unmarried because no marriage record existed in City Hall, and the man had lived here his entire life. They couldn't rule out a live-in partner, though. Although couples living together before marriage was unusual, it did happen from time to time.

  They saw no signs of activity from the inside, nor did they see any from the neighbors. They judged the coast clear enough to jimmy the lock on the back door. They were surprised when they didn't need to. It was unlocked so they just opened the door and walked in.

  They entered the house into the kitchen. To the left a living room and in front of them a dining room. The house was sparsely decorated, if at all. This was the home of a bachelor. That relieved Sam's tension about finding another occupant of the house.

  They began a careful review of each room, starting from the left, working their way from ceiling to floor, then moving on to the next room, ceiling to floor. They found nothing of interest until they walked down a long hallway, where they found Philip Hoffman's ritual room. This room also served as his home office. Unlike Mr. Wilson, Mr. Hoffman did not seem to care that his clients saw the workings of the magic he performed.

  This room they treated more carefully. They both worked together, going around the room clockwise from ceiling to floor. This room's walls were lined with the implements of sorcery. Long-bladed knives hung from decorative iron-forged hooks screwed into the walls. Shelves containing jars of blood from various creatures sat sealed with cork stoppers. The back wall of the room, furthest from the door, contained ritual vessels of offering, silver bowls, and wooden chalices.

  The wall opposite the tools, next in line, just had windows, one of which Donnie opened as he passed. The entire house was on the ground level so if anyone came in through either the front or the back door, they'd be able to just jump outside and make their escape.

  "I'll start looking through the desk," said Sam. "Will you take a look at the floor level and see if there is anything secret or hidden in this room?"

  Sam went over to the desk, started opening drawers. Philip Hoffman was far less neat and tidy than David Wilson. Drawers were packed full of papers, stationery, various bits of junk, paper clips, rubber bands. This gave the impression of a man who knew he didn't have to care what his clients thought because they were going to pay him anyway because he was one of the only diviners in town.

  Sam took her lessons well and began reviewing the contents of each drawer in order, starting from top to bottom. Most of the papers were correspondence with diviners across the country, talking about various collaborations they could engage in and various projects they could work on. Sam filed those aside, resolved to bring them with her, organized for her dossier. The rest of the papers were not nearly as compelling with regard to what they were looking for: financial records, bank account statements, and bills to various clients and for various services rendered. Sam stacked and organized those. She'd bring them with her too.

  Next was the long, thin drawer in the middle of the desk. It was full of pens, pencils, a letter opener, various bits of junk, and old mints still in their wrappers.

  Sam was inspired by Donnie's attempt to find a false bottom at Wilson's desk. She rapped her knuckles against the bottom while pressing her hand against the top. She was surprised when she found the two did not connect. She couldn't feel the vibrations of her knocking on her fingertips.

  She pulled the drawer out further and lifted it against the dividers. The bottom of the drawer lifted. She'd found a secret compartment.

  Donnie had been paying close attention. He smiled.

  "You'd actually be surprised how often there are false bottom drawers in desks," he said.

  "Remind me to get one installed in mine," she replied. "I'll use it for secret cigars."

  She pulled out a thin notebook with handwritten notes inside, documenting Philip Hoffman's attempts at creating a new contract. Entries indicated he'd been working on the project with David Wilson. They were trying to create a new contract with Bathym the Vast. According to the notes, the contract would create a space that was larger on the inside than it was on the outside.

  Sam knew from Emil's training that Bathym the Vast was a Duke of Hell. In exchange for offerings of precious gems, he would bring a person across great distances. Hence his name.

  A contract like this would be a major achievement for any sorcerer but the wording had to be precise and perfect. It would explain Hoffman's need for collaborators. A second pair of eyes would be necessary lest he create an effect where walking into it would be a disaster.

  "Great find," said Donnie as he reviewed alongside her. "So they were working together. What's missing in this room though? Did you notice?"

  "Yeah," said Sam. "Philip Hoffman's grimoire is also nowhere in this house."