There was no body. The ground was bare. I didn’t believe Jerry. Insisted on checking for myself. Walked all around the building — nothing. Which means she disappeared in midair, or someone cleaned up ultra-quick after her, or she really did learn to fly.

I retired to my office once I’d abandoned the search. Told Mags to let nobody disturb me, not even Jerry or Frank. Sat on the floor, surrounded by dolls, and gave myself over to madness. But it refused to take me, and after a slew of numb hours, I replayed my brief conversation with Conchita and recalled what she’d said before taking off. “Ferdy wants to see you.”

“Ferdy” was Conchita’s pet name for The Cardinal. I’m not sure what she meant — Dorak was human, so I can’t imagine any way for him to return — but as I play her words over, I begin to think that I know what she wanted. Leaving my fortress of dolls and memories, I order a limo — Thomas is still off work, recovering from the crack over the head Adrian gave him before taking his place at Solvert’s — and tell the driver to take me to the Fridge.

The Fridge is another of The Cardinal’s grotesque playthings. A huge morgue, home to thousands who died in his employ or opposing him. The dead lie in refrigerated caskets, preserved against the ravages of time, awaiting Judgment Day and the call to arise. I’ve added my fair share of corpses to the pile but never visited personally until now.

The Fridge is camouflaged by the shell of an old building. Access is through computer-coded doors. Inside, row upon row of metal caskets, stacked five high, twenty wide. The rows stretch ahead, seemingly without end, and rise all the way to the distant ceiling.