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be with him. He pushed through the heavy curtain folds, stepping onto a narrow walkway of grated metal. There was a spiral staircase beside him. In front of him, a hallway ran back into darkness. To the left and right were the entrances to more hallways. The walls between these hallways were solid, made of dark wood. Footsteps echoed from floors above and below.
    Oliver looked at a gold plate on the wall in front of him. An arrow pointed left beneath the numbers: 16–32. Oliver headed that way, then turned down the next aisle.
    The floor and the low ceiling were still made of grated metal, but the walls on either side alternated between sets of black curtains and wood. Beside each set of curtains was a number. Oliver made his way to the curtains numbered eighteen.
    â€œEnter,” the Catalog whispered.
    He pushed through the curtains, into a dark chamber lit only by a candle on each wall. Incense smoke lingered in the still, humid air, with a scent of coriander and cinnamon. There was a single pillow in the center of a small rug. Oliver sat down on it, then looked ahead into pitch-darkness.
    â€œZombie raising,” Oliver said again.
    Two glowing blue eyes lit in the dark. There was a grinding sound, and a stone pedestal slid forward. On it sat a figure shrouded in dark crimson robes, its face hidden in the shadow of a hood, except for the glowing eyes. “Continue,” he said in a soft monotone voice.
    Oliver paused. He’d sat with a Codex before and knew that in order to access the vast oral history it contained, he had to narrow his search by explaining what he was looking for. That required him saying things that he’d been keeping to himself. But the Codex were governed by strict confidentiality, so he didn’t need to worry. Doctors are supposed to be confidential, too , Oliver reminded himself. Well, he had little choice but to continue. “How to detect a zombie’s master.”
    The Codex took a deep, labored breath, and there was a clinking of chains. The Codex were hundreds, sometimes thousand-year-old vampires. Only brilliant academics were chosen for the transformation. The reward was that you were kept alive eternally by enchantments and filled with the complete oral knowledge of one tome of subjects. It was an honor, but since vampires tended to regard honor as something that could be just as easily forgotten as obeyed, the Codex were shackled at the wrists and ankles. The one Oliver sat before now was particularly ancient. There were younger Codex, who were less imposing and were even brought out for story sessions with groups of vampire kids.
    â€œA zombie’s master will, with rare exceptions, be the being who killed the human,” the Codex said in a hissing, labored rasp. “The zombie will perceive his master in the first moment following exhumation.”
    â€œIs there a way for a master to hide his identity?” Oliver asked.
    â€œA master could choose not to reveal himself,” the Codex answered. “There are certain enchantments, but they are difficult and rare.”
    â€œHow can you discover a hidden master?”
    The Codex took another deep, rattling breath. “There is a blood rite that can be performed that will mark the master, a mark that the master will not know exists, and that can be seen above all concealments.”
    â€œExplain,” Oliver said. The Codex listed the steps in the ritual. Oliver listened carefully.
    â€œMix these ingredients in a VanMuren’s Mortar,” the Codex concluded, “and recite the incantation.”
    Oliver nodded. “Finished,” he said, and with a grinding of stone, the Codex slid back into darkness, its eyes closing. Oliver pushed through the curtains and headed back up the hall. The ritual was easy, except for the VanMuren’s Mortar. It was probably something he could get from Dead Désirée. His side ached at the thought. Going to see her was never pleasant. Then