There. A section dedicated to dessert wines, and among them, the distinctive gold labels of Château d'Yquem. The 1947 vintage sits in its own subsection, twelve bottles that would sell for more than a small fortune if they ever reached auction.
"Which one?" Merlin asks.
I close my eyes, replaying Vivianne's whispered instructions. "Third from the left, second shelf from the bottom."
But as I reach for it, the bottle isn't quite aligned with the others. It's tilted, just slightly, like someone has been here recently.
"Groom saying his vows." The report crackles through comms. The ceremony is moving fast. Too fast.
I grasp the bottle and pull. Nothing happens.
"Turn it." Merlin suggests.
I rotate the bottle clockwise. A soft click, then grinding as mechanisms struggle to engage. The entire wine rack shudders, then swings inward on hidden hinges, revealing darkness beyond.
The smell hits immediately—stale air, dust, and something else. Secrets left too long in the dark.
Merlin produces a small flashlight, its beam cutting through the gloom to reveal a wooden door, exactly as Vivianne described. But she was wrong about one thing—it's not just old, it's ancient.
"Bride's turn for vows coming up." Jenny again. "Security is completely focused on the ceremony."
Merlin kneels at the lock—a masterpiece of 19th-century craftsmanship that would be in a museum if anyone knew it existed. Seven levers, each one requiring precise pressure and timing.
"This is going to take time." He mutters, pulling out a set of picks that look as old as the lock itself.
"We don't have time." Through the comm, the priest's voice comes through, faint but clear: "Do you, Vivianne Amelie Faulks..."
"Then stop talking and let me work."
I pace the small space, three steps one way, three steps back. Every second that passes is another second closer to Vivianne being legally bound to that monster. My hands clench and unclench. I should be up there. Should be stopping this.
"First lever." Merlin announces quietly. Then, "Second."
"...take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband..."
"Third lever. Fourth."
"...to have and to hold from this day forward..."
"Fifth. Sixth is being stubborn."
My fist connects with the stone wall, pain shooting up my arm. "Hurry."
"Violence won't make this go faster." But his hands move more quickly now. "Sixth. And... seventh."
The lock disengages with a sound like a sigh, and the door swings open.
The corridor beyond is exactly as Vivianne described—narrow, maybe three feet wide, with modern additions that lookobscene against the ancient stone. Motion sensors line the walls at regular intervals, their red lights blinking like eyes in the darkness.
"Mitzy." I speak into the comm. "We need those bees now."
"Already ahead of you. First wave incoming."
Through the doorway comes a sound like summer—dozens of mechanical bees, each no bigger than my thumbnail, their tiny rotors humming. They swarm past us and take positions directly in front of each sensor, their bodies blocking the infrared beams.
"You've got approximately three minutes." Mitzy warns. "Move fast."
We don't need to be told twice. Merlin and I rush through the corridor, our shoulders brushing the walls. The stone is cold, damp in places where groundwater has seeped through. Our footsteps echo despite our attempts at silence.
