“You don’t?” I glance over my shoulder, making sure Winny and Callos aren’t nearby, before I lightly touch his elbow.
“No…I was born after the curse was laid. Even as a boy, I only saw a shade of Tempost’s former glory. People were already becoming Succumbed, killing each other to survive. But in the city’s heyday, it was a place of splendor.” His words are full of yearning, of nostalgia for something he’s never even known. “The elders would say that things were quiet during the month, but the festivals around the full moon would pack the streets with people of all shapes. They would—”
“It looks all clear.” Winny jogs over from a large, nearby building, interrupting Ruvan’s musings unbeknown to her; Callos strolls behind. I quickly drop my hand, hoping they didn’t notice.
“That’s good.” Ruvan smooths his palm over the buttons of his coat. I’ve never been so enthralled with iron buttons before. But the way they slip underneath his long, elegant fingers before popping free is entrancing. It almost makes me lick my lips. It makes me want to slowly drag my tongue across the tips of my teeth. Feeling if I have—
My mind gutters.
Fangs.
That was what I had been thinking.
I suddenly become very focused on the architecture of the buildings, the layouts of the streets,anything else but him.
“Are you ready?” Callos says in a way that makes me think it’s not the first time he’s asked.
“Yes, of course.” I settle my hand on the sickle as we approach a hulking structure ahead.
Columns line its front. Its entry is an archway so massive that a horse and cart could fit through. Overhead is a crest and engraving coated with thick frost and snow, rendering it illegible.
“Are you all right?” Ruvan asks softly as we approach. Winny and Callos are leading the way. Winny I expect, but Callos taking the charge into battle is something I didn’t think the man did.
“I’m ready.” I nod swiftly, keeping my hand on the hilt of my sickle.
Ruvan gives a soft huff of what sounds like amusement. He’s underestimating me again, just like he did when we first descended into the old castle. I’ll show him. I’ll—
My thoughts stop for a second time, my feet mirroring, halting in my tracks.
I stand in a two-story atrium. Snow falls through the cracked glass of a dome above. There’s a stone desk, framed with marble, directly ahead of me. Its chair has long since been turned to dust.
But what is suspended from the dome consumes my focus. Overhead is a massive skeleton of a winged monstrosity. Fangs larger than Ventos’s broadsword point toward me as if it were about to swoop down and consume me in one bite. Claws sharper than my sickle extend from four legs. It’s held together and suspended by wire some smith must’ve spent hours making.
“What…what is this place?” I murmur, my hand relaxing at my side. As fearsome as the skeleton is, it’s not about to come to life and attack me.
“A museum,” Callos repeats, somewhat dumbfounded. The way he’s looking at me causes the heat of embarrassment to crash down on me, competing with the chill in the air and winning.
“Well that much is obvious,” I say forcefully. Too forcefully. Ruvan arches a silvery eyebrow.
“Yes, well, we’re headed this way.” Callos arcs around the desk, heading for a secondary atrium where statues stand sentry.
We round a side stair to a mezzanine. I’m focused on the statues the entire time. One is crowned, similar to the chapel in the castle. But two others are gracefully frozen mid-dance—a butterfly-winged fae and what looks like a human, laughing, arms wrapped around each other. Another tells the tale of a man and his mountain lion foe. A fourth is the horrific image of a vampir I imagined long before arriving in Midscape; it is a woman hunched over a limp body, stony blood dribbling down her chin in frozen rivulets.
Everything we pass has the thin sheen of frost and dust. Timelessness and immeasurable age, frozen together and suspended in eternity. I don’t want to touch anything. I hardly want to breathe.
These halls feel forbidden to me. They’re something unlike anything I’ve ever seen, ever even dared to contemplate. I’m not meant to be here. And yet, yet…
My heart is racing.
With every corner we round, every hall we descend, is a thrill. Weeping paintings have me putting their colors back together, imagining what they might have been, could have been. Statues stare at me with silent eyes. None of it is magic, as I originally suspected, but it has all captured me—grabbed my imagination by the teeth.
I’ve barely scratched the surface of this wondrous place when Ruvan says, “Here we are.”
We’ve stopped at a long, narrow corridor. There are more skeletons here, but they’re not like the large monster in the entry. These are held upright by solid metal rods through their core, rather than suspended by the ceiling. Between them are statues, rough at first, but slowly becoming more refined as the hall progresses. There are paintings and tapestries coloring the walls around them.
“Over this way,” Callos says, starting for one of the closest statues. He uses the side of his hand to scrape off frost and grime from a placard before it. As he does, I focus on the statue itself. It shows two men clasping hands underneath a full moon. “The first moon pact.”
I read the placard. “Vampir and…lykin?”
