“That makes two of us.” He sounded distracted, his gaze tracking something I couldn’t see.
I brushed my fingers along the walls as we walked. Old quarry marks were etched into the limestone alongside more recent scrawls. It was quiet, that kind of quiet that made your hair stand up and your heart beat too loud. We passed a wall where skulls were stacked neatly between long bones as if arranged by some mad artist. The empty sockets seemed to watch us. I looked away.
“Did people really think this was a good place to put the dead?” I muttered, hugging my cloak closer.
“Paris ran out of space. And when you bury bodies shallow, the water rises, the bones float.” Emrys glanced back at me. “This was their solution.”
“How comforting.”
We came across reminders that others had visited this place as well. A dusty bottle of wine and two glasses, wilted rose petals scattered around, a discarded sketchbook, names scribbled with coal.
The tunnels forked and twisted in ways that made no sense. My head spun, numbed by the monotony of the descent, and my calves ached. We must have walked for more than an hour now. Emrys didn’t seem to need a map. He moved with quiet purpose, turning left and descending deeper, past a bricked-off chamber and down a spiral staircase where the steps were slick with moss. I didn’t ask how he knew the way. I feared the answer.
Something skittered in the dark behind us. I spun.
“It’s a rat,” Emrys murmured but sparks showered from his hand.
Magic.
We passed a low archway carved with symbols I didn’t recognize—ancient, older than Latin. They pulsed faintly as we crossed beneath them. My skin prickled.
The air changed.
It was subtle at first—warmer somehow but charged. I felt it in my teeth, in the marrow of my bones.
We entered a vaulted chamber, the walls domed and wet with condensation. Carved symbols glowed faintly in a circle along the floor. A stone altar rose at its center, cracked with age, the air above it shimmering like a heat haze.
“This is it,” Emrys said. “The Crossroads. We made it right on time.”
I stepped closer. The vibration in the chamber wasn’t just energy—it was a pulse. Slow. Ancient. And waiting.
Emrys dropped to one knee and placed a palm on the stone. “This place is older than Paris, Miss Daphne. Older than Rome. The lines converge here. The dam will burst in a moment.” He looked up at me, gray eyes glowing with something almost reverent. “I’ll harness the magic released—it’ll be enough to sever the bond between us. Regain my power.”
I cleared my throat and glanced around, unsure of what to do. “I am ready. What should I do?” He pushed himself up and stepped toward me, so close that his breath brushed my face. I looked at him as if I’d never seen him before—the proud line of his nose, his high cheekbones, the curl of his full lips, that not-so-human shimmer of his eyes.
“You need to stay close to me, Miss Daphne.” His fingers locked around my wrist and pulled me close, his long dark lashes shading the silvery shimmer of his gaze. His otherhand brushed my jaw, sending trembles down to my core. “I need to feel you.” He whispered, his lips brushing my ear. My knees nearly buckled.
He took a deep breath. “It’s beginning.” He was so close that the outlines of his body pressed against mine through my clothes. My pulse quickened.
Focus, Daphne, I scolded myself and looked around, desperate for distraction.
The room filled with a distant chime. He murmured words I couldn’t understand, drawing symbols in the air that glittered and floated to the domed ceiling. The deep thrum of magic got so intense that the floor shook, and dust showered from above. Light wisps, glowing in colors I never knew existed, floated around us, and I sensed it.
A deep, gut-twisting force pulled something from my chest. As if something had been taken from me. His magic. He was taking it back. Why did it hurt so badly? Why did it leave such a terrible, cold abyss? I took a sharp breath. The sooner this was over, the sooner I’d be on the first train to Milan.
“Do not be afraid, Miss Daphne. I’ll try to be as gentle as possible. But I need to get back what is mine.” A crack ran along the wall as the magic surging around us was roaring like a storm. The pull grew too strong to bear, and I panicked. I tried to free myself, but his grip was steely. Relentless.
Suddenly, his eyes widened as if he had just discovered something. He parted his lips to say something.
Then—out of the corner of my eye—I saw a flash of movement.
I froze.
A man was standing behind Emrys.
Only… not a man. His face was slack, his eyes clouded over. He swayed like a puppet with tangled strings. Behind him, another figure emerged. And another. One woman. One child.
All wrong. Dressed like the Parisians from the streets but moving in a strange way, their joints bending at odd places. Their faces distorted, decay flashing beneath their skin, like those girls in the train powder room.
