I take a deep breath, and Dorian turns, leading me down into the darkness.
Moving through the ruins, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to convince myself that I’m not walking under a precarious half-fallen tower, and I nearly trip on a hunk of rock.
“Raven?” Dorian asks. “Are you okay? You weren’t—”
“Looking where I’m going? Yeah.”
“Trust me, you want to see where you’re headed,” he says, pointing to a place where the path ends in a sheer drop. “This way.” He indicates a stone spiral staircase curving downward, and we descend in absolute darkness. Atticus’s footsteps echo in all directions, as if they are coming from ahead of and from behind us, making it seem as if we might be lost. The air here is dusty, andI fight the urge to cough. The scent of smoke fills the air, and the temperature grows colder with each step. Dorian’s hand in mine is a steady guide, my only comfort, as he pulls me over rocks and debris. Unseen objects crunch under my boots.
Ahead, Atticus lights a lantern, and the glow casts flickering shadows on the stone walls as it kindles to life. At the foot of the staircase, he pauses, the light held high above his head illuminating a massive wooden door with brass tracery laid across the surface. His face is caked with dust, and motes hang suspended in the still air, but his eyes are bright, and he flashes a smile when we approach.
“First door of probably many,” he says. “Shall we?”
Then he turns the knob, and the mechanism inside clicks. It’s open.
He pushes it wide, exposing yet another corridor. Before us, the tunnel gapes, the gentle slope leading downward. Dorian’s hand gently squeezes mine once again, and he catches my eye, giving me a small, comforting smile as we follow Atticus deeper into the tunnel. He leads the way, the lantern swinging on its hinge, the silence almost unbearable.
I tighten my grip on Dorian’s glove. “Is this the arm I burned?” I ask, just to break the quiet and make a little conversation.
“Yes,” he says.
“It doesn’t hurt?”
“No, not so much anymore.”
I know he isn’t hurt, but I still like to hear him say it. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you,” I say, worried just a little that I’m stating the obvious, but somehow I have the urge to say it anyway.
“I know,” he whispers softly.
Atticus pauses in the corridor, and we gather around thelantern. “I don’t think this is part of the original tunnel system,” he says. “I studied that map we used the first time, almost memorizing it, and I don’t recall any of these tunnels.”
“Maybe they were never connected to the rest of the school,” says Dorian.
“Or they were walled off and erased from the map?” I ask.
Atticus nods. “Professor White said that the school had originally intended for Arches to house the department of creation magic, but the plans changed for some reason. The building was never used, so maybe these passages were closed. I don’t know.”
No one has answers, so we continue onward, winding our way around one turn and the next, the air heavy with the scent of decay, a thick layer of dust covering everything. We stumble upon a gate. Iron bars crisscross the width of the tunnel, and a single massive lock holds them in place, barring our path.
“What’s this?” Atticus asks, his tone playfully curious.
I drop Dorian’s hand and step forward, noticing the ironwork inlay on the lock, forming sigils and hieroglyphics illegible to me at first. And then it clicks.
“It’s cuneiform. These markings are just like the ones we found in the book Professor White gave you,” I say.
“Really?” Atticus asks. “But you said that book is all about binding spirits.”
“It is,” I say.
“Is it open?” Atticus asks.
“I don’t know…” I step back. “Are we sure we want to go in?”
Dorian takes off one of his gloves and places his hand on the bars, tracing it over the ironwork. His eyelids flutter closed, his face screwed up in concentration.
“I…” he says, opening his eyes. “I don’t think there’s anyone inside. This hasn’t been used in a long time.”
“Do you see anything else?”
