The guard jabs the button.
The elevator lets out a low, ominous groan—not the bright, cheery ding of a normal lift. There’s a sound like iron doors grinding shut in a tomb, then the shiny black panels part.
Inside, there’s nothing but shadows and a single button. No number, no floor. Just one word carved deep into the metal.
Dungeon.
My stomach flips.
“Wait—no, I’m sure I don’t belong down there!”
The guard ignores me. He drags me inside and slams the side of his fist against the button. The doors slide shut, with another grinding groan, sealing us in.
The elevator lurches to a start and it feels like the floor is dropping away beneath us. It plummets so fast my stomach slams up into my throat. I gasp and clutch the railing, trying not to gag.
I will not puke…I will not puke, I think to myself. I’m sure the only thing that could make this dismal situation worse is being covered in my own vomit.
Then—thump—we stop.
The doors open into darkness.
A draft curls in, icy cold, raising every hair on my body. The smell hits next—rot and mildew, rusty iron and old blood. I gag, pressing a hand to my mouth. Again I have to beg my stomach to behave.
The guard yanks me forward into a stone corridor. The walls sweat moisture, black streaks running like veins down the dark gray surface. The floor is uneven, jagged under my feet. I stub my toes on the rough stones and hiss in pain.
From the cells on either side come sounds—low moans, choked cries, whispers that slide under my skin. The air is heavy…thick with despair.
This can’t be real. It can’t be real. It’s a dream—a really bad dream! I tell myself desperately.
But the pain in my toes…the goosebumps prickling my frozen skin…the stink assaulting my nose—they all scream otherwise.
The guard drags me a long, long way down a seemingly endless hallway. At last we stop at a heavy iron door banded with rust. The guard jams a key into the lock, turns it with a screech of metal, and shoves me inside.
“Wait!” I beg. “This is all a mistake! Don Lucian—he sent for me! He wants me here. There was some kind of prophecy?—”
“A likely story,” the guard says shortly. “Intruders aren’t permitted in The Crimson Spires. Especially not near the Don’s area.”
“But he said I was the woman he wanted! He said he was watching me!” I protest.
The guard looks me up and down as though considering my words.
“If you really were a Curvy Queen I might believe that—everyone in the Shadow Realm wants one of those. But you’re obviously just wearing a glamour.”
“What? No, I’m not!” I protest. “Please, you have to listen to me!”
“No, I don’t,” he says flatly. “Better get used to your new accommodations. I know it’s not the penthouse where you were trying to go, but at least you’re inside the Crimson Spires.”
And he bangs the heavy door shut with a sneer, leaving me alone in the freezing darkness.
I take a step and stumble. Throwing out a hand, I catch myself on rough, icy stone. Oh God—I’m locked in down here and how will I ever get out?
My breath comes in short, panicked gasps. The darkness presses close, thicker here than in the hall, like it has weight.
No, Jules, be calm, I lecture myself. This is just a dream, remember? Any minute now you’re going to wake up with Mr. Mittens purring in your ear. You’ll get up and make coffee and give him his morning wet food and head off to work at S&S and?—
And then I smell it—the most putrid, vile stench I’ve ever smelled. The foul miasma makes Mr. Mitten’s Tuna Surprise smell like roses. What the Hell?
I move, trying to get away from it but it seems to have surrounded me. No matter which direction I go in the dark cell, the smell seems to follow me and intensify.
