Relief floods me and my knees go weak. Okay. All I have to do is slip back out, make it to the Nocturne Gates, and find my way home. Easy.
I set my hands against the bars and push but nothing happens The gates don’t move—not even a creak.
I put my shoulder against the gates and shove harder, gritting my teeth. My shoulder starts to ache, but the iron doesn’t budge.
“Okay,” I mutter, glaring at the golden letters above me. “You opened just fine when I came in. Don’t give me attitude now.”
I get nothing but silence. I step back, rub my hands together, and try again.
“Open sesame?” I ask.
Nothing.
“By the power of blood, I bid thee open?” I chant hopefully, pressing my palm flat against the gates the way Whistler did.
But the gates just sit there, smug and silent.
Well, maybe they want blood like the vampire gates did. Luckily, the wound on my finger where the thorn pricked me is still bleeding, just a little. I pinch my fingertip, forcing a tiny drop of blood to ooze out. This should do it—I hope.
“Fine,” I mutter to the gates. “You want blood? Here—take it.”
I smear the crimson drop across the bars, expecting the iron to tremble and swing wide…
But nothing happens. No creak…no glow…no magic.
The gates stay closed.
I drop my hand, staring at them in disbelief.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I demand in a low voice, as though they could answer me.
But it’s no joke and the truth sinks like a stone in my gut—the gates let me in, but they’re not letting me out.
I’m trapped here.
A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the draft sneaking under my cloak. My choices have narrowed down to exactly one—go further into this new Shadow Realm area and see if I can find some other way out.
That’s it—that’s all I can do. Because it’s clear these gates are closed and they’re not opening again. If I want to get home, I need to find a different way out of here.
I turn away from the gates, my stomach sinking. The air in the Carnal Bazaar is thick—warm and cloying with a slight sweet and spicy scent. Voices echo faintly from somewhere ahead—low and laughing. They’re mingled with moans and I’m not sure if they’re pleasure or pain. Oh God, I really don’t want to find out.
I tug my hood lower to hide my face. Every instinct screams at me to stay put, but I know better. I’m trapped and the only way out now is through.
I take a step forward into the shadows of the Carnal Bazaar.
26
Jules
The Carnal Bazaar swallows me whole.
The first thing that hits me is the air. Heavy, perfumed, too sweet it smells like cinnamon scorched in a pan and poured over hot sugar. It coats my tongue and makes my head spin. I breathe through my mouth, but that only makes it worse. A musky undercurrent lingers beneath it, primal and animalistic.
The second thing I notice are the sounds.
Laughter, moans, voices bartering in languages I don’t know… I also hear the sharp ring of coins, the creak of leather, the slosh of liquid poured into cups. It all blends into a fevered hum, like I’ve stepped into some twisted carnival midway.
And then, as I go further in…the sights.
