They climbed down another flight of stairs to the wine cellar.
Leena fell to her knees and scrambled across the room, frantically patting for the latch hidden within the floor.
There—the trapdoor.
Leena paused before lifting it open, her heart hammering in her chest as she recalled the demon lurking in the dark. But she had triumphed over it. She reminded herself of that.
“What are you waiting for, girl?” Mrs. Van urged from behind her.
Still, Leena could not move. Was she creeping toward a new danger? Aworsedanger?
Somewhere above them the sound of footsteps—slow and sure, the march of an executioner.
She swung open the latch.
A voice in her head screamed at her to turn back.
Mrs. Van held the lamp, the light reflecting halos on the ceiling as they made their descent.
Finally the ground leveled out. A long hall loomed ahead of them, black and beckoning.
Mrs. Van gripped Leena’s arm painfully, her eyes almost wild with animal fright. “Where have you taken us?”
Leena hesitated. “Do you feel the presence of the demon as well?”
“In all the years I worked here previously, I never set foot in the crypts.” Mrs. Van let go, leaving welts on Leena’s skin. “It’s not right, what they’ve done to this place. It’s not right.”
Above them, the trapdoor slammed open.
Lord Kilworth had found them.
Not caring to keep quiet anymore, they bolted down the length of the crypts’ maze. The uneven floor was rough on Leena’s feet, and she felt the sting of cuts forming.
Neither Leena nor Mrs. Van needed a map to traverse the sudden twists and turns. They were both attuned to the dark presence that saturated these walls and urged them forward, toward the heart of the crypts.
Finally, the stone walls gave way to a great marble chamber, desolate and empty, the light from their lamp reflecting off the black waters. All around them pale statues watched, almost hungrily.
The Hall of the Lake.
They stopped, gasping for breath.
They had nowhere else to run, and the sound of Lord Kilworth’s relentless footsteps followed them.
Leena stood in front of the lake, eyes blazing at the black waters, the demon’s energy coiling against her skin.
“Help us,” she demanded. “Help us and I vow to protect the last living Avon.”
There was no response from the demon, but she sensed its anger toward her, furious that she had refused to submit toit.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Kilworth was close.
Leena turned quickly to Mrs. Van, who stood with her gaze trained on the dark expanse of the lake. “Do you trust me?” Leena asked.
Mrs. Van jerked as if breaking from a trance, then gave Leena a firm nod.
“Pretend you are prey,” Leena whispered furiously to her. Before waiting for the other woman’s response, Leena ran to hide behind one of the statues near the entrance, both the cloying darkness and the sculpture’s stone body concealing her from view.
