St. Silas hissed for both of them to extinguish their lamps, keeping only his lit. For a wild moment, Leena thought it was the creature coming back to fulfill its purpose with her, but no. As she listened closely, the footsteps sounded human. Rhythmic and heavy.
They ran.
Struggling to keep their own footsteps quiet, St. Silas led them farther through the maze of passages. The sound of oncoming steps was farther away now, but still present, the stone walls echoing them as if they were coming from all directions.
Ahead of her, St. Silas swerved around tight corners, across identical paths, and down a flight of stairs. Not once did he waver in his direction. Behind her, she heard Rami stumble.
“Don’t turn back,” Rami warned as he picked himself up, abandoning his lamp.
St. Silas finally halted in front of a doorway. Leena could not control her own raspy intake of air as they stopped behind him. Unlike the other wooden or metal doors they had passed, this one was carved from pale limestone—the same material used for the entirety of Weavingshaw’s exterior. The Avon crest was carved into the center. A wolf. A Deathgrip. And, between them, a circle and a cross.
I complete what is mine.
“We’ve arrived.” In spite of their sprint, St. Silas’s breathing remained even. “Welcome to the Avon family graveyard.”
He rammed the door open with his shoulder. The lock must’ve been broken years ago, for it gave way easily. The expansive chamber was made of the same limestone, spanning the floor and vaulted ceiling. Only the tombs were made of dark stone, and there were at least eighty of them dotted across the room, safeguarding the decomposing bodies of the nobility.
They were eerie in their stillness.
Grim statues of old Avon lords watched them, their faces frozen in expressions of disinterest and old-blood superiority, spider’s webs collecting across their bodies. A silver shield carrying the family crest gathered rust by Leena’s feet.
“We bury our dead in the ground, wrapped only in sheets.” Rami looked around in distaste. “We see it as a homecoming.”
Leena understood what he meant. The word for death in Algaraan also meantreturn.This place felt unnatural, a stalling of time. It was as if the aristos thought they could curb the decay of death by enclosing their corpses in marble. In her peripheral vision, she saw St. Silas’s head turn searchingly as he took in the chamber, his chest rising and falling.
Leena also searched for spirits, but it was oddly barren for a place full of the dead. At the far end of the chamber, she spotted apianoforte, the black and white keys gleaming in the dimness.Why was there a piano in a crypt?
She squinted…Yes, she could see a sitting figure playing it, but no sound emerged from the instrument.
Finally, a spirit.
She could never mistake the distinctive features of Moira—not after the events of the possession.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. Either the footsteps were following them, or they had the same destination. It didn’t matter which at this moment; the priority was to remain undiscovered.
“We have nowhere else to go.” Rami reached for the hilt of his sword, looking at the closed limestone door in apprehension. “Could we hide behind the tombs?”
St. Silas pulled out his pistol, also aiming at the door. “They’ve come with lanterns. Our shadows will reveal us.”
Leena turned frantically to Moira. “Help us.”
Both men looked at her in surprise, but she ignored them, her entire attention focused on the spirit.
Moira regarded her for a long moment as if debating her request. Then she tilted her head toward St. Silas.
“I will owe you a debt. Please help us,” Leena pleaded.
Slowly, Moira nodded. Then the spirit walked toward one of the gray tombs near the entrance, her hand banging soundlessly on a stone cover.
Leena understood.
“The tomb,” she gasped. “We can hide in there.”
St. Silas remained rooted to the spot even as Rami ran toward the tomb. “No,” he ground out.
The approaching footsteps, accompanied by a glow of bright light, were more distinct now, directly behind the door.
“Help me lift the cover.” Leena threw her entire weight on the heavy lid. A leak in the chamber ceiling had damaged the outerfacade of the tomb, making the deceased’s name impossible to read. It could not have been Lord Avon’s tomb because, when they managed to slide it open, the interior was empty.
