She thought of the grave she’d meant to visit and now didn’t dare, all these years grown around her heart like moss. After seeing Dante’s name, she wasn’t sure she was ready to see her father’s in stone, the finality of what she’d done carved into more than her skin. She could face him after she was made the King’s Mage, after she’d proven herself worthy of his name. She’d bring her father roses and she’d sing to him, once this was over. She’d make up for the lost time. But for now, she had no time to give.
The walk through the cemetery seemed short, the possibilities burning through Selene like a brand. Each step brought Selene closer to the death of a dream, and with it her way back into the mirror. She could honor her vow and free the ghost.
Dante, she reminded herself.
No longer nameless. She would save him. She would set him free.
The Asylum loomed before them. The limestone was stark and imposing. Sharp angles and sharper spires. Selene’s giddiness replaced with dread. This was another tomb, a place where the mad mages could be stored away from the world. It was crueler and colder than she’d imagined. She could do this. She had to do this.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Victor said.
Selene shook her head. “Wait for me?”
She expected Victor to smile, that one dimple and those twinkling eyes. But his eyes were dark and serious.
“I will.” He said it like a vow.
Selene took the first step to the Asylum. Her heart beat like an ambitious snare against her ribs, the sharp staccato almost painful. She hadn’t quite prepared herself to see Benson. There hadn’t been time to delve into her loss and what it meant to grieve for someone who was still alive. She’d continue to mourn him, unable to wrest herself from who he could have been.
Selene raced up the pathway, her heart a wild thing. Dante Dumas. Dante Dumas. Dante Dumas. She had a name for her ghost. It felt real, rife with magic. She couldn’t wait to say it out loud and see his face when the memories came flooding back. She would save him, just as he’d saved her.
The roses that had been planted along the way had all gone to rot. The thorny remains seemed to reach for the hem of her cloak like skeletal fingers. The building was pale and looming, with rows of tiny windows like spider eyes. If this had once been a library, it was far from that now. Selene didn’t like it here. There was a familiarity to it, and a sense that this might be the place she belonged.
If she’d sung one more note of her audition piece, she might be locked inside. She’d come so close to losing her mind, to losing everything. That was one way to fulfill her father’s legacy.
Selene paused before the massive front doors. They were ornately carved, in a similar pattern to that of the chandelier in the opera house. She rested her hand on the brass door knocker. It was cold enough to chill her through the gloves.
She knocked thrice and waited.
To her left, a smaller door opened. A woman with a round face and sweet expression poked her head out. She wasn’t at all what Selene expected. This woman looked like she could smile the clouds away from the sun.
“Come in out of the cold,” she said. “Those doors are for show.”
She had a little brass pin on her uniform: Madame Myrtille. She was old enough to be Selene’s mother. All soft edges and softer hands. She smelled like spiced plums and distilled vinegar.
“What can I help you with?”
“I’m Selene Dreshé,” she said, taking off her gloves and nestling them into her pocket.
The woman’s face lit up. “This way, dear. We’ve been expecting you.”
Selene followed Madame Myrtille inside.
It was brighter inside than she thought it would be. The walls were painted a silvery white that caught the light without casting too much shadow. Selene followed her up two flights of stairs and down a well-lit hallway. There were too many doors. So many magicians who had lost themselves to the magic.
There was a wail so painful Selene could have stolen the moon with it.
“Don’t mind him,” Madame Myrtille said. “Don’t mind any of them.”
“Are they … ?” Selene didn’t know how to phrase her question.
“We do our best to make sure they’re comfortable. Routine helps. And visitors. He hasn’t had too many, you know.”
Selene had assumed that Benson’s family would have stayed as long as they could.
“Here we are,” the woman said. “There’s a bell by the door. Ring it if you need anything. There’s an attendant on every corridor.”
“Thank you,” Selene said.
