“Actually, spells cast on flesh can be removed by Shabbins at will. Granted, one has to know where the sigil is drawn to lift the spell. Spells cast on objects are a different story. Those can only be removed by the spellcaster.”
Fascinating.I dip my finger into my wound. “Where do you want the sigil?”
“Between my brows.”
I sketch the symbol, a gasp whooshing from my lips when he winks out of existence. “I can’t see you!”
“Which is the point.” A smile limns his tone. One that fades when he says, “Before we resort to dynamiting the door, I’ll attempt to draw a portal using the blood on my torso.”
As I push my hair back in order to replicate the symbol between my own eyebrows, Justus’s hidden finger swirls blood on the slab of pristine white marble. He must press his palm against the familiar shape because it smudges. I wonder if he’s through until I hear the distinct sound of grumbling.
A smile twitches onto my mouth. “Allow me, Nonno.”
“Why are you invisible?”
“Because an explosion will make noise and attract unwanted attention.”
“Fallon,” he growls.
“Would you prefer I were visible when I lead you back inside?”
“The second you’re through, you come right back out, understood?” I picture his nostrils flaring.
“Yes.” And it’s not a lie. I do understand.
Will I be coming straight out, though? No. But I will eventually come out.
After I walk up to Dante and surprise him with a blade through the neck.
After I locate Antoni.
After I crumble Costa’s ancient home and drive the pointy-eared demons from his tunnels.
I want to tell Lore of my plan, but he’s going to rip Luce to shreds if he catches even a whiff of it, so I mute my thoughts and make quick work of drawing the magical door sigil. When I feel the weight of Justus’s hand, I flatten my palm against the stone and carry us back into the underworld.
Thirty-Five
We emerge inside a room I’ve yet to visit. Granted, Dante never gave me a grand tour of his new lodgings, surely too frightened I’d escape. And I would’ve, considering there was a door all along.
“Go back.” Justus’s murmur is brisk.
As brisk as the tremor that shoots through the low-hanging ceiling, surely Lore’s doing.
My grandfather reaches out. When his fingers meet my flesh, they track it to my hand, which he carries to the door handle. “Now.”
“I’ll go back through the wall so there’s no slamming.” My whisper’s an octave sharper than his but just as quiet.
I can feel him wait. And wait. I start to creep along the wall away from where I think he must be. When I hear a breath drop from his lips, I imagine he believes me gone. I follow his footfalls to the closed door. The handle sinks, and then the door groans. He stills, clearly waiting to see if a guard will storm into the room.
When no one charges inside, he draws the black wood wider. I tiptoe after him, emerging into the dark corridor that leads from the vault room toward Dante’s chamber.
I stare left and right, then creep out. Since Justus will head to the vault, I go the opposite way. Toward Dante’s room, toward that low part of the ceiling that vibrated with the pulse of the ocean, the one upon which I intend to paintmanyparallel waves. If my plan works, Costa’s ancient home will soon offer sea creatures a spanking-new hidey-hole.
My heart thuds so wildly that the metallic taste of its beats coats my tongue. When the walls around me shake, I think that perhaps it isn’t Lore’s assault on the Rossi realm that I feel, but my own adrenaline-infused exhilaration. I pass by a gaping door and jump when I spy a man moving within.
I press my palm against my mouth to catch my breaths before they can disturb the air and give me away.
The rattle of chains and ensuing growls make me take a step nearer and gasp. Antoni must hear my surprise because he looks away from the metal bracelet he’s trying to yank off his wrist. He stills and grows quiet, probably worried it’s one of our jailers.
