Page 157 of Outcast’s Vow

“If we do this, it’s because I’m choosing it. Not Father. Not the Castaways.”

“Of course, Sylvie.”

“Okay,” I finally relented. “Let’s do it. Let’s use Father’s connections to give ourselves the life we deserve. Let’s find this killer. But if I want out, then we leave. Got it?”

“Got it.”

And now, in the tunnels under the mansion in New Orleans, Baptiste is still refusing to let me go.

We are ushered down the hallway, lit by fire torches hanging on the walls, to a solid metal door hewn into the rock. But it is not the door I’m staring at.

It’s the man standing beside it, waiting for us.

Cromwell Auclair.

“Welcome, Baptiste and Sylvie,” he says smoothly in a way that has won over boardrooms all over the world. “The banquet starts beyond. But first, a challenge.”

“And what is it this time?” Baptiste asks, sighing in resignation.

Another Castaways challenge. Boy, do they love these.

“A labyrinth,” Cromwell purrs, relishing the reveal. “Originally installed by the first occupier of this mansion. You must complete it to arrive at the banquet.”

“A labyrinth?” I ask. “As in, a maze?”

“There may be surprises waiting for you inside,” Cromwell adds.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I say, shaking my head and taking a step back. “I don’t trust this. I don’t like that we’re here. Why are we in the clutches of the Castaways yet again?”

But Baptiste is still hanging on to me.

“I’ll be with you,” he says calmly.

“You may have to find your own way inside,” Cromwell tells us as he pulls out a set of keys to open the door.

“What does that mean?” I question, voice rising in horror.

Cromwell doesn’t say a word, and clearly neither does he intend to. Baptiste is pulling me in.

“Do you trust me, Sylvie?” he asks.

I do. That’s the problem.

And so I squeeze his hand, lift my chin, and choose to follow Baptiste into the dark.

62

SYLVIE

The door behind us shuts with a bang. The lock turns, and Baptiste and I are suddenly left alone. In a tunnel. There’s no light in here, merely the smell of dust and the sour taste of fear.

Oh.

Cromwell knew what he was doing when he ushered us inside.

It’s a trap. Another dumb Castaways trap.

But as our eyes adjust to the darkness, we spot a door at the far end of the tunnel.