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Dora knows Edward is right—she cannot put it off any longer. She rises from the bench and begins to slowly walk in the direction of Blake’s Emporium.

She thinks of Edward’s paper. He let her read it, the sheets twisted between their naked legs. Her cheeks color at the memory.

“You see,” he murmured, his fingers lifting a curl from her neck. He pressed his mouth to the tender skin he exposed, sending thrilling shivers across her scalp. “Your name isn’t there. Neither is his. I would never hurt you, Dora. I couldn’t. It would be like hurting myself.”

And then he had kissed her, and she had pulled him close.

Chapter Forty-Six

He wakes to blackness.

It is familiar, a thing he thought long behind him, yet here he is again. He thought he had mastered it, that old panic, his irrational fear of the dark, but it has already begun to rear itself and Edward starts to shake uncontrollably.

And the fear is irrational. He taught himself that after he became accustomed to the wood store and all its nooks and dents and scents and sounds. Reason, he thinks to himself now. You are not there, you are not at the bindery, Carrow has not locked you in. You are here.

But where is here?

Edward raises his arms, immediately cries out in pain when they hit something hard, and he tries to stem the terror that teases the length of his spine.

Try again.

Slowly he lifts a hand. It brushes against something. Paper? Is that leather? When he moves it further up his fingers hit something cold, solid. He blinks into black, runs his hand along it. A... shelf? He raises his hand again, feels what he thinks are the same objects, up and up. Yes, a shelf. Lots of them. Then what? In answer Edward’s hand hits ceiling. His heart hammers loud in his chest.

He raises his other hand, repeats the process. Reaches out behind him. The same.

The same.

Edward sniffs, smells the sharp tang of industry, the distinct scent of oil. He slowly moves his feet, hears the sound of heel against metal.

No. Not metal.

Iron.

My God.

He is in the safe.

The panic comes swift then and he screams out, again and again and again, and when he has exhausted himself he strains to listen, but there is only silence and that is just too much for him to comprehend. His pulse races, he breaks out into a cold sweat and Edward pushes his skull against the hard expanse of iron in front of him, tries to breathe but cannot, and he is gasping, gasping, gasping...

Chapter Forty-Seven

Dora’s boot splinters glass. She lifts her foot, sees the shards beneath it. Her heart begins to pound fitfully against her ribs.

Alert now Dora moves slowly, places one foot carefully in front of the other, takes great care not to make another sound. Her eyes narrow when she recognizes Hezekiah’s grotesque iron fish stranded on the floor. She approaches it cautiously and catches herself on an admonishing laugh. It will not move. It will not attack her. But then she squints. Dora lowers herself, rests her weight on the balls of her feet.

Blood. That is blood on the sharp curve of its fin.

Dora swallows, stands up again. She turns toward the basement. Her eyes widen.

Beyond the shelves, it is as if something has pushed through the floor from underneath. The floorboards are splintered, some ripped from their nails completely. She goes to them. Boards snapped in two, jagged edges, many rotten. Dora looks at what is beneath and sees, oddly, only stone.

There is a noise from below. The basement doors are open, and a light glows eerily beyond.

Something, she knows, is terribly terribly wrong.

Dora forces herself to cross the length of the shop, forces herself to the basement door, forces herself to lay a hand on the balustrade. There is another sound, and this time Dora can make it out—earth rolling, the slam of metal against stone, and she braves the first step of the stairs.

The basement is flooded with light. With candles, Dora realizes. In the middle of the basement floor the pithos stands regal, imposing as ever it did, but at its base are chunks of brick and mortar—some small, some large—and Dora jumps when another is flung into the room from somewhere beyond the stairs.