Page 25

F alling from the tower felt different this time. Time stretched thin, the moment unraveling like frayed silk, thread by thread. The only sound was the wind as it shrieked past my ears.

Then, for a moment, there was perfect silence.

The impact was not a single moment of pain but an eruption, a symphony of agony, shattering through every nerve, every bone. Pain cleaved through me, white-hot, a force so absolute that for one brief, excruciating second, I didn’t want to feel anything anymore.

A moment later it was gone. All of it. I wasn’t sore, not even a little. When I pressed a hand to my chest, my heart was still beating. That wasn’t right.

I had just died. I had felt it, the brutal tearing of flesh, the breaking of bone, the world pulling away into an abyss of nothingness. And yet, I felt good. Normal.

I fumbled through the grass. Where was my body? There should have been something. Maybe a corpse, a shadow, a trace of what had been. But the ground where I landed was undisturbed. If there was any blood, or a body, the grass had swallowed it.

“Death suits you,” Hugo murmured, extending a hand. He looked paler than usual, nearly translucent, though somehow no less striking.

“Thanks.” His touch was cool as he pulled me to my feet. I wrapped my arms around his neck, the guilt leaden in my stomach. He didn’t let go right away, just pulled me close.

“Right,” Dorian strode toward us, his gaze lingering over me for just a moment too long. “We’re all on borrowed time. Resurrections can only be conducted within forty-eight hours from the time of death.”

“What?” Hugo stepped forward, working his jaw. “You didn’t mention there was a time limit, Cavendish.”

“Well we’re both feet in the grave now, Fox,” Dorian replied, turning on his heel as he started toward the chapel. Hugo and I quickened our pace to catch up as he said, “Bit late to change your mind.”

I felt my heart squeeze, then drop somewhere lower. As if this task wasn’t already impossible. The mist called out something that sounded like my name. Maybe they already knew we were as good as dead.

Dorian unlocked the chapel. My head felt full, heavy, and light all at once. The fragrant incense wasn’t helping.

“Do you see them?” Hugo’s breath was frost against my neck as we stepped inside. “The rhunes along the walls?”

They stretched tall, covering every wall, glowing faintly. Shadows sat in pews, slumped over. Death was like seeing the chapel through new eyes.

“Hurry up,” Dorian growled, paces ahead. We paused near the altar, the Crucible looming, a monolith of twisting glass and metal. The light inside it pulsed gold and silver, the glow casting long shadows against the walls .

I had seen it before. From afar. From the pews. Never this close. Something deep inside me curled inward. It was a warning, like my very being knew this thing, this false, hollow god.

The Crucible groaned. A deep, grinding sound, like the earth itself was yawning open beneath our feet.

I stumbled back as rhunes of faintest gold lit up around its base.

Then, with a hiss, the stone beneath it split cleanly in two, scraping over itself to reveal a spiral staircase carved from shadow and ice.

The Gates of Elsewhere. Hugo squeezed my hand before letting it go, moving to peer down into the abyss. He hesitated for a moment, one foot hovering over the edge. “I’m not sure about this, Cavendish.”

“Stay dead then, Fox,” Dorian snapped. “The only way out is down.”

“ Down ,” Hugo repeated flatly. His shoulders squared, like he was considering telling Verrine, but his head snapped forward and his knee bent onto the first step. “Wait. Where exactly in Elsewhere will this take me?”

“Just picture a curiosity shop. Hold that image in your mind, firmly. The steps will lead you where you need to go.” The corner of Dorian’s lip curled slightly. If Hugo hadn’t asked, would he have told him?

“Hold on.” I turned back to the staircase, but Hugo had already disappeared into the inky darkness. I hesitated. Dorian stood beside me, the silence sharp-edged. His hand twitched like he meant to reach for me and thought better of it.

“Stay close,” he said, his brow furrowing. “There’s less chance of something going wrong if we descend together.”

“What?” I tilted my head, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Are you worried you can’t get the cards back without me?”

“You were the last one to touch them apart from Dante.” He looked at me long enough that my spine locked and my thoughts scattered, one by one. “So as much as it pains me, you have a better chance at finding them than I do.”

“Let’s get this over with, then.” I started toward the staircase.

“Wait.” He wrenched me close, shifting in front of me. “Follow me, and hold your breath.”

“Why?” I hissed, cold leeching into my bones as my ankles landed on the first step. The shock of it splintered through me.

“Just listen to me for once, Davenant,” Dorian snapped, his hand gripping tighter. “If you feel yourself sliding, I’ll catch you.”

The stairs spiralled into darkness, each step more slippery than the last. The deeper I went, the more the cold sank in, bleeding through the soles of my shoes.

I could hardly feel the next step, my feet stumbling for purchase.

I drove my nails into Dorian, but he didn’t flinch, only gripped tighter in response.

The stairs spiralled into darkness, the walls breathing frost, each step slicker than the last. I couldn’t feel my toes. I couldn’t feel much of anything. Except him. I focused on the steady pressure of his hand, the warmth of it cutting through.

But then came the pull, the stumble of my foot as it searched for solid ground, and my grip on Dorian broke free. I was weightless, tumbling down, down, down into never-ending darkness, into never-ending cold.

My scream caught in the dark, swallowed before it ever reached the bottom.

The sensation of falling gripped me again, wrenching me downward before I slammed onto something solid, the roughness of splintered floorboards biting at my palms. I groaned, coughing as dust filled my lungs. I was so tired of falling places.

I forced myself upright, blinking grit from my eyes. This room was steeped in a damp kind of dread. It looked like an average antique shop, with shelves lined with strange trinkets and heavy sheets draped over more significant objects.

“Hugo?” My voice wavered slightly. “Dorian?”

A spluttering cough came from the darkened area beside me, and Hugo pushed onto his forearms, something like black soot marking his face.

“Right.” Dorian emerged from behind a stack of shelves, casting a look over his shoulder before dropping his tone to a low whisper.

Trinkets sat forgotten in glass cases, their surfaces dulled with grime.

“This is a good place to start. Remember, we don’t have much time.

We’ve got to get the deck, and if we can’t find another resurrection card, one of us will need to stay. ”

“Got it,” Hugo nodded, wandering forward, fingers tracing a line of dust along an ornate mirror. His reflection warped strangely in the glass.

Dorian strode straight for the counter like he was walking into an interrogation room, tapping impatiently at the little silver bell. Hugo lingered, studying the warped mirrors as the sound rang out. He had a glazed over look in his eyes, like he wasn’t all there.

“Yes, yes.” The shopkeeper emerged from the back of the shop, brushing away the frazzled strands that framed her face.

She was ancient, but in a way that suggested she had simply stopped aging rather than ever being young.

Her eyes, black as oil, peered up at us over half-moon glasses like she already knew exactly why we were here.

“Well,” she purred, clicking her impossibly long nails against the wooden counter.

Click. Click. Click . “I thought it might be you.”

My blood ran cold. Hugo tilted his head, lips twitching into an easy smile. “You were expecting us?”

The shopkeeper didn’t even glance at him. Her attention was fixed on me, or rather, just below my throat. The weight of the necklace suddenly felt like it was suffocating. She laughed mirthlessly, shaking her head. “Not you, boy.” Dark amusement curled her lips. “Her.”

A slow, uneasy pulse worked its way down my spine.

Hugo glanced between us. “You know her?”

The woman’s eyes flicked up to mine. Hungry. “Oh, I don’t know her,” she said, voice syrupy and slow. “But I know what she is, and what she has.”

The room felt smaller, the air thicker. I forced my expression to stay neutral. “And what’s that?”

She hummed, tapping a finger against her bottom lip, pretending to think. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I stiffened. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Her feline grin widened. “Oh, sweetheart.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to something just above a whisper. “I’d tuck that little thing away before someone less friendly notices.”

She reached forward, a blur of clicking nails and sharp teeth, her fingertips nearly brushing my necklace. A crackle of something burned the space between us. She hissed, recoiling instantly, shaking out her hand like she’d been shocked. Her grin widened.“Well! Aren’t you interesting?”

Dorian didn’t waste time. “We need information. You had a customer in yesterday. Black hair, about this high.” He gestured slightly above his height. “And he brought a deck of cards with him.”

“Ah,” the shopkeeper hummed. “Yes. I remember him.”

“Do you still have them?” I asked.

She let out a knowing chuckle, shaking her head. “No, my dear. He wasn't selling them. He was simply appraising them.” A cold rush of dread crashed over me. The cards weren’t here anymore .

Hugo’s jaw tightened. “Why was he appraising them?”

“Never you mind.” Her nails clicked against the counter again, her gaze settling back on her paperwork like we were nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “If you aren't here to purchase something, I suggest you leave.”

Dorian started to argue, and my attention had snagged on something behind the counter, a ledger. It was thick and leather-bound, and would maybe tell us something more.

She was distracted enough. I let my hands brush lightly against the counter’s edge as I slipped behind it. I scanned over the ledger, Dante’s name at the bottom:

Dante Darkblood. Item: The Arcana Deck. Status: Appraisal. Collateral left: The Fool.

A single Arcana card. He left a card, tucked into the spine of the ledger. The Fool. The very card I’d drawn the night I arrived in the poker game. It seemed like a cruel joke. A message.

“You shouldn’t have touched that.” I jumped, the shopkeeper’s black eyes gleaming. I barely had time to grab the card before everything lurched.

The room shifted, the candles flickering violently as if the curiosity shop had drawn a startled breath. The Fool card burned ice-cold in my palm. A heartbeat that wasn’t mine throbbed against my skin.

“Strange thing, you are.” The shopkeeper studied me, impassive. “Walking among the dead, wearing a body that should have been left behind. Tell me, girl. Do you even know what you are?”

Shadows peeled from the walls, not just shadows but hands, gripping, clawing, wrenching me back. I felt them, not just on my skin, but inside, leeching, pulling at my thoughts, my memories.

“Dorian!” My scream tore through the dark. “Dorian, please !”

A crack of light split through the air, and the shadows vanished. I stumbled forward, gasping, straight into Dorian’s grip.

“Get up,” he said, voice tight. He glanced at his watch. “Forty-six hours left, and Dante’s got a hell of a head start.”

He didn’t move for a moment. His hand hovered at my back, as if unsure whether to steady me, or shove me onward.