“You can’t tell me what—”
“I can,” I interrupt her. “Patrol leader privileges, and if something happens to you while you’re with me outside of curfew, Gorhail will hold me responsible.”
She glares at me, huffs out a frustrated breath, and closes the bathroom door behind her.
“How will I manage the barrage of voices I escaped by slipping through the Doors of Desire?” she asks plainly as she’s changing. Her mask is back. Inside me, a silent war takes root. I hate myself for slipping, for making her believe—even for a sliver of a second—that she can trust me, because I will never put a Mortemagi above anything.
“Lyria will walk you through it,” I say. “She’s waiting for us in the Poisoned Stairwell.” My sister’s obsession with this forsaken House will come in handy after all.
Viola heads to the door. “I’ll go out first to make sure Lorne is gone.” She leaves, and a second later, motions me to come out. She leads the way to the secret door at the end of the hallway and pushes in the notch on the wall. She doesn’t look at me once, and I hate it.
Raiku and Railesza hiss as I close the passageway door behind us. I reach for them, and they both slither to my arm. Tonight, the stairwell is gracious with its wall lights; they shine so bright I can make out the divots in the stone and the aged mortar holding everything together. Maybe it knows where we are going, maybe it pities us, offering the unusual light as a parting gift.
“Give me your hand,” I say as I reach for Viola.
“Why?” she asks dryly.
“Railesza will go with you, in case we are separated.”
She hesitates at first, still avoiding my eyes. But then, she closes her palm around mine. I hate how the bond makes a simple touch from her ignite something within me, how I never want to let go of her hand, how I yearn for her to look at me again.
Railesza coils around her wrist, and I let go. I have no room for distractions, not when we have to brave the catacombs to speak to Victor.
Lyria meets us one flight below, her eyes immediately falling to Railesza around Viola’s arm. Her eyes flick to me while she suppresses a smile. I hope she’s not getting the wrong idea from this. We’re only working together to uncover our siblings’ murderer.
“Vi, are you ready?” My sister steps past me and hooks her arm around Viola’s.Vi. Since when did they become so close?
“No.” Viola shakes her head. “What do I do in the catacombs? I’ve never had an active conversation with a ghost.”
Lyria tugs her forward. “The only voice you’re going to listen for isVictor’s. But if the voices get too overwhelming, find a single human voice as your anchor—Sylas or I will be here to talk you out of it. If the voices try to drown you, use the magic of the catacombs and lead them into the river so they can go forth with the current.”
Viola looks at my sister like she’s speaking a foreign language. Because she is. How Lyria knows half the things she knows or how she finds time to learn them escapes me. I think that learning is her way of coping with all the tragedy around us.
“Ghosts from the catacombs will never give you their names,” Lyria explains as we walk farther down the stairs. We’re only a couple of flights from the hallway that leads to the Doors of Desire. My sister continues, “They can only have an open conversation with you if you’ve anchored to their voices, but be careful with this. Anchored ghosts can follow you out. The silver lining is only one ghost can anchor at a time.”
“How do you know all that?” I wave my hand in the air. “You’re an Aspieri, for Haal’s sake.”
“It’s inUnderstanding Death MagicandDeath Magic for Beginners, which we study our last year before Magus promotion.” Lyria scowls. “How are you still at the institute?”
Until today, I had no use for information about death magic. Mortemagi stayed on their side of Gorhail, and I stayed on mine.
We fall silent as we climb down several flights of stairs, broken by three short hallways. I shudder as we walk by the moss-filled hallway of the Doors of Desire. The last time I was here, I stabbed Viola because of my own prejudice, and now… I shake my head.
Find Victor’s ghost. Ask him about Beau. Get their bodies from Dearly Departed. Catch the murderer. These are the only things I should be thinking about.
“I know the way.” Lyria leaves Viola behind and steps past me. She practically skips all the way down, while I measure my every step. The farther down we go, the air crawls with rancid humidity. The sharp drop in temperature means only one thing. Ghosts. We’re nearing the catacombs, and down here, even the aspiers cannot ward us from them.
“Viola.” I break the silence. I need to warn her about the influx of voices she’ll be hearing any moment. No answer. My spine prickles with unease.
I’m too late; I know it.
“Lyria,” I yell for my sister, before turning to Viola. She stands four steps behind me, frozen in place. Her glassy eyes look straight ahead, but they see nothing. Her lips are slightly parted, but no words come out.
Railesza slithers down her arm, her fangs hovering over her wrist.
“Go,” I urge, and her fangs sink into Viola’s veins.
Nothing happens.