Chapter Eighteen Sylas #2
She blinks, and the spell breaks. I drop my hand. That stupid bond is messing with my head again, pulling me toward her.
Viola may be different, but she’s still a Mortemagi. The magic that killed Mom flows in her. Like every disciple of the House of Death, she will choose that magic in the end.
I don’t look at her, and I step over to the wardrobe.
I flip through a few sweaters until I land on a thick wool one and push it into her hands.
“It’s freezing in the catacombs,” I say, dragging my gaze across her body.
She’s wearing tight pants and a plain long-sleeved shirt, a recipe to join the residents of the catacombs by freezing to death.
“Wear a warmer shirt, and please, change into combat pants and line them with tights,” I instruct.
Her eyebrows flinch, and she searches my eyes; I give her nothing.
“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 is Victor’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 in Understanding Death Magic and Death 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.
Railesza lifts her head toward Raiek, but of course he doesn’t budge. He’s not moved since Dad’s death.
Haal. Panic ripples through my limbs, but I push against it. I race back up the stairs until I’m in front of her, lacing my hands around her cheeks. Her skin is so, so cold. I slide my hand down her neck, my fingers feeling for a pulse. She has one, thank Haal.
Anchor. “Viola, listen to my voice.” It cracks.
Her eyes well with tears, but she doesn’t move. She’s in there, somewhere. I curse myself for not paying attention in classes about death magic, curse myself for not taking an interest in Lyria’s research.
“Sy, what—” Lyria rushes to us.
“Ghost paralysis,” I utter. “We’re not in the catacombs yet; she won’t be able to use its river of magic.”
“I’m an idiot,” Lyria mutters. “Her cuff… remove her cuff.”
“I can’t,” I reply. “She didn’t bond with me; her relic won’t respond.” Unless she’s dead or double bonded with someone, no one but she can take off her relic.
“Can you pick her up?” Lyria asks. “Hurry.”
I loop my hands around Viola and lift her into my arms. She sags against my chest. “I have you,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her hair.
Lyria runs a hand over mine and holds it there for a moment. “Trust me,” she says as Nyx slithers from her hand to Viola’s arm. Her aspier hisses at Railesza, who in turn glares at her. It’s too late when I realize what my sister is doing.
“Be gentle, Nyx,” she orders, and Nyx bites Viola’s wrist.
Railesza hisses, but she lets Nyx continue until color drains from Viola’s face and her lips tinge with the faintest shade of blue.
“She’s dead,” Lyria whispers. In less than two seconds, she slides her hands underneath Viola’s sweater and unclips her cuff. “Now,” Lyria screams, and Railesza’s fangs sink in the same spot Nyx’s were.
Lyria maneuvers Viola’s open cuff out of her shirt and cups it with both hands, as if it were a most precious jewel. To me, this cursed relic almost killed Viola.
The seconds it takes Railesza to heal Viola freeze my lungs.
What if she doesn’t wake up at all? My thoughts are cut short because soon after, Viola gasps for air, and I feel my own heart come alive.
She coughs in between breaths, wheezing, as if she’s learning how to breathe all over again.
After a moment, I set her down on the floor and step away as Lyria kneels next to her.
Because I don’t trust my traitor hands nor my traitor heart.
Viola reaches for her arm, frowning. “How did my cuff come off?”
“I unclasped it.” Lyria grimaces and changes the subject. “What happened?”
Viola goes silent for a moment, her hand rubbing her barren arm.
She takes in the emptiness around us, then shakes her head.
“So many voices, so much pain, so much anger. I was drowning in all of it.” She holds her hand out, and my sister gingerly hands her back the Corvi cuff. “How did you take it off?”
“Oh.” Lyria gives her an awkward laugh, glancing up at me. I raise my palms, and her eyes widen in betrayal. She turns to Viola with a nervous smile. “I killed you. Revived you immediately. Is it really killing if you’re not dead?”
Viola’s jaw drops open.
My sister continues her justification. “I have extensive practice.”
“With?” Viola asks.
Lyria murmurs, “Flowers and two mice.”
Flowers and two mice? Lyria, for the love of Haal. She could have really killed Viola.
“You’ve never practiced on a person before?” Viola asks with an eerie calm.
“Now I have…” Lyria winces. My sister has lost her mind.
Viola shrieks, “I could have died.”
“Well,” Lyria drawls. “Technically, you did. You had to, or else I wouldn’t have been able to take off your cuff and release you from ghost paralysis.”
“Ghost paralysis…?” Viola trails.
“You exist in a shell, trapped in your own mind, until you die and become a ghost yourself. You can never cross the Underiver. Delaney spent a whole lesson on it in year six. It only happens to whisperers.”
“And you couldn’t mention that detail before we went deeper down the stairwell?” Viola throws her hands in the air. “Do they kill and revive every whisperer with ghost paralysis?” Viola hisses at Lyria.
“Well, I thought the aspiers would keep the ghosts away, and I didn’t think they would flood you outside of the catacombs.
But it’s also not often that a whisperer comes around here.
” My sister looks at me for support, and I shrug.
Then she looks back at Viola. “I’m so sorry, Vi. I should have warned you.”
A heavy silence hangs between us, and a distant sound of rolling pebbles fills the space.
My sister rubs her hands together, then, as she’s about to speak, Viola stops her.
“You’re brilliant, Lyria. I don’t think anyone else would’ve known what to do.
” If by anyone else, she means me, she wouldn’t be wrong.
If Lyria wasn’t around, Viola would have been trapped forever.
“How do I break out of ghost paralysis?”
“If you’re in the catacombs, you can lead them into the river.” Lyria and I exchange a worried glance. This is one area where Lyria’s theoretical knowledge can’t make up for field practice. “Out in the world, whisperers are trained to break out of paralysis,” I add. “It takes years.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lyria adds. “Cuffs attract ghosts like moths to a flame.”
Viola gets to her feet. Her eyes meet mine, and guilt stirs at my neck.
I can’t do this to her. She’s untrained.
Once we go into the catacombs, it’ll be worse.
She’ll have to wear her relic again to speak to Victor.
What if the voices flood her again and she can’t lead them into the river?
There’s only so many times we can stop and revive her heart.
“We don’t have to do this,” I finally say. “We don’t have to go on Victor’s quest.”
My sister’s head jerks toward me. I’ve already crushed her hopes once, and now I’m doing it again. I’ll write to Gryff. He’s a field leader; he has the authority to dispatch a Firstline whisperer to the catacombs.
“Lyr, in the off chance that Beau’s ghost is still out there, we should focus on burying his body so he doesn’t get lost in the Underiver.
” I try, running a hand over my face, a desperate attempt at swaying my sister.
I can’t believe I’m considering walking away from our biggest lead right now, but the last time I took it upon myself to solve a problem, Beau died, and the time before that, Dad died.
“You can leave, but I have to do this.” Viola tips her chin, steeling her gaze. “For my sister, who died because of me. For your brother, who saved my life. And for Victor, because he holds the answers no one will give us.”
With that, she walks off, Lyria following closely behind. The heaviness settles in again, and my heart beats at the sound of her breath. Realization crashes onto me like the freezing winter downpour: she’s willingly risking death to solve the murders, and I don’t want her to die.
“Viola… there is a chance you do not walk out of there alive,” I remind her as we reach the iron door that leads to the catacombs. I give her one final look, one final out. But her face is blank.
Viola, an untrained Mortemagi, a novice whisperer, is about to walk into a cesspool of angry ghosts. For her, nothing good can come out of this. For Lyria and me, the only consolation is that the ghosts can’t attack us.
“We don’t have all night,” she says, before pushing the door open and disappearing into the tunnels of death.