10. The Last Lantern
Chapter ten
The Last Lantern
As I continued down the Lantern Mile, the bustle of the street died down. The crowds thinned, and the open shops grew sparse, many of them closed or fully boarded up. This was the darker part of the Underworld, and the entrance to the catacombs was near.
No light shone from any of the shops, save for a lone tavern where the golden glow of a dying fire flickered, casting dancing shadows on the cobbled path.
A half-rotten sign above the door read THE LAST LANTERN in faded paint.
Old ale casks served as makeshift tables out front.
A handful of surly-looking types sipped their drinks, whispering in each other’s ears, shooting me suspicious looks as I passed. I tried to melt into the darkness.
Then something caught my eye.
It wasn’t possible.
That mop of curly brown hair and emerald eyes.
Darion.
He sat alone, frowning, eyes cast downward toward the mug in his hands. How could he be here? Another in an ever-growing string of coincidences.
I didn’t like coincidences.
I stopped to watch him, but nothing was more obvious than someone standing still in the street, staring. I should have continued on my way. This was not a distraction I needed. But as I moved, he looked up from his mug, and his face transformed from glum to jolly as he shot me a glowing smile.
“Cas! What are you doing here?” His voice echoed through the quiet street.
I cringed as the other patrons looked up; so much for stealth. Resigned to my fate, I approached, trying my best not to smile, but the involuntary curve of my mouth betrayed me. “I could ask the same of you. Are you following me again?”
Darion laughed. “That would be some talented following, since I was here first.”
“Maybe you were following me very quickly?”
Darion snorted. “Are you drunk?”
“You’re the one with a mug of ale.”
“Ale?” Darion shook his head. “No, this is cider. Almost no alcohol.”
“Almost.” I smiled. “But seriously. What brings you to the edge of the Lantern Mile?”
“I come here when I need to get away from people. When I don’t want anyone to find me.” His eyes sparkled. “Well, people usually can’t find me. But I’m happy about my failure to hide this time. What about you? Why are you here in this place where only thieves and misanthropes dare to tread?”
“I was buying some special herbs from a potion merchant,” I said, pointing to my pack.
“That makes sense, except…” Darion tapped his chin. “All the potion merchants are back that way.” He pointed in the direction from which I had just come. “What brings you to the very edge of the Lantern Mile?”
My mind went blank. I hadn’t expected to meet anyone I knew here and had no cover story planned. “I’m headed to the catacombs,” I blurted.
“What?” Darion nearly spat out his cider. “Are you serious? Whatever for?”
That was where my honesty ended. “A scavenger hunt,” I lied. It was a weak lie, but it was the best I could come up with, given the circumstances.
“Bloody serious scavenger hunt.” Darion’s smile broadened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Can I join you?”
Yeah, it was a terrible lie. Now what was I supposed to say? I couldn’t very well drag Darion into the catacombs.
“Well, today I’m just scouting. The scavenger hunt isn’t until…later.” I almost rolled my eyes at myself. This lie was getting worse by the minute. But maybe scouting the catacombs wasn’t the worst idea. It might be a prudent thing to do, and tomorrow I could come back without Darion in tow.
“I’d still like to join you, if you don’t mind,” Darion said with sad eyes that were hard to resist, looking up at me through thick lashes. “It would be very nostalgic. I used to explore them when I was a teen.”
“You did?” I raised my eyebrows. Exploring the catacombs was not for the meek. Many people died or went missing there each year.
“Well, I never went in too far. It was all to impress a boy I had a crush on.” Darion’s cheeks turned the slightest bit rosy, and there was a hint of vulnerability in his expression. It was infuriatingly adorable.
I had assumed that his tastes leaned toward men, what with the way he flirted openly with me, but this was the first indisputable confirmation, and it made my heart flutter unexpectedly. Everything about Darion was unexpected. And annoying.
“That sounds remarkably similar to my own experiences,” I said.
“The exploring part?” Darion paused. “Or the impressing a boy part?”
“Both,” I said—my own indisputable confirmation.
Without another word, I turned and started down the street. If he followed me, so be it. He was a grown man. I could hardly stop him.
I peeked back. He was still sitting at the table, looking like a stray cat hoping for a handout. I let out a long breath. Then I flicked my head in the direction I was headed. With a ridiculous smile, he hopped up from his seat, chugged his cider, tossed a silver onto the table, and raced after me.
We were already near the end of the Lantern Mile, approaching the edge of the Underground, so it didn’t take long before the storefronts and dwellings grew sparse.
The few remaining structures were in serious disrepair; several were still just burnt husks from the fires many years ago.
The light of the final lantern was now out of sight, so we had only the phosphorescent glow of the moss on the ceiling to guide us.
Darion’s handsome face looked almost angelic in the subtle blue light.
This man was an enigma. I knew practically nothing about him, and yet he captivated me in a way I couldn’t explain. It was like an invisible string connected us, attached to my chest, and he kept tugging on it.
“So, who are you exactly?” I said, the words coming out a little more accusatory than intended.
“Darion Thorne, at your service.” He performed a silly bow with a flourish of his hands. “Potion-maker and jack-of-all-trades.”
“Potion-maker. What potion did you need that long list of ingredients for?”
Darion zipped his lips. “Client confidentiality. And what about you, Cas? Who are you?”
“My sister, Elena, and I just sell herbs, trying to make a life for ourselves. And I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, too.” Which was my way of saying I was a thief. “Cassian Nightbrook’s my full name.”
“Well, Cassian Nightbrook, it’s a pleasure to know you,” Darion said with an easy smile.
“Likewise, Darion Thorne.”
As we continued, the storefronts and dwellings gave way to stone walls, some naturally occurring, some cut into the bedrock. Even the moss’s glow dimmed as we continued.
I reached for a vial from the belt strapped across my chest, and after several vigorous shakes, it emitted a green glow, lighting our path. I tucked it back into its slot.
“Impressive,” Darion said. “Did you make that?”
“Yep.”
“I guess you’re not only an herb merchant but a bit of a potion-maker yourself.”
“It’s just simple chemistry,” I said.
“No magic, then?”
“Magic is a word people use when they don’t understand how things work.”
Darion looked my way, fighting a smile.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Not funny. Interesting.”
“I’m not sure interesting is better.”
“I just wouldn’t have taken you for a skeptic of magic,” Darion said, still smiling, almost laughing. “You know, since you sell herbs to people who use them to make magic potions.”
“I’m not saying their potions do nothing. Just that there are logical explanations that don’t involve magic,” I said. “I don’t trust most of the fantastical legends I hear. I need proof before I’ll believe something.”
“Wise beyond your years,” Darion said without a hint of sarcasm. “Who taught you to think like that?”
Images of my father instructing me on the finer points of potioncraft flashed through my mind—his infinite patience, deep wisdom, and loving tenderness.
His absence was palpable, a dark stain on my heart.
The buoyed feeling I got from being around Darion deflated slightly.
I instinctively reached for my locket but then quickly moved my hand away.
I had no desire to talk about my parents or dredge up old memories, so I simply shrugged.
Darion nodded with tight lips, seeming to sense my hesitancy, and said nothing more. Our unspoken pact of respecting each other’s secrets remained in effect.
The cobbled path gave way to dirt and gravel. What had once been an alley became decidedly more twisted and cave-like. The crunching of our footsteps echoed off the walls.
“We’re getting close,” I said. “Keep your eyes open for the entrance.”
“And watch out for bone rats,” Darion added. He seemed to read the skepticism on my face. “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in bone rats either.”
“Oh, I believe in them, just not that they are telepathic or can walk through walls,” I said.
“All you need to believe is that a swarm of them can kill you in seconds.”
“That I believe.”
A moment later, Darion pointed ahead of us. “There. There’s the rupture.”
The “entrance” to the catacombs was a long jagged crack in the stone wall, barely wide enough for an average-size person to slip through.
It was likely the result of an underground tremor many years ago.
The catacombs were never meant to be accessible to the public, but the wardens of the Royal Tombs either didn’t know about the rupture or didn’t deem it a risk, since it was on the opposite end of miles of twisting, mazelike tunnels.
Anyone foolish enough to attempt the trek will be food for the bone rats, the wardens likely thought.
Darion and I stood shoulder to shoulder, peering into the crack and the inky blackness beyond. A shiver ran from my core to my extremities, which I wanted to think was because of the tunnel’s coldness, not the sinking feeling coming over me.
“How much scouting do you plan on doing?” Darion asked. “Are we going in?”
With Darion in tow, I had only imagined getting to the entrance, then turning around. But now it seemed foolish to have come all this way without even going into the catacombs. I was reasonably certain it had nothing to do with trying to impress Darion.
“It couldn’t hurt to go in,” I said, sounding even more uncertain than I felt.
“After you,” Darion said, gesturing toward the entrance.
The crack was narrow enough that I had to go in sideways, and it sloped, so I had to arch backward to fit. I removed my pack and shimmied through, the jagged edges of the rock rubbing against my back.
Halfway through, it occurred to me what a compromised position I was in.
What did I really know about Darion? A simple dagger to my side would finish me, and I wouldn’t be able to defend myself.
My heart rate kicked up, and I fought back a wave of panic.
How could I have been so stupid? Why did I think I could trust him?
I stepped up my pace and pushed my way through, but in my haste, I scraped my arm on the jagged rock. Red lines formed along my skin. When I was free of the crack, I squared my shoulders with my hand on the hilt of my dagger, preparing for whatever came next.
But Darion simply followed me in, much more gracefully than I had managed. When he was through, he smiled. I felt foolish for my bout of panic and mistrust. The longer I spent around him, the more I questioned my judgment.
He looked at my scratched arm and cringed. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just scraped it against the rock.” There were about twenty small scrapes with tiny dots of red beading up. Dust, what a pain.
We had entered a long, narrow hallway cut directly into the bedrock.
Along each wall was a series of stone shelves absolutely packed with human remains.
Piles of skulls, rib cages, femurs, and every other kind of bone stretched on as far as the eye could see.
As I moved from side to side, my glowing vial cast ghoulish bone shadows that danced along the walls.
Far in the distance, I heard a clamor like a group of people celebrating. Had a group of thieves decided to throw some kind of macabre party in the catacombs?
“What is that racket?” I asked.
“I don’t hear anything,” Darion said flatly as he bent over to inspect some loose bones scattered about.
“Seriously?” I asked. How could he not hear it? It sounded like a whole crowd of people yelling in the distance, and it was getting louder.
Darion picked up a bone fragment with jagged scrape marks along it as if it had been chewed.
“Bone rats have been here,” he said, then pointed to my arm. “They can smell blood from a mile away. You’d better do something about that.”
The stupid bone rats again. Overblown nonsense.
Still, my arm was a mess. A hundred pinpricks of blood had bubbled up, and now it was trickling down my fingers and dripping onto the floor. I ran my hand over it, streaking the blood across my arm and making quite a gory sight.
“Okay, now I do hear something,” Darion said.
“Finally!” I said. “So you hear the voices?”
“Sounds more like squeals and chittering.”
Huh. I heard the squeals, too, but they were mere background noise compared to the voices that were now shouting outright.
My father’s voice echoed in my mind. You can hear them, too. It’s your special gift.
A horrifying realization flowed through me. The voices weren’t coming from the tunnels. They were in my head, and they were all chanting a single word over and over:
Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.