Chapter 26 #3
The faint hints he’d caught of the ghost’s magic had always seemed to come from a great distance as though from beyond the grave, but perhaps it had just been the feeble whisper of an accent even more closely related to Nic’s own than the duke’s.
“Nic, what is it?” Leaf said when he didn’t answer. “You think he’s still alive?”
He looked into Leaf’s confused face, his own surely twisting like his stomach. “?‘We don’t need another useless conjuror in this family.’ That’s what he said to me, Leaf, the night you asked me to sing. Another conjuror. I think you were right. Lord Francis is our ghost.”
The grotto hall sat empty and silent, no sign of the dark sea that had once swirled after them, filling the floor. Pinpricks of light pierced through the bricked-up doorway to the front courtyard, while the large edifice containing the grotto doors loomed ominously.
“Are you sure he’ll be here?” Leaf said as they reached the bottom of the stairs and began across the old flagstones.
“There’s nowhere else he could be.”
“All right, better question. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
The truth was that he didn’t know. If Lord Francis was his ghost, then the man had already passed up numerous opportunities to end Nic’s life, yet Silla’s warning that knowledge was dangerous kept pricking at his thoughts.
And so, before they’d come, Nic had fetched one of the duke’s many pistols from the drawer in his study. Loaded and ready, it was tucked into the lining of his coat.
“I think it’ll be all right,” Nic said eventually. “I’ve seen him enough times now that I’m sure if he wanted me dead, he would have already done it, but… if anything happens, run.”
“Nic—”
“I don’t think it will; just promise you’ll run.”
Cheeks paling, Leaf nodded. “All right. I promise.”
They made it halfway across the flagstones before the first door slammed. As it had the last time they’d tried to reach the grotto, another followed, sending off a distant crescendo.
“Just like before,” Leaf said, and Nic turned, hunting for any movement in the hall. It was still, yet the dusty air began to take on the thick, sticky feel of spent magic. It began as the faintest hint, before it oozed beneath the doors upon a tide of familiar darkness.
Leaf tensed, crushing Nic’s hand as the inky cloud spread across the cracked flagstones, reaching lashing tendrils toward their feet. “What do we do?”
“Pretend it isn’t there.”
“That’s a lot easier said than done, Nicholas Monterris.”
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes,” he repeated, squeezing her hand as the thick shadows stretched toward them. “It might feel cold and strange but we’ll walk through it together. Trust me.”
Leaf shut her eyes, and pulling her with him, Nic stepped into the black sludge.
At first it felt like nothing, before a harsh cold crept across his skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks.
From somewhere nearby, a scream reverberated, yet like the slamming doors it seemed to have no one source.
Nic took another step. The darkness rose, clawing up his legs and catching upon Leaf’s skirt like wisps of charred cloth.
“Where is that scream coming from?” Leaf’s voice sounded as far away as the scream sounded close, echoing through the darkness as Nic edged forward.
“Ignore it!” he called back. “It’s not real.”
The door was gone, obscured by whipping dark clouds—clouds that swelled up over them on a rising tide.
Just like back in the service passage, the darkness slid up Nic’s chin and poured into his mouth like cold knives.
Leaf’s hand twitched, but he just tightened his hold and stepped forward, his attempt to call out to her swallowed by the night.
The floor, the walls, the door—all had vanished into the smothering black fog that seemed to live both within and without.
Nic reached out. One step. Two. Pushing through the heavy night until his fingertips brushed wood. Another step and his palm flattened against it. Eyes closed, Nic hunted the handle and bolt, his hand all that assured him they were there.
There was no sound of grating metal as Nic pulled the bolt, yet surely it moved, and he reached for one round handle and pushed.
The door swung open, tearing at the darkness. Like so much shredded paper it dropped away, leaving only real darkness in its place beyond the door.
“That was awful,” Leaf whispered, jerking her lantern up. It illuminated a short stone passage blackened with age.
And the pale face of an automaton.
It floated toward them atop a dark cloak, and Nic fought the urge to reach for the pistol. “Stop!”
The figure halted, and from a little over an arm’s length away, it stared at them as they stared at it.
Then the tendrils of darkness hanging off its frame fell away like so much mist, revealing the black of a Brilliant’s shirt and the shimmering threads of a fine waistcoat.
The mask was next, swept off by a slim-fingered hand.
The face beneath belonged to a stranger, yet those dark eyes and that mess of faded golden hair were all too familiar.
“Hello, Nicholas,” the man said, his lopsided smile producing only one dimple. “I’ve been wondering whether you would find me.”