Page 25 of The Mask Falling

“It is too much for one day.”

Faced with the abyss, I had never been more tempted by the thought of retreat. I was already shivering in my boots and woolen coat, which were about as waterproof as paper.

“No,” I said. “If we go back now, we’ll never find her again.”

Mélusine was already far ahead of us, almost out of sight. Before I could change my mind, I walked on. A long beat passed before I heard footsteps in my wake. He had promised me we would stay together.

We moved in single file, Arcturus behind me. I let Mélusine disappear around each corner before I followed.

I had seen my share of the subterranean, but this was something else. A labyrinth beneath the earth. Moisture dewed like tears above our heads. Here and there, graffiti streaked the walls.

I could see why Mélusine was confident in the security of this place. Any Vigile would piss themselves at the prospect of trying to navigate down here. Perhaps some of them had wandered themselves to death in these passageways, searching in vain for the heart of the syndicate, or perhaps they had been put off by the sheer volume of spirits. They were like sandpaper on my sixth sense. Too many of them in too little space.

Arcturus had explained to me once that it was an excess of restless spirits, unable to move on after death, that had caused the Mothallath—the former leaders of the Rephaim—to cross over to the human realm, to chase our unquiet dead to the Netherworld. One of their visits had gone terribly wrong, and the veils between the worlds had thinned. That was what had started the civil war that had led to the destruction of the Mothallath.

Here in the carrières, I could feel how threadbare the veils had become. The reverberation in the æther was overwhelming.

I flinched to a stop when my boot knocked something across the rubble. The beam of my headlamp revealed part of a jawbone. The herald of what lay ahead, in the next tunnel.

Bones packed tight as bricks. Human skulls, buffed to a high shine—some as perfect as they must have been in life, others missing jaws or sporting holes. Candles sat in some of their eyeholes, weeping tallow. Crowning these eldritch walls were yet more shards of skeleton. Orphaned ribs and shoulder girdles, littered like a morbid game of pick-up-sticks.

Arcturus beheld it with no expression. I wondered again what he was thinking. One day, every human he had ever met, and had yet to meet, would look like this. I would look like this. The lips he had kissed would rot away. Yet he would remain. Untouched and unchanging.

There were murals on some of the walls, as beautiful as any in a gallery. Mélusine led us through a cleft and down a flight of steps. I was about to follow her when I froze. Several dreamscapes were closing in fast.

“Wait,” I hissed after Mélusine. “There are people coming.”

She was too far away to hear. Moments later, the thunder of footfalls filled the tunnels.

Somewhere ahead, Mélusine shouted. Boots pounded up the steps she had taken, and then they were on us, a swarm of masked voyants. I made out grinning skulls, fingerless gloves and dirty nails, the gleam of carabiners—then one of them slammed me to the floor, pinned my arm, and twisted the knife from my grasp.

“What do we have here?” A knee dug into the small of my back. “Intruders in the dark.”

Several pairs of hands took hold of Arcturus and shoved him against the wall. He made no attempt to resist.

“Regarde ça les gars,” someone called. “Ce mec est un colosse.”

Laughter abounded. The weight on my body wore my breath thin, made my fists clench and my chest heave as I tried to writhe away. I couldn’t be trapped again, I couldn’t . . .

“Hey, hey, bouge pas.” A hand fisted in my hair and jerked my head up, and a rusty switchblade flashed in front of my face. “Parle, maintenant. Who the fuck are you people?”

Arcturus watched with hot eyes. I gave him the barest shake of my head.

“Mélusine,” a polyglot barked. “Letting outsiders into the carrières again, are you, nymph?”

A scuffle on the stairs, and Mélusine was hauled back into view. They threw her down beside me, and she, too, was pinned with a knee.

“What are you talking about, Trouvère?” she said thickly. Her lip bled. “What outsiders?”

“This pair of rats were lurking in the dark.” A flashlight blinded me, then shone toward Arcturus. “How much coin did they pay for you to let them in, and was it worth your life?”

“We followed her,” I cut in. “It’s not her fault.”

The nearest mask tipped. Mélusine wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

“Dear lady, thank you for your honesty.” Warm breath prickled at my ear. “Unfortunately, you and your handsome friend will both have to die for it. No one enters la ville souterraine without invitation. You understand. We must defend our domain from the Vigiles.”

“I demand to see the grands ducs.”

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