Page 27 of What Is Dark Within Me

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it too quickly, nipping the end of her tongue. He was right. Aleja would have done everything she could to convince Violet that whatever the Otherlanders offered, the price she’d be forced to pay was worse. And Aleja would have been a hypocrite for doing it. She had lit the black candle herself, after all.

Aleja turned the relic around in her hands, so that the bones clinked against the glass. They were stained and chipped with age, but the object didn’t feel particularly magical. “Laurent mentioned the well. What if she thought it would heal her? Maybe she’s gone back there. Maybe it’s where she found this.”

For a moment, Nicolas looked so hesitant, so human, that Aleja could have pretended she was in some fancy office at her university, about to get chewed out for turning in a paper three days late.

“Nicolas?” The name felt bitter on her tongue.

“She could be asleep,” he said. “The scrying mirror can’t find people who aren’t awake.”

“Then why don’t we try again?” she asked. “You must have one here.”

“I did try again.”

“What?”

“While you rested, back at the apartment. And I’ve tried three times since arriving at the Hiding Place. Always static. If your friend is sleeping, it’s a long nap. There is someone who might help us, but…” A shadow crossed his face. “Well, I suppose it’s best to get this over with. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Aleja said, pulling Violet’s backpack over her shoulders. It smelled of sweat and cave dirt, but underneath that was a hint of floral leave-in conditioner.

“It’ll be easier to show you than explain,” he answered.

He led her farther down the hall, turning the corner where the man with the axes had disappeared. She couldn’t name what architectural style the palace was in. It was vaguely Gothic but too loose, too organic, as if the palace interior hadn’t been built so much as grown—a forest that resembled a cathedral.

The space was empty, aside from the paintings on the walls, which seemed to progress chronologically. They’d passed the compositions of the Renaissance and were now surrounded by the heavy shadows and drama of the Baroque.

“Is that a Rembrandt? Itisa Rembrandt. Let me guess. You were friends with him, too.”

“No, actually. That one was from a bargain, but not with Rembrandt. Some wealthy occultist had it in his collection when he lit the black candle,” he said.

“Oh? What did he want from you?” Aleja said, biting back a comment about how a painting had been enough to buy him off once, but he’d demanded three human lives from her ancestors.

“A bottle of wine.”

Aleja stopped in her tracks. “He summoned the Knowing One for a bottle of wine?”

“Not just any wine. A bottle of 1945 Mouton Rothschild, often considered to be the best ever produced. The old man was dying. He wanted his final drink to be special.”

“You—ugh! You’re infuriating!” She couldn’t stop from raising her voice. “Youignoredme. I probably couldn’t count the number of genuine, desperate requests you get every day, and yet an old man who wanted a last glass of wine gets your attention?”

They’d reached the end of the hall to find another staircase. This one spiraled upward in wrought iron, disappearing into a round hole in the ceiling. Nicolas turned to her, his silver eyes flashing. He stood in front of some sort of ridiculous curio cabinet decked with shining gold leaf, and a sunburst framed his head like a halo.

“It’s complicated.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Alejandra.”

She wasn’t walking, but his voice made her body feel like it’d slammed into a wall. A tabby cat she hadn’t noticed until now darted around a corner in alarm.

“There are rules. Old rules, set by the first who bore my title. I appear to those whose request I can fulfill. As for you, I can only come to those who light the candle without fear in their hearts. Your hands shook so much each time you lit a match, you could barely get it to the wick without it blowing out.”

“You were watching me?” she snarled. A lick of fire curled from her palm.

“I’m no spy. Youwantedme to notice you.”

He has a point, the voice in her head muttered.

Nicolas turned and started up the stairs before she could argue. “Come on,” he said. “You’ll understand more soon.”

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