Page 111 of Their Reckless Thief
I pulled a vial of Phantomine from my pocket and brought it to my lips. I needed to soothe my nerves.
Before I could tilt it back, Dorian grabbed my free hand and squeezed. “You really don’t need that, Celeste.”
Vincenzo narrowed his eyes at me. “You have all three of us to protect you. There’s nothing to worry about.”
I gestured at our environment. “We’re literally walking into the clutches of death. I’m taking the damn drug, and you all can go to hell.” I knocked the purple liquid back in one sip.
I swallowed hard and stuck closer to the group, thankful I wasn’t doing this alone. I couldn’t even imagine running a solo job in this territory. I was reckless, sure, but I wasn’t fucking stupid.
“Stay close,” Luca muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the mist ahead. Shadows twisted and swirled around him, clinging to his form as if they recognized him as their master. Based on their lack of apparition, the wraiths respected Luca—or feared him. I wasn’t sure which, and I didn’t care to ask.
Vincenzo walked just ahead of me, silent but alert, his eyes cutting through the dark like blades. Beside him, Dorian was subdued, his posture tense as he took in the surroundings, fingers twitching slightly as if expecting something to lunge at usany second. Every so often, his hand brushed mine, and though I didn’t think he noticed, the small contact grounded me.
The Wraith territory was unlike anything I could ever have fathomed. Unease clung around us like a heavy, suffocating blanket, and the world itself appeared twisted and unnatural. Every step we took felt like it was being measured, watched, and evaluated by unseen forces, and the landscape only added to the nightmarish effect.
I could sense the wraiths. We all could. Ghost-like figures slipped in and out of the mist, some barely more than whispers of darkness, others solid enough to catch glimpses of their twisted, gaping faces. Hollow eyes. Thin, skeletal hands. Their forms flickered between solid and vapor, melting into the mist only to reappear somewhere else entirely, as if they were playing some sick game with us. Their faces were distorted, stretched, ghoulish visages permanently locked in expressions of agony or malice.
Every now and then, one got too close, brushing past us like a cold wind, and it would send a shiver down my spine that I couldn’t shake off. The land was as much theirs as the atmosphere they moved through. It was their kingdom, and we were trespassers.
What passed for the city was a twisted reflection of what I was used to. Buildings weren’t built with any sense of conventionality—at least not by human standards. They rose up from the ground in jagged, spiraling forms, looking more like ancient, crumbling tombs or mausoleums.
We passed a market—if one could call it that. No bustling crowd here, only slow-moving figures in long cloaks, their faces hidden in shadow, their movements almost mechanical as they exchanged goods. There were no shouts from vendors or the haggling of buyers. It was all silent, eerie.
I didn’t recognize any of the items for sale—glowing orbs of sickly green light, jars filled with swirling black mist, or twisted relics that pulsated with dark energy. Spirits and creatures traded silently, exchanging wares probably meant for rituals or dark magic. This was no ordinary marketplace. It was a bazaar for the damned, catering to those who dealt in death and decay.
“Don’t wander too far from my side,” Dorian said, his voice cutting through the silence. His eyes were sharp, and the tension in his stance was unmistakable. “This place likes to play tricks on you.”
As if on cue, the mist shifted in front of us, and the path started to bend and twist and warp, like it was leading us in circles. Luca stopped abruptly and held up a hand. The shadows around him surged forward, pushing through the fog like a blade slicing through water. It revealed the path again—narrow, treacherous, and still very much leading us deeper into the heart of the territory.
Every creature was drawn to us. Tall, gaunt figures with hollow eyes and long, spindly fingers floated past us. Their cloaks billowed out behind them, and when they turned to look at us, I felt a pull, like they were trying to peer into my soul. Their mouths didn’t move, but I could hear whispers all around me, an echo of a language I didn’t recognize. It grew louder and louder with each step we took deeper into the territory.
The streets were paved with dark stones, slick with moisture and glistening under the dim light. There was no natural light here, no sun or moon, only a dull, pale glow that emanated from somewhere deep within the heart of the city. It was barely enough to see by. The shadows here were thick, tangible, and they moved on their own, creeping along the edges of our vision like predators waiting for the right moment to strike.
“Spirit gate ahead,” Luca muttered, and I felt the chill deep in my bones.
I’d heard rumors of the spirit gates—barriers of pure spectral energy that acted like sentinels guarding the Wraith Lord’s domain. As we approached, a faint shimmering light appeared in the distance, growing stronger the closer we got. The gate itself was a delicate construct, a swirling vortex of energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. It was translucent, yet impossible to pass through unless one knew how.
An icy wind swept across the clearing, and I could swear I heard voices—whispers of the dead calling from beyond the grave. The gate shimmered, its ghostly form fluttering as if it was deciding whether to let us through.
Luca stepped forward, his shadows coiling tighter around him as if drawing strength from the darkness. He placed his hand in front of him, and the shadows surged forward, touching the gate’s surface with tendrils of black mist. The energy of the gate flared, resisting, but Luca persisted. He muttered an incantation I didn’t understand, and the gate slowly began to dissolve.
Exhaling heavily, I tried to release the tension that had built in my shoulders. “How many of those are there?”
“Too many,” Luca said flatly. “Unfortunately, the gates aren’t the worst of it.”
We pressed on, the path growing narrower, the mist denser, and the wraiths bolder. They came closer now, their forms more distinct, like shadowy sentinels watching our every move. Every time one passed too close, my skin prickled, and I had to fight the urge to look over my shoulder.
It felt like we were walking through some kind of twisted graveyard where the dead walked beside us. The weight of the silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional sound of something rustling in the distance or the eerie creaking of massive branches that shouldn’t have been able to move.
“This place is a fucking nightmare,” Dorian muttered.
“No shit,” I whispered back. I was grateful he was here. He always managed to keep the mood from descending too deep into desolation, even in a place like this.
We continued on, deeper into the Wraith Lord’s domain, until we reached another spirit gate, this one guarded by a spectral figure clad in ancient armor. Its eyes glowed with a faint, ghostly light as it stood motionless at the gate, its skeletal hand gripping a sword made of ethereal flame.
Luca stepped forward again, and the figure shifted, its hollow gaze locking onto him.
“You shall not pass without an offering,” it said in a voice that was both hollow and deep, like bones scraping against gravel.
