Page 132 of Death of the Glass Angel
“I know it’s not enough. I know that.” Janus’ voice warbled. “I know you have no reason to forgive me. You shouldn’t. But. . . I loved you. I never meant. . .”
Tears streaked across Janus’ face. She reached forward, wanting nothing more than to draw the figure into a hug—to take its hand. Her fingers brushed the cold fog again—a painful reminder that nothing tangible stood before her.
Only a phantom.
* * *
Talon bowed his head as the procession of the dead began.
Whatever the truth of these phantoms, Talon didn’t believe in the validity of this ritual—nobody but the Altanese did.
Seeing them now, gathered around the edges of the room in an orderly manner, his conviction wavered.
Silence blanketed the room, and an unbearable pause followed. Finally, the shapes stepped away from the walls. A vague silhouette in white passed through Talon, sending ice through his veins.
Shuddering, Talon gritted his teeth. Perhaps he had simply imagined harmony. Chaos swallowed the chamber as ghostly forms wandered the room aimlessly. Directionless. They drew closer to the tomb, one by one, and. . .
Talon blinked in disbelief. Each phantom passed through or circled Kahn, yet avoided Heras entirely.
Judgment had been passed. The spirits named Kahn false in accusing Heras.
Cursing loud enough for his voice to echo, Talon raced down the hall. Janus was alone in this hellish place, the perfect target for a hidden blade.
Something grabbed his arm. Drawing his dagger, Talon pressed it to his attacker’s throat.
Felsin dropped Talon’s arm. “Did you forget I was behind you?”
Lowering his blade, Talon’s heart raced. He had forgotten.
“I know the layout. Let me lead.” Felsin darted ahead of him.
The mist thickened in the lower levels of the tomb. Talon’s steps disturbed the fog, though it muffled his footfalls. He skidded to a stop as he heard something echoing deeper in the tunnels. A voice, crying out shrilly, though he could not discern the words.
Holding his breath, Talon tracked the source of the noise to his left and down. Turning down a bend in the hall, he raced through the darkness, hoping he was not too late.
* * *
All at once, the white haze engulfing Janus receded. The phantom looming over her finally twitched, turning on its heel and walking away. Leaping to her feet, Janus reached after it, hand passing through the fog of its arm.
The sight of its departure ripped her heart in two.
“Wait! Eros!” Janus called, breaking into a sprint.
Janus tore through the Monolith halls. Tombs flew past her as the hall descended deep into the earth. But no matter her urgency, the gap between them could not be surmounted.
Ten paces. Twenty. Thirty. Until the ghost was out of sight.
The final hints of fog dissipated, and Janus dropped to her knees, bones striking the stone floors. Had Eros heard her apology? Had it been accepted or rejected?
Had the ghost been Eros at all?
Breathing heavily, Janus looked around her. Beautifully carved sarcophagi surrounded her. The names on the plaques were unfamiliar, the soft light of the torches not enough to dispel the gloom. She caught her breath, sorting through her emotions.
A shadow darted across the walls. Out of the corner of her eye, it looked like a monster, a great dragon lunging with its maw. Janus gasped and reared away as a hand grabbed her arm.
Gemellus yanked Janus toward him, and she bumped into his chest. “I swear, girl, you’re trying to get yourself killed.”
“Gem!” Janus cried. A thousand emotions streamed from her, and she sank against him, exhausted.
