A Darkness Strange and Lovely

Chapter Twenty-two

“No!” I launched myself at the cave-in. The entire tunnel was blocked, but I had to get through. I kicked rocks aside and flung at the dirt. “Please, please, please, no!”

Oliver’s arms slung around me. “Stop! You’ll bring down more of the ceiling.”

“But they’re on the other side!” I shrieked. “Daniel’s on the other side!”

“And we can’t do anything about that now!”

“We can go through!”

“No, El, we can’t.” He spun me around to face him. “Your man shot the ceiling, and he did it on purpose.”

“B-but why?” I found I was shaking and . . . and crying. “They have no light and th-there’s hundreds of Dead.”

“I don’t think the Dead were hurting them.”

“Wh-what?”

“Joseph—he kept blasting them down and was still able to shout. He didn’t sound hurt. More . . . detained. Think about it, El. Why would the demon want to hurt anyone who walked into its lair?”

“It . . . it wouldn’t.” I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. “It cannot sacrifice a dead victim.” My hands dropped. “But that means Joseph and Daniel will both be . . .” I spun back around and lunged for the rubble. “We have to get through!”

“But there’s no point. ” He was yelling at me. “If we get through, then we’ll be demon-food.”

“But we can stop the Dead!”

“No, we can’t.” He shoved in front of me and gripped my chin. “There were hundreds of bodies back there. This demon must collect them from the catacombs and use them as sentries to patrol the tunnels. I can’t take down more than a few Dead at a time, El, and you . . . you don’t know how to take down any.”

“So teach me!”

He lowered his hand. “Even if I did, you wouldn’t be able to stop any more bodies than I can.”

My stomach curdled, and the tears fell harder. “B-but I can’t just leave Daniel . . . or Joseph . . . or that demon. Please, Oliver!”

“Please what? We have only one option: go back. We can get the hell out of here and—”

“No. No.” My tears stopped abruptly, cold trails on my face. “We are not leaving. Though . . . we can go back.” I swooped up the lantern and strode down the tunnel.

“And do what?” He surged beside me, his hands up. “Oh no. You mean go into the other passage?”

“Yes.”

“What if it leads nowhere?”

“I have to try.”

“Well, what if it leads to more Dead?”

I hesitated at that, and Oliver charged on. “See, El? We need to go back to the surface.”

“No,” I snapped. “Absolutely not. There must be some spell I can cast to protect us, right?”

His shoulders dropped an inch. He looked away. “There is an awareness spell. It would allow you to sense anything living—or Dead—nearby.”

I nodded curtly. More magic. More spells. It would give me strength, and that was something I needed. I set off back toward the branching tunnels and said, “Tell me what to do.”

Oliver followed just on my heels, the lantern swinging in his hand. “First you say Sentio omnia quae me circumdentur. It means ‘I feel all around me,’ and it will form a web. You sort of toss it out.”

He spread his arms, and the light sprayed out with the movement. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” We were almost to the split. With each step, I drew my magic into my chest. It trickled in slowly, warm and safe. A balm to my fears, an embrace against the cold, and a light in the dark. And with each drop of soul that slid through my veins, my steps grew stronger, and the blue glow grew brighter.

“Sentio omnia quae me circumdentur.” The words trilled over my tongue, and as I threw my magic wide, casting it in all directions, I slowed to a stop at the fork in the tunnels. My magic spread and spread until finally sinking into place like a net sinking to the bottom of a pond.

“Well?” Oliver asked. “Do you sense anyone?”

“No.” Other than Oliver behind me, I sensed nothing—though I tried to sense more. Tried to push the web just a bit farther, to feel for Daniel and Joseph . . . but they were too far away, or . . .

No, they are alive, and I will find them.

With a final glance at Oliver, I set off down the other passage. How long we went or how far, I could not say. Though the winding limestone tunnel was the same as all the others, this journey wasn’t like the earlier one. I had my magic now, so I felt no irritation—only determination. And worry.

Always, always I had to battle thoughts of Daniel and Joseph getting closer to death with every second that passed—if they weren’t already . . . dead. . . .

And always I had to focus my web of awareness. More than once I found my thoughts wandering, for I could not help but wonder where we were beneath Paris. We had walked so far. What part of the city was above us now?

Eventually Oliver pulled me to a stop. “The path ends ahead.”

“What?” I choked. “What do you mean ‘ends’?”

“There’s a wall.” He motioned ahead, beyond the range of the lantern’s light. “A dead end.”

I scurried ahead, frustration exploding in my chest—only to grind quickly to a halt. There was a wall. But it was cracked, like the wall by the reservoir had been.

“I can squeeze through that.” I darted forward, but Oliver latched on to my arm.

“Don’t be ridiculous! It probably leads nowhere.”

I yanked free and surged toward the wall again. “Just let me check. Please.” Yet I only made it two steps when a black, putrid wave slammed into my senses.

I cried out, dropping to my knees. The stench of grave dirt invaded my nose.

“El, what is it?”

But I couldn’t answer. My stomach heaved, and bile boiled up my throat. I vomited into the black.

Acid splattered my hands.

“El, what’s wrong?”

“D-death,” I stuttered before gagging again. “Wrong.”

“Draw in the web.” His voice was barely a whisper, yet the urgency was clear. “Hurry, you’ll feel better.”

I did as he said, frantically reeling my awareness back to myself. Instantly the nausea and the smell vanished.

Clutching my arms to my stomach, I sank back until I hit the tunnel wall.

“Are you all right?’ Oliver murmured, his hand patting my arm until his fingers found mine. He squeezed. “El?”

“No, I am not all right.” My voice trembled, burning my acid-raw throat. “It was . . . it was so, so rotten. Death everywhere.”

“It’s the demon.” Oliver’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Can you sense it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, squeezing my hand again. “But I’m sure I will soon. Your web of magic extends your range of awareness much farther than my own. Tell me: which way was it?”

I pointed behind me, toward the crack in the wall. “Just beyond there.”

Oliver’s eyebrows shot down. “Did you sense Joseph? Or Daniel?”

“I-I did not try.”

“What about the Dead?” he pressed. “Did you feel any corpses?”

“I did not try, Ollie. The black and the grave dirt, they overpowered everything.”

He took my other hand in his. “You have to try, El. If this demon is just through that hole, we need to be prepared. We need to know if it’s alone.”

I gulped and nodded. Tentatively, I sucked in my magic, but rather than fling out my awareness, I let it creep through the crack . . . then onward and up . . . until the rotten sense of wrong rolled over me. I screwed my eyes shut, forcing myself to keep fumbling, keep feeling. . . . Then I sensed two flames amid the black: Daniel and Joseph.

I yanked in the web, popping my eyes wide. “They’re there,” I breathed. “Daniel, Joseph. And I couldn’t feel any Dead.” My breath shot out, thick with relief. “Oh thank God, they’re there. Alive . . . alive.”

“And how far ahead is the demon?”

“No . . . no more than a hundred yards.”

“And you are sure you want to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go. Quietly.” His hand gripped my elbow, and without another word, he helped me cram myself into the slanted crack. I had to shove and wiggle until the rock tore my clothes and slashed my skin, but I was numb from the cold and the magic. I felt no pain. After several feet of this clambering, I finally wedged through—and into a pitch-black, yet open, tunnel.

Oliver eased out behind me—but without the lantern. “I couldn’t carry it and still fit through. I’m sorry.”

“Can you see?” I whispered.

“Well enough. I will go first.” Then he clasped my hand in his and pulled me into a careful tiptoe.

Our pace was barely above a crawl, and everything seemed loud. Each of our steps, our breaths, our fingertips brushing on the cave walls. And everywhere that my straining eyes landed seemed to move.

Every spot in my vision sent my pulse racing.

Suddenly Oliver’s hand clenched mine in warning. I froze, holding my breath trapped. Ever so slowly, Oliver pulled me to him, and then I felt his lips at my ear. “It’s ahead. Joseph—he’s shouting.

Can you hear?”

I shook my head once.

“We’ll keep going, but be prepared to fight. Have . . . have your commands for me ready.”

“What will I command you to do?”

He gave an almost inaudible laugh. “Just tell me to destroy it.” He drew away from me, and together we crept forward, the tunnel curving right . . . then left. After twenty measured steps, the faintest sounds finally began to slide into my ears. Forty steps and we rounded another bend—and now

Joseph’s bellows sounded clear. Seconds later we veered sharply left . . . and halted. Light, painful even in its orange dimness, shone ahead. I squinted, trying to see what was in the light, but we were still too far away.

Then a scream—a sickening shriek of pain—tore through the tunnel. But I couldn’t tell if it was

Daniel’s or Joseph’s. All I knew was that we were out of time.

I pushed Oliver to go faster. The screams masked our footsteps until the shrieking ceased. We instantly stopped . . . waiting, not breathing. A new sound broke out: a tinkling, happy sound. Someone laughing.

I glanced at Oliver, and at his nod I slunk forward. He slid along behind me, both of us hugging the walls and craning our necks.

But once I could see, I instantly wished for the darkness again. Because knowing what was in there —seeing the horror—was so, so much worse.

It was a cavern, tall, round, and as large as the ballroom, yet lit by torches that cast the scene in an orange, shadowy light.

And there, hunched over a stone table in the center of the cavern with long, jagged claws extended and her dainty mouth lapping up blood, was none other than Madame Marineaux.

And the blood was Joseph’s. It poured from the side of his head, from a gushing, jagged hole where his ear had once been.