Chapter 13

Ursula barked a cough as they reconstituted in a small room, their ashy bodies solidifying over a rickety wooden floor. Coughing, Bael brushed a few bits of ash from his jacket.

Ursula surveyed the space. Dim, silvery light streamed through long, slatted windows in stone walls, highlighting ash and dust motes floating in the air. An enormous brass bell hung above them.

“It looks like Kester put us right into the bell tower of Laverna,” said Bael.

Ursula crossed to the closest window, peering between the slats. She squinted as an icy breeze blew against her cheekbones. Okay. Maybe it hadn’t been morning in the Shadow Realm, because the moon hung in the sky here in Mount Acidale, and no one moved on the dark streets below.

Far below them sprawled a tangle of timber-frame houses—built close together, with sharply peaked roofs. Smoke curled from their chimneys. Ursula sniffed, taking in a sulfurous scent that tickled something dormant in the back of her skull.

Bael stood by the window. “Mount Acidale is not known for its beauty.” He touched her elbow. “But let me show you the castle.”

He led her to the opposite side of the tower room. Peering through the slatted windows, Ursula could see more of the Mount Acidale slums, but also the looming mass of a larger structure—a ruin, really. A crooked jumble of stone that might have once looked like something stately.

What may have been beautiful towers were now roofless stumps, dark soot scarring the walls. Ursula couldn’t help thinking it looked like the partially decomposed carcass of a monstrous creature.

A scream pierced the air, and Ursula’s body stiffened. Hard to mistake the shriek of a dragon.

Ursula pointed to the ruined castle. “Did the dragons do that?”

“No,” said Bael. “That was Kester’s and Emerazel’s doing. In the Battle of Mount Acidale, Emerazel’s followers torched Calidore Castle, almost razed it to the ground.”

“Does the king still live there?”

“As far as I know,” said Bael. “Not all of the castle burned. Many of its rooms are still habitable.”

As Ursula studied the ruin, Bael moved around the room behind her. She jumped at the sound of creaking hinges, turning to see him lifting the top of an ancient trapdoor.

“I think this is the way down,” he said simply.

Ursula followed him down a short wooden ladder, then down a dark staircase that wrapped around the interior of the tower. Their footsteps creaked as they walked, and Ursula shivered at the eerie atmosphere. The air smelled of mold and damp leaves.

At the bottom of the dank tower, Bael tried a doorknob. When he found it locked, he broke it with a sharp kick just above the lock. The door swung open to reveal the interior of a church. Or a temple, perhaps—one covered in dust and cobwebs, with symbols of flames etched into stained-glass windows.

They crossed into the center of a sanctuary, where Emerazel’s sigil hung above them. Rows of church pews faced them. Carved into the stones on the far wall was a Latin inscription: Hodie mecum eris inferno.

“Well, we’re in the right place,” said Bael.

“How do you know?”

“The inscription,” he said, pointing at the Latin text. “‘This day you shall be with me in the infernos.’ The words Emerazel speaks to her followers when she personally reaps their souls. This is definitely the Church of Laverna.”

Given that the king had forbidden the use of fire magic, it was no wonder the place seemed a bit shabby.

Bael started down the central aisle toward a pair of large wooden doors, and Ursula followed, her crinoline gown practically trailing on the dusty floor.

As they neared the exit, the sound of creaking wood pierced the silence, and a small door opened in one of the walls. A man stepped into the sanctuary, dressed in a dark robe. He looked like a priest, but apparently he was a priest of Emerazel. One forbidden from using her magic.

“Who are you?” he asked. Ursula could sense the fear in his voice.

“We were just leaving,” said Bael, starting toward the doors.

The priest’s eyes widened as he looked past them toward the sanctuary and the broken bell tower door. “You must leave at once,” he said in a sharp whisper. “If Midac were to learn of the sigil?—”

“Just on our way out,” said Ursula.

And with that, Bael pushed open the church doors. Outside, a bitterly cold wind nipped at Ursula’s skin, and they crossed onto a narrow street, the houses crowded over a cobbled road. Mist curled through the air. Ursula shivered, pulling the wool cloak tightly around her.

“Should we be worried about the priest?” she asked.

“No,” said Bael. “Laverna is a goddess of thieves and deceivers. He won’t be compelled to tell the truth.”

“Well, that is reassuring.”

If Bael heard her, he didn’t show it, instead starting across the small churchyard at a brisk trot. Graves jutted out of the bumpy grass at odd angles, and Ursula hurried to catch up with Bael.

“What now?” she asked.

Bael paused for a minute, squinting his eyes. “This way.”

Ursula walked briskly to keep up with him, taking in the scene around her. Three-story, rickety houses loomed over the street, built so close together they blotted out most of the moon. Although they’d left the Grotto, Ursula still felt that sense of dark claustrophobia. She followed Bael down streets so narrow she could practically touch both sides if she stretched out her arms. Not that she had any desire to actually do so. A misting rain had left the cobbles slick with ice, and it took her full concentration not to slip on the stones.

Bael peered at her, his gray eyes glinting in the gloom. “Do you recognize anything here? Anything familiar?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

She shook her head. “Maybe a vague sense that I’ve been here before, but that’s about it.”

“I haven’t been to my home in centuries,” he said. “My real home. I don’t like what it makes me remember.” He slid his gaze to Ursula. “You might not like what you remember here, either.”

A chill snaked up Ursula’s spine. “I know. But I have to try. You once told me I shouldn’t run from my painful memories. I think you were right.”

Silence fell over the pair again. As they made their way through the maze of streets, Ursula felt a familiar prickling of the hair on her arms. Somewhere in the darkness behind them, someone was watching.

“Bael,” she whispered as loudly as she dared. “I think we’re being followed.”

Bael’s hand immediately went to the blade at his belt, and they both picked up their pace as the street opened onto a larger avenue. The fog thickened around them, and a misty rain fell. Bael grabbed Ursula’s hand, pulling her into the shadowy entrance of a store. A horse neighed in the distance.

Ursula was pressed up close to Bael’s powerful chest. Warmth radiated from his body, and the intoxicating scent of sandalwood curled around her.

“What are you doing?” Ursula whispered, half tempted to just rest her head against his body and close her eyes.

Bael pressed a finger to his lips.

A clattering sound echoed off the buildings, and Ursula peered around the corner. A black carriage was emerging from the fog. Pulled by a brace of horses, it barreled over the cobbles. From its roof, a coachman slapped the reins, urging the horses onward.

Bael pulled her closer, enveloping her in his shadowy magic to cloak her. It took Ursula a moment to see why. Armed with a long rifle, a footman rode next to the coachman. As the carriage passed, Ursula caught a brief glimpse of a young couple sitting inside. Then the carriage disappeared back into the fog.

She rested against Bael for a moment, drinking in his soothing smell and enjoying the feel of his powerful arms around her.

Still, she couldn’t really enjoy the close contact when she realized that across the avenue, stood a pair of men dressed in long black coats. One wore a bowler hat, while the other sported a thick set of muttonchops. Bowler Hat’s hand moved inside his coat and drew out a revolver. Ursula’s pulse raced.

“Thieves, I think,” said Bael. “They must have followed us from the Church of Laverna.”

Bael spoke softly, his voice nearly husky. “We should go.” Almost reluctantly, he pulled away and peered onto the street. “Now.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her after him.

About twenty feet into their sprint, a voice interrupted them.

“Don’t move,” Bowler Hat barked.

Bael stopped, turning to face them. “Put down your gun,” he said slowly.

The mugger laughed, moving closer. “You’ll have to pay first. Empty your pockets.” He had an old-fashioned sort of Cockney accent—one Ursula had only ever heard used by the octogenarian set in London.

“I’ll only say it one more time,” said Bael. “Put down your gun.”

Muttonchops muttered something to his partner, who began to raise his revolver. Fire began to kindle within Ursula, but Bael was already moving in a flicker of shadows. Breaking bone cracked the air—then a scream—as Bael snapped Bowler’s wrist. The revolver skittered into the street. Bael stepped behind the man, then pressed the edge of his sword against his throat in a blur of shadows and steel.

Bowler’s hat fell to the cobbles, revealing thinning hair. He struggled, but Bael pressed his sword harder against the man’s throat. Muttonchops scrambled around for the revolver.

“Stay where you are,” said Bael, his voice glacial. “Or your friend dies.”

Muttonchops lifted his terrified eyes to meet Bael’s. “Let him go.”

Bael’s sword remained pressed against the man’s throat.

“We are only trying to feed our families,” Muttonchops whined.

“You would have killed us,” said Bael.

“We had no choice. There is no food.” Tears welled in Muttonchops’ eyes, and his voice was thick. “Don’t kill my brother.”

Ursula looked from Bowler to Muttonchops. She had to admit, they seemed genuinely upset. Of course, Bowler had a sword pressed to his throat, but Muttonchops’s tears looked authentic.

Ursula bent to pick up the revolver from the cobbles, finding the metal grimy and wet with rain. Rearing back, she threw it with all her strength down the empty street. It disappeared into the fog and gloom with a distant clatter.

“I think we should let them go,” she said.

Bael studied her for a moment, as if trying to determine if she was serious, then released the pressure on his sword. As Bowler moved away, Bael shoved him hard, sending him sprawling into his brother’s arms. Both men fell onto the mucky street.

“If you follow us, I will kill you both,” said Bael. “And it won’t require any effort on my part.”

He nodded at the winding road, and led Ursula away into the thickening fog.