by Coralie Moss
“Would you like to lead the way, Alabastair?”
“Only if you are uncomfortable doing so,” he said.
“This is one of those moments where attitude matters. You look way scarier than either me or Clemmie. And I don’t mean that to sound like an insult.” Like me, Beryl hadn’t packed for an extended stay and was wearing the same pink dress, cropped puffy jacket, and black boots as yesterday. I had loaned her the extra pair of stretchy cotton exercise shorts I found in my suitcase.
“Your assessment was not taken as an insult. Put something heavy on the floor so the door cannot slide closed.”
I wedged the wooden chair in at an angle and we were good to go. These steps were stone, cold and worn in the middle. Alabastair stopped when he reached a small landing, then turned the corner and disappeared.
“Watch yourselves,” he said, his voice muffled. “The lights on the walls are lit but there’s something coating the stone and it’s quite slippery.”
I will not picture slimy things. I will not picture slimy things.
I had zero desire to give my imagination any leash at all. The steps were hazardous. I would not imagine why. And I would scrub the bottoms of my boots at the first opportunity.
“Breathe, Sissy. Put your hand on my shoulder if you need. I’m your emotional support sister. Alderose would just tell you to put your big girl pants on.”
“Thanks, B.” I clutched at her jacket’s puffy fabric and we rounded the corner in tandem.
The smell of damp earth intensified as our boots and shoes ground against the bits of stone dusting the steps. Bas finally declared we had arrived. “Would you try that variation of the Illuminata spell again, Beryl?”
I stumbled as Beryl’s jacket slid off her shoulders and almost came off in my hand. “Sorry,” I mumbled, readjusting the jacket and shifting my grip to the belt of her dress.
“You okay back there?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Beryl reached behind and patted my hand before lifting her right arm. “Lucerna lumen.” A faint sputtering issued from a niche in the wall.
“This cellar is quite old,” Maritza said. “I believe it was here before the building on top of us was built. The candles may need coaxing. Step as close as you can to each one, then repeat the spell.”
Beryl followed her advice. Every time she spoke, the ensuing moment of silence was followed by the sound of flames licking hungrily at wicks.
“Alabastair, where is the portal?”
“Here. Embedded into the wall. It’s quite old.” Alabastair had planted himself near the wall opposite the stairwell and was sweeping the beam of his flashlight around the outline of a twisted tree. Three big, bare branches rose away from the wall and into the beamed ceiling. A few roots anchored the tree where dirt met stone.
“Darling, I’ve heard rumor of portal trees that have turned to stone, but never of one embedded in stone,” Maritza said. She pressed her hands to the upper section of the trunk, turned her head, and brought her ear close. “What do you make of this?”
“Given that Rémy made no mention of a petrified portal—and that it now appears to take one to an underground location—we may be dealing with a high calcite content in whatever water source provided sustenance to this particular tree.”
“Can you tell if this portal tree takes travelers to only the one destination?”
“Funny you should ask, Clementine, because I think it does—especially in its current state of immobility.”
I half raised my arm and gave a little wave. “Anyone else ready to give this a try?”
“Let’s not rush, sobrina.” Maritza lifted her head away from the tree’s trunk and assayed the wall to either side. “Bas, did you see any portal stones? Or did you use one of your universal keys to activate the tree when you and Alderose made the first trip out?”
“I used a universal key. And then I found something peculiar.” Alabastair tugged on the fronts of his pant legs and crouched. I winced when the hem of his cloak settled on the dirt. I liked that cloak. He reached into one of its pockets and withdrew an elegant pocketknife. Digging the tip of the knife into the packed dirt, he scraped until the metal met another hard substance. Bas palmed his discovery, then held it up for our perusal.
The object was a hollow, clear-glass marble. “Either of you ever seen one of these before?” he asked. My sister and I shook our heads.
“Could it be a bead?” Mom had trays and bottles and tins of beads back in her shop, everything from tiny seed beads to much larger ones made from crystals, coral, amber, and even bone.
Alabastair examined the marble more closely, twirling it as he did. “I don’t see any holes, Clementine, so no, I don’t think it’s a bead.”
“Is that what I think it is, my darling?” My aunt’s entire mood shifted, from curious to cautious.
“I can’t say for certain.” Alabastair used his knife to knock the last bit of dirt off the marble before slipping both into his pocket. “I think that for now we shall continue to use a universal key to get us to our destination and back again. And I shall send this to the witches who share your brother’s confidence. They will know how to test the material.”
“Wait, are you two going to fill us in on the mystery marble?” Beryl asked.
“Later,” Maritza said. “One mystery at a time.”
The necromancer cleared his throat. “The other end of this portal exposed me to Alderose’s aversion to tight spaces. Do either of you have any phobias I need to know of?”
“Yes,” Beryl and I answered. “I’m afraid of heights,” I said, “and Beryl’s—”
“Not afraid of anything. Well, except not having access to a clean bathroom or my toiletry bag.”
It felt good to laugh. My shoulder brushed the closest wall. I recoiled from the sensation of the cold seeping out of the stone and moved closer to Bas, Mari, and Beryl.
The portal dumped us out.
Alabastair enfolded Maritza in his arms. Beryl and I landed on our hands and knees. Cold air grazed the front of my body. I shifted into a crouch, brushed grit off my hands, and peered into the maw of a tunnel. Behind me, Beryl yipped.
“I cut my hand on something.”
Alabastair tended to my sister while I examined the tunnel’s entrance. The bottom lip of the opening sat at shin height and was about three feet across. The air flowing into the room was definitely colder, but it didn’t smell rank, or musty. It almost—almost—reminded me of the scent of river mist.
“I’m going in,” I said. “Anyone object?”
“Yes,” my three companions shouted in unison before Beryl tried the lucerna lumen spell once again, this time directing her efforts to the interior of the tunnel. Nothing happened.
“In the interest of following the doors that are opening to us, I think I should explore the tunnel. With or without light.” I took a breath and added diplomatically, “Alabastair could come with me. Don’t necromancers have really good eyesight at night?”
“Yes, we do, except in situations like tunnels, where it’s probable we’ll pass beyond the ambient light leaking from this portal stop.”
I’d hoped to lift the mood, but realized Beryl’s concern was genuine. I gave her a hug and pointed out that, together, the necromancer and I would put any major decisions to a vote.
“Your track record for acting within the confines of group decision-making isn’t all that stellar, Sissy.”
“I promise to try.”
I embraced my aunt. Bas hugged her next and was still holding her in his arms when I placed my hands inside the tunnel and ducked my head.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Alabastair said. “Maritza’s going to scan the room for further traces of your mother’s magic.”
“I promise to be careful, Tía.” I tossed the assurance over my shoulder, hoping my aunt would hear. If she responded, her words were absorbed by the stone. I paused to feel the walls around and above me. The tunnel had been bored out, rathe
r than constructed from separate stones.
Here goes nothing.
“No, here goes the brave little witch, and now would be a good time for some help,” I whispered. Like a handful of glow-in-the-dark story threads.
No such luck. I swept at the darkness in front of me with one arm before moving forward. The lack of spiderwebs and slime ratcheted my fear down to a manageable level. “How are you doing, Bas?” I asked.
“I’m ruining a serviceable pair of bespoke pants, but other than that, I’m fine. Yesterday and today have held more excitement than I am accustomed to. Although, I must confess that ever since I became your aunt’s apprentice and her Demesne, life has become an ever-richer pageant filled with ever more…surprises.”
“What’s a domain?” I continued to sweep my arm through the air, plant that hand, scoot forward, and make a sweep with the other arm. Trying to keep up a conversation would cut down on my senses. On the other hand, chatting with the necromancer proved soothing.
Alabastair spelled out Demesne, then added, “The matrilineal side of your family is blessed with a tool for recognizing their life’s true love,” he said, “and I think that is all I should say for now. The rest of it is for your aunt or your uncle to explain.”
“Does it hurt?”
The necromancer paused. His chuckle grew into a sound that rumbled through his chest and echoed down the tunnel. “Only a little.”
“Great.” I shelved my curiosity and refocused on our task. A slight downward cant cautioned me to move forward with even more care. “Any theories about this tunnel? Where it leads? Why it’s here?”
Silence, then, “None whatsoever. Other than tunnels are difficult for creatures of the air to traverse.”
“I wish she’d left instructions,” I said, “a damn handbook, something.”
“Perhaps you just haven’t found it yet.”
I shuffled forward. “Perhaps someone took it.”
“Perhaps.”
Silence created a buffer between me and the crushing awareness of the stone all around. I picked up the pace of my awkward gait. Mom must have written something down and either neglected to let her estate lawyer or Serena know. Or maybe Dad had it—or knew of it.
Heriberto del Valle.
“Were my mom and dad each other’s true love?” I asked, knowing Alabastair might not yet be privilege to our family’s expanded history. “Did my mom experience the Demesne with my father?”
“They were—and are—deeply tied to one another, Clementine. I witnessed the strength of their bond the night I met Maritza and your grandparents, which was the same night Mari and I were bound by the Demesne. I performed a resuscitation on your father—as you know—with your aunt and uncle’s permission, and during his recovery, your mother’s ghost appeared to me. I worked with Mari to bring Moira forth, to help her make her form more…tangible.
“Your aunt—my goddess, she is brilliant—stitched a simple white garment for her sister, which allowed Moira to assume at least a modicum of presence. She and Heriberto had a reunion. We left them alone. And a few hours later, they were gone.”
He added, “That was two-and-a-half months ago.”
I moved forward. “Have you heard anything from either of them since?”
“Not a peep.”
I was used to my father being the silent partner in my parents’ marriage and in their parenting. And I had given up pretty much all hope of him appearing at the door with pocketsful of answers.
I was so focused on picking apart my feelings about my dad from my feelings about my mom, that I almost missed the transition as the tunnel leveled out and a glow appeared far ahead. “Bas? I think the tunnel’s coming to an end. I can see a bit of light.”
I pressed back, resting my butt on my heels, and kept my spine rounded and my head down. I closed then opened my eyes. “Oh. Oh, wait a sec.” Yep. There were squiggly lines forming in my vision and I was pretty sure they weren’t here to announce the imminent arrival of a migraine.
Story threads in myriad shades of greens and blues gathered a foot in front of me before beginning to stream forward. “There’s water ahead,” I said. “There are threads here that I can read. They’re indicating there’s maybe a pool or a pond of some kind? I can’t tell, but I know we’re heading toward water. And it’s fresh water, not salt.”
The story threads were getting bouncy, urging me to hurry. Much as I wanted to crawl faster, I couldn’t. The stone surface was too hard on my knees. As I shuffled forward, the glow at the end of the tunnel grew lighter.
Water. Gallons and gallons of water. I sensed its weight and volume, much as I had with the stone. The story threads were little hands—fluttery, excited hands—beckoning me to the opening at the end. To look. To be amazed.
It wasn’t a far crawl for me to be amazed, but it was a bit of a drop to the pool. “Grab my ankle, Bas. Please.” Cool fingers circled my lower leg. “Thanks. I need a sec to breathe through this vertigo. There’s a cavern ahead. And water.”
“Take all the time you need,” he said, relaxing his grip without letting go.
“I think I’ll do better if I’m on my belly.”
“Do you want me to keep a hold of your leg?”
“Yes. Please.” I went to my belly, mourned the probable ruin of my sweater, and crept forward, lizard-like, using my elbows to pull and my knees to push. The very end of the tunnel rose up slightly, forming a low wall. I put on my brave witch face, rested my chest on the ledge, and looked down.
The cavern was awe-inspiring. Claustrophobic, but definitely a ten on my scale of new experiences. The water below was a lighter shade of emerald than the stone in my mother’s ring. Light from a hidden source bounced off the curved ceiling.
I thought I could make out ledges that had been cut into the walls of the space. Or maybe they were naturally occurring striations in the stone. I scooted forward in order to see more.
Narrow steps led down from this opening to a wide brim of stone below. I got a fluttery feeling in my belly and a tingling throughout my legs, just looking down.
I snorted. The cluster of threads forming a nest above the ledge assured me I could get to them by swinging one leg out of the tunnel and scooting down the rocky steps. “I didn’t know I’d be doing trust exercises today, Bas.”
“What do you mean?”
I motioned toward the water, the ledge, and the impatient threads, all the while inching one knee forward. “They’re telling me that climbing out of this tunnel, down those steps, and onto the ledge is a piece of cake. And that they’ll catch me if I slip.”
“Clementine, I don’t think—”
There. Clinging to the lip of the tunnel, I pulled my upper body forward until I was poised over the water and swore. I was mostly free of the tunnel, with one leg swinging in the air and the other bent at the knee and stuck. The necromancer was not happy with my predicament.
“What the hell are you thinking, Clementine Brodeur?”
“I’m not thinking, I’m doing,” I huffed out. “The threads will catch me.”
Alabastair scooted forward on his belly and assessed the drop to the ledge. His eyes, now a cold, steel gray, gave me pause. He was more than unhappy. He was mad.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” I said, hoping I sounded contrite.
“Your aunt would have my ass trussed up in a sling and kept there for”—he shook his head—“for far longer than would be remotely comfortable if anything preventable caused you harm. These shenanigans were imminently preventable.”
“My sisters will tell you I can be a bit—”
“Stubborn? Headstrong? Careless?” Alabastair shuddered. “Do you think you can get a secure toehold?”
“Yes.” Confidence spread throughout my body the moment the toe of my boot found the solid stone of the first step. Bas gripped my forearm and kept his other hand free in case I needed him to grab me elsewhere. I tested the next lowest step. On my verbal okay, he allowed my arm to slide th
rough his hand. His pointed glare alone was probably responsible for me not falling. Or feeling any more vertigo. And now I was close enough to the water that falling wouldn’t hurt.
Unless it was really, really cold. The threat of hypothermia kept me sharp.
As I descended the rest of the steps, the threads did something they’d never done before. They curled up and around my ankles and calves. One or two tried to join my legs together and were firmly snagged back into the cluster from which they originated.
“What do you see?” Bas’s booming tenor, bald head, and broad shoulders looming out of the tunnel snapped my attention back to the reality that I was standing on a narrow ledge in an underground cavern. There was water lapping at the rock less than twelve inches below and the green, glowing light that had welcomed us was beginning to dim.
11
“Let me get my bearings,” I said to Bas. “I was distracted by the story threads.”
I positioned myself so my back was to the water. Glancing down, I noticed the threads had become noticeably thicker. I was now decked out in a pair of living leg warmers. They’d soon become a second pair of pants if they kept knotting together at this dizzying pace.
“It appears the threads are making a set of greaves for you,” Bas noted. “And the ones on your forearms would be—”
“Gauntlets. I know. You think they’re trying to prep me for battle?” I glanced up at Bas and faked a laugh.
He was not amused. “Have the story threads ever acted like this before?”
I kept my grip on the wall with my left hand and admired what I could of the threads’ handiwork on my right. “Um, no.”
“Could these be something other than story threads?”
“The fact that you can see them too should have been my first clue,” I said. Swallowing, I added, “Bas, is it just me or does it seem like it’s getting darker in here?”
The necromancer might have answered but my attention was completely diverted by the sound of something breaking the surface of the water.
