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Link looked at me like I was crazy. “Hear what?”
“Nothing. Just follow me.”
The huge metal doors lining the filthy street were all the same, dented and scratched, as if they’d been attacked by an enormous animal or something worse. Except for the last door, the one with Seventeen Moons playing inside. It was painted black and covered with more Caster graffiti. But one of the symbols looked different, and it wasn’t spray-painted on the door. It was carved into it. I ran my fingers over the cuts in the wood. “This one looks different, almost Celtic.”
Liv’s voice was a whisper. “Not Celtic. Niadic. It’s an ancient Caster language. A lot of the older scrolls in the Lunae Libri are written in it.”
“What does it say?”
She examined the symbol carefully. “Niadic doesn’t translate directly into words. I mean, you can’t think about the words as words, not exactly. This symbol means place, or moment, either in physical space or time.” She ran her finger over a slash in the wood. “But this line cuts through it, see? So now the place becomes a lack of place, a no place.”
“How can a place be a no place? You’re either in a place, or you’re not.” But as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. I had been in a no place for months now, and so had Lena.
She looked up at me. “I think it says something like ‘Exile.’ ”
Seventeen knows just exile.
“That’s exactly what it says.”
Liv gave me a strange look. “You can’t know that, or do you suddenly speak Niadic?” She had a gleam in her eye, as if this was further proof I might be a Wayward.
“I heard it in a song.” I reached for the door, but Liv grabbed my arm. “Ethan, this isn’t a game. This isn’t the pie-baking contest at the county fair. You’re not in Gatlin anymore. There are dangerous things down here, creatures far more deadly than Ridley and her lollipops.”
I knew she was trying to scare me, but it wasn’t working. Since the night of Lena’s birthday, I knew more about the dangers of the Caster world than any librarian could, Keeper or not. I didn’t blame her for being afraid. You would have to be stupid not to be—like me.
“You’re right. It’s not the library. I’ll understand if you guys don’t want to go in there, but I have to. Lena’s here, somewhere.”
Link pushed open the door and walked in like it was the Jackson High locker room. “Whatever. I’m into dangerous creatures.”
I shrugged and followed him. Liv tightened her hand around the strap of her knapsack, ready to swing it at someone’s head if necessary. She took a tentative step, and the door closed behind her.
Inside it was even darker than on the street. Huge crystal chandeliers, completely out of place among the exposed pipes overhead, provided the only light. The rest of the room was pure industrial rave. It was one gigantic space, with circular booths covered in dark red velvet scattered around the perimeter. Some were surrounded by heavy drapes attached to tracks in the ceiling so they could be closed around the booth, the way the curtains close around hospital beds. There was a bar in the back, in front of a round chrome door with a handle.
Link spotted it, too. “Is that what I think it is?”
I nodded. “A vault.”
The weird chandeliers, the bar that looked more like a counter, the huge windows covered haphazardly with black tape, the vault. This place could have been a bank once, if Casters had banks. I wondered what they had kept behind that door—or maybe I didn’t want to know.
But nothing was weirder than the people, or whatever they were. The crowd surged and receded like at one of Macon’s parties, where time seemed to fade in and out, depending on where you looked. From turn-of-the-century suited gentlemen who looked like Mark Twain, with stiff white-winged collars and striped silk ties, to Goth-looking leather-clad punks, they were all drinking, dancing, and mingling.
“Dude, tell me those creepy-lookin’ see-through people aren’t ghosts.” Link backed away from one hazy figure, nearly stepping into another. I didn’t want to tell him that’s exactly what they were. They looked like Genevieve in the graveyard, partially materialized, only here there were at least a dozen of them. But we had never seen Genevieve move. These ghosts weren’t floating around like the ones in cartoons. They were walking, dancing, moving like normal people, except they were doing it above the ground—the same pace and even strides, but their feet weren’t touching the floor. One glanced our way and raised an empty glass from the table as if offering a toast.
“Am I seein’ things, or did that ghost pick up a glass?” Link elbowed Liv.
She stepped between us, her hair brushing against my neck. Her voice was so quiet we had to lean in to hear her. “Technically, they aren’t called ghosts. They’re Sheers—souls who haven’t been able to cross over to the Otherworld because they have unfinished business in the Caster or Mortal world. I have no idea why there are so many out tonight. They usually keep to themselves. Something’s off.”
“Everything about this place is off.” Link was still watching the Sheer with the glass. “And you didn’t answer the question.”
“Yes, they can pick up anything they want. How do you think they slam doors and move furniture in haunted houses?”
I wasn’t interested in haunted houses. “What kind of unfinished business?” I knew enough dead people with unfinished business. I didn’t want to meet any more tonight.
“Something they left unresolved when they died—a powerful curse, a lost love, a shattered destiny. Use your imagination.”
I thought about Genevieve and the locket and wondered how many lost secrets, how much unfinished business there was in the graveyards and cemeteries of Gatlin.
Link stared at a beautiful girl with elaborate markings around her neck. They looked similar to the ones inked on Ridley and John. “I’d like to have some unfinished business with her.”
