Half expecting something useless, like a secondary murder closet, Mallory was surprised to see a ladder leading upward. A metal platform rested at the base, attached to ropes on the walls.
“A dumbwaiter,” said Fitcher. “That must be how they brought the wine barrels down here.”
He picked up the sword and returned it to its sheath. Constantino left his bow on his back.
Mallory was tucking her knife back into her boot when she heard a quiet click. She noticed Fitcher examining his odd golden pocket watch. The needle was spinning, spinning…
A shadow crossed Fitcher’s face, and he slammed the pocket watch shut.
Constantino raised an eyebrow.
“I shouldn’t have looked,” Fitcher said gruffly. “May Wyrdith favor us.”
Though he had played the part of the acolyte, Mallory felt it was the first real prayer she’d heard him utter.
With a glance around at the wives—who stood watching her, bleeding, exhausted, and tousled—she pocketed the rings, grasped the rungs of the ladder, and started to climb.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Cobwebs clung to Mallory’s hair as she climbed upward into darkness. Her arms shook the higher she went, but after perhaps thirty feet, her hand struck a wooden surface. With some effort, she managed to find the edge of the panel and shove it to the side.
Dim light filtered in, catching on the dust motes and a long-legged spider that quickly scurried into the shadows. Fresh, damp air greeted her, smelling of rain and dirt and the fervent charge of lightning on the horizon.
She climbed out of the hole. She was behind the potager, where the top of the dumbwaiter had, at some point, been buried beneath a compost heap. The gray sky had grown dark since they’d entered the house.
Fitcher and Constantino stumbled out behind her. They surveyed the house. Mallory expected to see it engulfed in blue flames, but it was intact. There was no sign of the fire in thekitchen that had sent them scurrying into the cellar. It had been an illusion after all.
But part of the roof really had caved in above Armand’s suites. Perhaps Bastien was willing to damage the house, but not destroy it completely.
They slipped out of the garden. As they were passing the terrace, the stones cracked beneath their feet. Mallory was launched forward, barely catching herself before she crashed to her knees.
With a frazzled look at each other, they started to run. Through the overgrown lawns, where vines and brambles grabbed at their ankles. Where the ground trembled and topiaries shaped like nymphs tried to stop them as they bolted past.
Bastien made one last effort to block their path, a horrifying figure screaming with guttural rage as he emerged from the trunk of an ancient oak. Mallory tripped. She fell to the ground, rolling a couple of times before coming to a stop, her body bruised and throbbing. With a growl, she yanked her knife from her boot and threw it at Bastien’s visage. The blade sank into the wood. The tree shuddered. Bastien’s ghost reeled back and disappeared.
Fitcher hauled Mallory to her feet. They did not stop running until they burst into the chapel and slammed the door shut so hard the entire building shook. The three of them fell panting against it.
Anaïs had lit the candelabras around the perimeter of the room, giving it a warm, flickering glow. Armand still sat tied to the upholstered chair, with Anaïs cross-legged on the floor in front of him, having laid out a spread of Wyrdith cards. Recognizing the Acolyte card and the Harvest Moon, Mallory at first assumedher sister was attempting to read his fortune. But then she noticed the betting pool of acorns that lay between them and realized they were playing Enigma, a gambling game that many considered blasphemous.
Anaïs and Armand both gawked at Mallory, Fitcher, and Constantino—torn, bloody, bedraggled, sweating, and livid. So very livid.
“That ghost,” Mallory gasped, “needs to go.”
Anaïs laid down her cards. “What happened?”
Armand added, “Where did Fitcher get a sword?”
Mallory didn’t even know where to begin. Honestly, she’d forgotten about the sword.
Unstrapping it from his back, Fitcher hastily passed it to Anaïs, who eyed it with distaste. “We’ll explain later,” he said. “Mallory, the rings?”
She dug the four wedding rings from her pocket and stormed across the room, jutting a finger at the small bird with ruffled feathers. “Lots of help you were. We could have used some magic.”
With an annoyed squawk, Gabrielle transformed into a human again, gripping the black-and-white feather like a weapon of her own. “I was watching over the prisoner.”
“Well, guess what? Le Bleu isn’t here to possess him right now. But he is certainly in possession of the house. And not just the walls. Oh no, he controls the floors, too. And the ovens. He can makeblue fire. We were completely unprepared!”
“Mallory.” Anaïs settled a hand on her arm. “It’s all right. You got the rings. We can end this.”
