“How far underground are we?” I ask.
“Far,” a deep, familiar voice replies. “At least three stories.”
I whip around.
“Orfeo.” It comes out startled, almost happy. “What are you…?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Had to bypass the whole church entry situation.”
The gate clicks shut. Bowen lifts his flashlight, illuminating the three of us for a moment. “Boo,” he deadpans.
“Professor.” Orfeo nods.
“Nice of you to join us, heathen.”
Orfeo flashes Bowen a smile and a good-natured eye roll. It suddenly dawns on me thatduh, these two have probably crossed paths in the month since that private event at Hades House.
Duh, Bowen definitely knows Orfeo’s a vampire.
“You’re not running away from me,” I whisper through the darkness. I keep my flashlight pointed ahead, but in the bounce-back of the beam, I can see that he’s keeping his gaze fixed forward, hands shoved in his pockets.
“I…owe you an apology for that.”
I swallow against the sudden gallop of emotion in my throat. “Later. We can talk later.”
Bowen flips some secret switch, illuminating two more gas lamps. It takes a moment for our eyes to adjust, but when they do, the gasps begin.
Here, the walls are no longer made of stone. The dirty off-white honeycomb pattern doesn’t really register as anything other than odd. Then, it hits me too.
The walls are made of bones.
More specifically, a mind-blowing quantity of skulls and femurs stacked one after another, after another, after another. Worn and dirty skulls interrupt the lattice-like pattern the bones make. Hollow eyes stare back at us.
The skulls are arranged to make various patterns between the bones. A crucifix. A heart. A pentagram. There’s no discernible beginning or end, and when I scan my light along the walls, I find that these tableaus stretch on infinitely, disappearing down the passageway as it winds into the darkness.
I swear the darkened pits of each skull’s face track my movements. I reach out and sweep my fingers over them. They send a small vibration of energy through me, confirming what I already know: these bones belong to spirits that are long gone.
“Diantha.” Orfeo says my name softly, gently. I look up and he tilts his head toward our classmates, who are already shuffling around the corner.
I’ve missed you. I finally let the thought take shape in my mind.
“Let’s go,” he says, glowing eyes tracking over my features. In his expression, I see my heart mirrored.It feels so good to be speaking again.
“Who built this? Who brought all of this here?” I ask in a whisper.
He shakes his head. “Someone with many secrets.”
We move from one cemetery to another. Various stone plaques tell us where the bones came from (Paris, Philadelphia, Crete, Istanbul) and the diseases they once carried (influenza, rubella, dysentery).
The air stays stagnant and heavy with the energy of a thousand untold secrets.
Orfeo remains by my side, and I can’t even act like I’m not feeling his vampiric effect. His presence calms me, blots out all my ambient anxiety and lets me focus on the pull of the energy.Bowen moves at a purposeful clip, and more than once, I hear footfall echo as my classmates race to keep up.
Eventually the ceiling slopes upward and we enter a triangular room with a fountain at the center. Carved from heavy stone, the structure’s base tells a story. Cloaked figures guide their animals to a river. Flames engulf a cityscape. A powerful creature—or maybe man—looms over women as they dance nude through a wreath of olive branches and laurels. The next carving is so warped by time I can’t make out any part of it.
“This is the room of sacrifice and sacrament.” He gestures at the fountain. “Life.” He gestures at the altar behind him, tucked into the pointed alcove across from us. “Death.”
My heart skips. Those words snag on my next breath.
