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A different kind of energy thrummed outside the mausoleum, more distinct and familiar. Footsteps sounded, and so did voices, but they were cut off when the entrance to the mausoleum clicked shut. Then the light from Henry’s fingers died, too, leaving them in complete darkness.
Pearl felt the panic awaken and seize her in a chokehold.
Chapter 8
Henry had suspected Pearl’s aversion to darkness when he glimpsed her visible hesitation in their graveyard hunt, a far cry from the bold woman he knew who wouldn’t have let anything scare her. But the aversion hadn’t prepared him for a full-course fear, one in the form of Pearl launching herself against the door and emitting unintelligible sounds. Scratching sounds followed. When the snap of his fingers didn’t produce any light, he realized their magic was useless here. He could still sense the presence outside and was left with no choice but to do the next best thing.
Her body fought his when he cajoled her away from the closed doorway. Her panic spilled over to him as he wrestled with her, then plucked her up, kicking and flailing in his arms. One hand touching the wall, he blindly navigated them until he found a cavern-like corner, where he put her down. Once she was on her feet, she attempted to launch herself back to the door. But he was prepared, trapping her in place with his body and locking her arms and legs with his.
“Don’t.” His voice was the lowest of whispers, just enough for her to hear. “There’s someone outside and you’re calling attention to our presence. The mausoleum only closes like this when it senses more than one source of aggressive, powerful energy. Other than my source of light, yours was the only other energy, and it was already fading. I know this because this mausoleum belongs to the Fitzgeralds, and our family knows them well.”
“Open the door,” she demanded. “We can sneak out and—”
“No. Other than what I said, we also can’t risk people questioning why we’re here and finding out your spirit-talking secret. We need to wait them out.”
A helpless sound came from her throat and plucked at his senses. Unable to bear another second of her fear, and how it was eating her up, he pressed closer and urged her head against his chest. She resisted at first, then reluctantly stopped moving.
“Focus on something. A future thing. Like your next meetup with your sisters.”
“We do magical calls. It will be a while before I see them in person again.”
“Then focus on Ruby, Maddox, or Moon. Or your next venture into the bar.” A part of him wondered if she was in the bar too often because she liked being surrounded by people and lights. But he didn’t ask. “Or your next man and orgasm. Focus on whichever thought brings you joy.”
There was a hitch to her breath, then—
“You lied, you asshole. You remember.”
There it was, the little spitfire he knew. But it was muted and still tempered with nerves, so he rubbed circles over her back to soothe her.
“I remember some parts. Not all. I wasn’t lying. I just didn’t want to mention it and embarrass you.”
Silence.
“Are you embarrassed by me?”
Caught off guard, he looked down until he remembered they couldn’t see each other. Henry huffed. “Are you kidding me? You were brave for admitting that. You’re always brave.”
That eased some of her nerves off, relieving him. His ears perked, trying to catch the presence outside. Eventually, he heard the voices carried in through whatever ventilation was in this place, an argument that was steadily becoming louder.
You were supposed to know how to get in there.
How was I supposed to know how to get in there? I didn’t even know you were planning to get in there. Why don’t we try other gravestones, boss? The Fitzgeralds are the last people you should be messing with.
It’s not messing. It’s getting what I need. But I suppose we could try other gravestones for now.
Recognition blazed and he froze. They argued some more, still in the vicinity, and it took everything in Henry not to kick down the doorway and confront the outsiders.
“It’s dark. It’s too dark.”
Pearl’s panic seized his attention again, and he knew that she hadn’t heard what was happening outside in her state. When her hands tried to claw his chest, he pinned them back.
“I’m here,” he reminded her.
“Get me out of here,” she snapped back, tone hushed and frenzied.
Her need for freedom warred with his knowledge that it wasn’t safe yet, and it killed him. His protective instinct took over as he plucked her again from their corner and brought them deeper into the mausoleum until he found a block of stone to sit her over. They wrestled with each other until he embraced her, calming her again for a second or two.
“I can’t,” he said gruffly. “I’m sorry. Tell me what you need. Something that won’t expose us.”
