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Finally, they came to a set of narrow stairs that creaked under the weight of their steps and led them underground. Here, the wallpaper peeled from the corners of the wall: the same sage-green tones and dark wood paneling as inside the rest of the house.
Didn’t the Society believe in the power of the arts? Of how color could change a person’s mood and evoke emotions? Her skin crawled in anticipation of what the archive might look like—and of the truths it might hold.
It was too dark in here to see far. A lingering putrid smell she couldn’t place mingled with the scent of dust and mold. Devon snapped his fingers, and gas lamps roared to life in quick succession, illuminating a circular room with an enormous door on one side and a hallway with no end in sight on the other.
The air around them was thick and humid, as if seawater had filled this entire floor before. Nava hummed and made for the door, studying it with growing dread. The Society had painted it cobalt blue. Gold rosettes embellished the surface. In its center, the crest of a Crow perched on top of a scale.
The emblem of the Society of Crows. Even now, it made her heart climb into her throat.
Nava wiped her sweaty palms against her trousers and forced her eyes away from the bird, called to the dark hallway to the far left of the room. The magic emanating from it left the back of her neck tingling.
Gray and white magic combined—something familiar that pulled at her and made her heartbeat run wild. Was her need to flee because of the blue door or due to the feeling emanating from that corridor?
“Since you’re interested in the subject, the dungeons are over there. Home of the traitors.” Devon’s pink lips tilted up on one side as he pointed toward the hall.
Her stomach sank further. A bitter taste coated her tongue, making it hard to swallow. Even her bees were in disarray, crawling everywhere and sending mixed signals she found hard to decipher.
Whatever was down here, it wasn’t good.
“Maybe we should leave,” she croaked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. After the spirit upstairs, she’d had enough for the day.
“Stop tormenting Nava, Devon,” Arkimedes growled. He pointed at a couple of bees that were circling in front of her, called by her burst of panic. “If you get stung, it’ll be your own damn fault. I won’t warn you again.”
“But I’m not lying…”
Arkimedes’s expression softened as he reached for her hand, squeezing it softly. “The cellar is cursed, Bee. It’s meant to make you feel uneasy, so you won’t enter it.”
“The cellar? I thought—never mind.” She narrowed her eyes at Devon and then at the hall. “Isn’t that where normal people store their liquor? Why does it feel so wrong? Is the Society hiding something dangerous there?”
Arkimedes evaded her eyes, turning toward the blue door. “We don’t want to release what’s in there.”
That must be where the actual spirit of this house was, the one Devon had hinted at the night before. Now that she knew, it made sense. Standing in this basement felt a lot like being in Neems territory. Damn, she didn’t want to be here at all.
“Not such a boring house anymore, eh?” Devon ambled past her. Yes, she’d been naïve to make that comment earlier. This house was anything but normal.
Arkimedes inspected the emblem with a frown. “Let’s just focus on one thing at a time. Our main goal is to discover what the Society knows about the prophecy and how the shadow man is letting the Zorren in.”
His hand landed on her lower back in a comforting gesture. A spark of heat radiated from the point of contact, making her ache. His gaze was heavy as he traced the shape of her face, from her eyes to her lips. Despite her fear, their combined desire washed through her, leaving her legs weak.
Devon reached for the door handle, his lips peeling in a snarl, revealing straight white teeth. “If you want my help, then keep the—whatever you two do—behind closed doors.”
The filigree Nava had initially thought a mere decoration moved across the painted panels. A mechanism that operated an intricate locking system. It rotated and clicked into shape. Metal scraped over metal as the spicy scent of magic wafted around them, mixing with the mustiness in the room. Then the blue door swung open.
Devon stepped through it without a glance back, leaving Ark and her alone outside. The dread in the pit of her stomach only grew. Her hands prickled with sweat. “Do you think he’s going to help us?”
Arkimedes shook his head. “I don’t know, but he understands what’s at risk if he doesn’t.”
“What if one of us does it?” she asked, wetting her lips. “I know he said in the kitchen that the Vulcan will alert the Crows, but?—”
“We can’t. Like the fountain outside, they put a spell on the mirror to trigger a warning. If someone who isn’t a Crow touches it, this place will be crawling with members of the Society before we know it. It will also poison whoever grabs it.”
Her mouth went dry at his words. “Poison?”
Arkimedes nodded. “The Vulcan is a god’s artifact. They say someone stole the first scrying mirror from the gods during the last war many centuries ago. The Crows split it into smaller fragments to use in the safe houses, but as with every artifact, you become poisoned if you hold it more than once—and if it considers you an enemy.”
Nava almost turned around and headed the way they’d come, but Arkimedes cleared his throat and pushed her forward with the hand that was still pressed against her lower back. He’d read her emotions, her need to flee. And he was her anchor in a moment of weakness.
“When we enter, you’ll find the Vulcan will call to you with what you want to hear. But it’s not a call you want to answer, Nava.”
