Just past the piazza, he slowed and veered right to a small church. By this point, my legs burned from exertion and I was thankful for the respite. Tristan tossed a few euros at the outraged monk standing at the door as he pushed me through it.
“Where are we?” I whispered.
“The crypt of Santa Maria della Concezione,” he said in a clipped tone.
The chapel itself was pretty standard, but below it was the creepiest tomb in Christendom. But I didn’t know all that when I followed him in.
All I knew at that moment was that the instant I crossed the threshold into the crypt, every synapse in my body flared. The low-level vibration that usually hit me when I entered a cemetery exploded into a full-on shock, like I’d shoved my finger in a light socket. I stopped and placed a hand on the wall for support.
“Let’s go,” Tristan said, nudging me.
“Give me a second,” I gritted out, my eyelids shut tight. I was incapable of moving while my body adjusted to the onslaught of energy. I swallowed and tried to get a hold of my galloping pulse.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I opened my eyes to look at him. My vision was tinged black. “It’s the crypt. The energy—”
Tristan shot me a confused look, like he didn’t understand why the place would be affecting me. Which was odd since he was also a Chthonic. I could tell by the tightening of his jaw and the increased pulse of his power that the energy was affecting him, too. But before I could comment, I realized that my hand was not resting on a normal wall. The surface was both smooth and rough, like stone, but it most definitely was not stone.
Hollow eye sockets and a skeletal mouth grinned back at me. I jerked my hand away from the skull.
My breath caught in my chest. I scanned the room. Every surface in the small chamber was covered in bones. Thousands of skulls, femurs, and assorted other remains were laid out in a macabre mosaic. Full skeletons clad in brown monk’s robes reclined in niches along the walls. “What the f**k?” I whispered.
“Come on,” Tristan urged, grabbing my hand to pull me farther in.
The going was slow. Death tugged at me like a black hole. We made it through a few more rooms—each filled with more bones than I could count—before stopping in the final chamber.
This place was clearly the altar room. Only instead of a pretty brocade altar cloth or golden chalices, the altar was decorated with browned bones and grinning skulls. The macabre decorator hadn’t even spared the ceiling from the creepy décor. Up there, the bones formed a clock with hands made out of… well, actual hands. Over the altar there was a saying in Latin I couldn’t translate, but I figured given the rest of the décor I probably didn’t want to know.
Tristan rounded on me. His cheeks were ruddy and his chest heaved from exertion. “Now we can flash out.”
“Wait!” I yelled, reaching toward him. He paused with his arms above his head. Suddenly, words escaped me. While I’d chased him, a million questions had filtered through my mind. But now, staring into the face of the man who was supposed to help me, I was overcome with doubts.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Out of the city. It’s not safe here for you.”
I shook my head. “No way. Not without Adam and Giguhl.”
He made a disgusted sound. “My people will bring your little friends along.”
I held up a hand. “No offense, but I don’t know you or your people. We’re not going anywhere with any of you until you give me some answers.”
Under the brim of his hat, his mouth set into a grim line. “There is time for answers later. Now we need to get someplace safe.”
I held up my hands to indicate the crypt. “We’re safe right now. It’s just you, me, and a bunch of dead monks.”
“Fine.” Tristan crossed his arms. The move made his robes gape, revealing a silver amulet bearing the sword and chalice symbol that had been on the velvet bag at Dicky’s. “What do you want to know?”
I scrambled to think of a good question, but so many words jockeyed for position on my tongue that I couldn’t sort through the alphabet soup. Finally I settled with, “Shouldn’t you be dead?”
He laughed, a hard, bitter sound. “Several beings certainly think so.”
My confusion morphed into anger. It wasn’t the most eloquent question ever, but I deserved a real answer. My hands and voice shook. “This isn’t a joke. If you’ve been alive all this time, why haven’t I met you before now?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t the time.”
I raised my arms. “But now is? That’s convenient.”
“I’m sure it’s a shock, Maisie—”
The name slammed into me like a shock from a live wire. “Sabina.”
He froze. “What?”
I crossed my arms defensively. “I said, my name is Sabina.”
He frowned. “Where’s your twin?”
My mouth fell open. Guess dear old dad didn’t know as much as he thought. “She’s dead.”
His face paled. “How is that possible?”
I raised a brow and pointed back toward the direction of the Spanish Steps. “How do you think? Cain killed her right after he forced her to release him from your spell.”
Tristan swayed back like I’d struck him. “So that’s how it happened.”
I ignored his shock and forged ahead. “Speaking of, how did you survive that, anyway? I figured Cain would have killed you the instant he woke.”
Tristan stared up at the ceiling. Either he was praying or looking for the answers among the skulls. In a distracted tone, he answered. “I wasn’t there when he woke. He killed six of my people and razed our safe house to the ground.”
I frowned. “If he killed your people, who are the ones back there?”
“I have a lot of people. Or I did, anyway,” he said in an offhand tone. “Are you certain Maisie’s dead?”
I stared at him. Was this guy for real? Who would joke about something like that. “Of course I’m sure.”
“How did you get past Dicky, then? I gave him clear instructions to only give the message to the daughter with twin birthmarks.”
I turned and pulled my shirt aside to show him my back. “You mean these?”
He made a noise that was a cross between a gasp and a prayer. “What? How did you get those?”
“Look, dude, I’m not sure why you’re so upset, but it’s a long story and I’m not—”