“We’ve been through everything here,” Sage said. “Your father must have made a mistake.”
“Stop saying that! It’s not possible!” I insisted. “I can’t believe you’re both ready to give up!”
“It’s not giving up,” Ben said. “It’s just …” He let the sentence trail off, which said it all. He thought it was hopeless. Sage looked like he agreed.
“You’re both wrong,” I said. “We must have missed something. We’ll come back tomorrow. And the next day if we have to. Maybe we spoke to the wrong people —people who don’t know Magda.”
Neither Ben nor Sage answered, and neither of them would look me in the eye. They both knew we had a limited amount of time in Shibuya. We couldn’t avoid the people chasing us forever.
Then Ben tilted his head, as if curious. He wandered away from Sage and me, down a hall. We’d seen it already—there wasn’t much there except bathrooms and the elevator.
“Clea! Sage!” Ben called, and we joined him.
“We’ve been so sure the little door is in one of the stores, but what if it isn’t? What if it’s tucked away somewhere?”
Ben nodded to the door in front of him. It was a regular-size door labeled STAIRS in Japanese and English.
“In a back stairwell?” Sage asked.
“I guess it’s possible,” I said, “but how would a little door there get us to Magda Alessandri?”
“Maybe it doesn’t take us to her directly,” Ben said. “Maybe it’s where we get another clue that’ll help us find her.”
I nodded. It was frustrating to imagine yet another step before we found the dark lady, but at least Ben’s idea offered hope.
“Let’s look,” I said.
We opened the door and started down the staircase. The public rarely used this route. It was stark, and our footsteps echoed as we followed it down and down, floor after floor, until we reached B1, the top basement level.
Nothing.
“Clea—,” Sage began, but I cut him off.
“Not yet. We’re not done yet.”
“You’re right,” Ben said, and there was awe in his voice. “Look.”
We’d reached a landing between the two basement floors … and there was a perfect little door at chest level on the wall.
“Unbelievable,” I breathed. I reached out, turned the knob, and opened the door … to reveal a long hall, dimly lit by bare, low-wattage bulbs. I hoisted myself up and climbed inside the tiny entryway.
Once through the door, the hall was tall enough to walk through easily, though everything was disconcertingly dim. We could see exposed insulation and metal beams, but not much else. No matter how softly we walked, our footsteps seemed to scream off the walls.
The light grew brighter up ahead, and all three of us moved toward it, huddling close together as we walked farther and farther away from the door and the outside world. Finally we reached the source of the light: a tiny, cramped room, every inch of which was packed with vases, tapestries, and strange, curious antiquities. A standing golden birdcage leaned over a low carved wooden pew, which rested under a huge mirror with a frame of black wrought-iron wilted roses. Shelves teemed with dark Fabergé eggs, carved nesting dolls painted like wild animals, ancient goblets and tureens tarnished and worn … everything dark, old, and mysterious in a way that made my stomach roil. The stench of the room didn’t help: It was musty and dank.
We tiptoed in and peered around, but saw no one at all.
I heard a creak and jumped, only to come face-to-face with an openmouthed stuffed bobcat, teeth bared for attack. I gasped.
Sage put a hand on my arm. I felt like it was the first time he’d touched me in years.
“It’s okay.” He took his hand off my skin, and I missed it immediately. He reached up and gently touched the bobcat’s incisors.
“Sharp,” he noted, “but harmless.”
The three of us walked farther in. What were we looking for? Off to the side I noticed some ornate red netting, inlaid with beads. It was pretty. It blocked off another part of the room. Curious, I walked over and pulled it back … and started screaming hysterically.
Right in front of me, only inches away, a human body sat on an old velvet couch. It was the worst thing I had ever seen. It looked like a mummy without its wrapping.
The tissue-thin skin had sunken to a speckled gray sheet that clung to its wasted body, falling into every crevice between each bone. The ghost of parchment lips peeled back from yellow teeth, and long, stringy strands of white hair snaked over its withered skull.
At the sound of my shrieks, its eyes popped open.
I lurched back, gasping, and slammed into Ben and Sage as the milky orbs rolled around in their sockets, taking us all in, then came to rest on my face.
And I was out.
I FOUGHT the urge to wake back up. I didn’t want to see what I would see. Was that thing real?
“Your fiancée is very rude, Sage.” The voice was gravelly, and thick with the grave. “Get her up and make a proper introduction.”
It was real. And it was talking. I so did not want to open my eyes.
“Clea?”
It was Sage, and he was close. I opened my eyes and saw him leaning over me, his face filled with concern. I almost smiled. If nothing else, the horror show seemed to have brought him back to me, at least for the moment.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Okay? I wanted to laugh, but I had a horrible feeling that if I started, it would turn into a screeching cackle of insanity I could never stop.
It was better not to trust my voice just yet. I nodded and let Sage help me to my feet. I kept my eyes glued to his face.
A dry cluck of disapproval came from the talking corpse. “Not even looking at your hostess. What Sage saw in you, Olivia, I’ll never know.”
The name shocked me so much that I snapped my head around to look at the thing.
A choking wheeze hacked from its chest, and it took me several moments before I realized it was laughing.
“You’re surprised I know your real name,” it said. “You shouldn’t be. We go way back. Not as far back as your fiancé and I, of course.”
The creature’s eyes leered in Sage’s direction. He winced.
“I also know your friend, Giovanni,” it said, and rolled its eyes to Ben. He was pale and trembling. Sweat beaded down his face. He was coming completely unglued.
“Giovanni?” Sage asked. “No …”