Flames burst from her palms pouring along the ledge. Sparks fell toward the street below in a waterfall of hellfire. Ursula watched the fire, entranced by its beauty, until a great gust of freezing wind snapped her out of her reverie. Get a grip.
One the plus side, the ice had fully melted. Ursula inched forward over the stone. When she reached the forbidden room’s windows, she pressed her face against the glass, but all she could see were heavy curtains. She wouldn’t learn any secrets unless she actually broke into the room.
She kneeled flat against the wall, the dagger still clenched between her teeth. Gingerly, she released it into her hand, careful not to slice herself with the sharp edge. Holding it firmly, she slipped the blade into the crack between the window and the sill. A twist of the dagger’s hilt ratcheted the window open.
Slipping her fingers into the gap, she pulled it open further. Crouched on the ledge, she didn’t have the leverage to open it all the way without leaning dangerously close to death. She would have to clamber in as best she could.
Chapter 19
Teeth chattering, she squeezed through on her stomach, tumbling onto the floor of a pitch-black room. She crouched, clutching the dagger, and listened. All she could hear was a soft hiss of air from the window behind her head. Otherwise, the room lay silent as a tomb.
She rose to her feet, holding the dagger defensively. She still shivered, and it shook in her hand. When nothing leapt at her from the darkness, she pulled open the curtains, letting light fall on the room.
She almost dropped her knife when she saw what lay before her.
The interior looked like some sort of alchemical laboratory, with a rib-vaulted ceiling that arched high above. A small forge stood in a hearth, and shelves of strange glassware lined the walls: rows of delicate Alembic flasks, Dimroth condensers, Thiele tubes, and Thistle funnels.
How in God’s name do I even know these words?
Tentatively, she crossed the room to the shelves, reading the hand-written labels on the flasks. They bore names like nigredo, aqua regia, dragon’s blood, and philosophic mercury. She sniffed the air. Stale creosote. This laboratory hadn’t been used in a long time.
She turned, surveying the rest of the room. The walls were painted a deep indigo blue, patterned with golden astrological symbols and strange alchemical glyphs that twinkled and drifted like stars in the sky.
Ursula crossed back to the window, pulling it closed. If she left it open, Kester would know she’d been in here. With no breeze, an eerie silence descended and the tension returned to her shoulders. Ursula let out a slow breath. She could hear her heart thrumming in her chest. Why am I so nervous? There’s no one here.
Slipping the dagger into her belt, she crossed to another rack of shelves. A thin layer of dust covered the flasks. She slid her fingers around one of the containers, picking it up. As she blew off the dust, she held it in the pale of light of the window. Her face reflected in its surface, and behind her the laboratory. Even an old bed, tucked into the shadows.
A cold chill slithered up her spine. In the glass’s reflection, it almost looked like a dark shape lay on the bed. A body.
Ursula hardly dared to breathe. She turned, placing the flask back on its shelf as quietly as she could. Slowly, she drew the dagger from her belt again.
She approached the bed, gripping her weapon. An enormous, muscled man lay atop a deep crimson bedspread. He was huge. Bloody hell, is he even human?
“Hey?” she called out in a low whisper.
He didn’t move.
“Hey!” She said it louder this time, but he remained motionless.
She moved closer, hardly daring to breathe. The dagger trembled violently in her fist.
His eyes were closed and raven black hair framed his face—his perfect, sublimely beautiful face. He had the most stunning features Ursula had ever seen: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and perfect, kissable lips. His body was strong and muscled, and his skin had a deep Mediterranean tan, rich and warm, even in the faint light. Her dagger stopped its frantic shaking.
He must be asleep, right? Surely I don’t fancy a corpse. At least, his warm olive color suggested that he lived.
“Hello?” She shouldn’t be here. She should turn around, wrench open the door, and never come back into the forbidden chamber again. But something drew her toward him. Maybe it was his thrilling masculine allure, or maybe it was simple compassion. What if he needed her help?
She stared at the stranger’s chest. It neither rose nor fell, and the only sounds of breathing were her own anxious breaths. “Who are you?” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Muscular arms lay crossed on his chest, and his feet were bare. He looked like an effigy carved on a medieval tomb. He wore dark jeans and a grey t-shirt. Thin iron chains snaked around his body. When she looked closer, she could see tendrils of dark air curling off him, like black smoke.
What the hell is that?