“How hot are the springs?”
“I’ve never taken the temperature,” she said. “But I know some of the adults would come and bathe in one, so it can’t be too hot.”
The tunnel widened into a small room of smooth limestone. Max, headlamp affixed to his forehead, scanned the walls. “This was a ritual room once.”
“Probably. The library is far older than the house. In the beginning, they only lived in the caves. The houses came later.”
Deep grooves were cut into the walls, the Old Language written in a script long out of fashion. He’d seen an old scribe once with script like this, but it had been in Syria decades before. They passed from the ritual room into another tunnel, that one just as steamy.
“We’ll pass the first hot spring in the next room.”
“Did you come here as a child?”
Renata smiled over her shoulder. “It was strictly forbidden for children to play in the caverns. Of course I did.”
He followed her though the tunnel and into the first spring room. It was completely dark, but his headlamp revealed niches along the wall for torches, and a cool gust of air told him there was ventilation built into the cavern. The pool was only a few meters across, and he could see the bottom. The water bubbled up from the shallow depths and ran out over a lip, splashing into the darkness beyond his sight and feeding one of the underground streams that echoed in the distance.
“This is where they bathed,” Renata said. “There are vents carved above that keep the air fresh, but they don’t let too much of the weather in.”
Max saw curls of vapor rising from the pool. “Are any of the gases dangerous?”
“Not that I know of.”
Max scanned the room, noting the flat walkway that surrounded the pool. It had to be partly natural and partly magic. There was no other explanation for the smooth benches and even walkways around a hot spring in a mountain cave. This had been a well-loved place and would have been popular for bathing in a time long before modern luxuries like heated baths.
Touching his talesm prim, Max brought his magic to life. The darkness grew lighter, his hearing more sensitive. It was a blessing and a curse. Every small drop and drip echoed in the darkness. He could hear small animals—bats probably—flapping their wings. The key was to filter out the background noise and listen for anything out of place.
He closed his eyes and listened for a few minutes, searching the darkness for human sounds.
Gravel scattering across a floor.
“Did you hear that?” he murmured.
“No. Where?”
There were two passageways branching off the spring room. Max pointed to the right one and Renata walked toward it. Just as he approached the tunnel, he paused, noticing something on the ground.
“Renata.”
She paused and turned around. Max pointed to the ground where the outline of a footprint was visible. It wasn’t just obviously human. It was obviously human and big. Adult sized. There was either a woman with very large feet traveling through the caverns, or there was a man.
Renata nodded and Max saw a mask of grim determination slide over her face. She turned back to the passageway and walked into the darkness.
The caverns behind Ciasa Fatima were a rabbit warren. They twisted and turned, branching multiple times. Passageways narrowed and widened. There were small rooms and low crawl spaces. If Renata hadn’t been leading, Max knew he would have gotten lost. He’d checked with her several times, but she said she was more than familiar with their surroundings and would have no problems finding their way back. Every now and then, she’d point out landmarks that barely seemed visible or notable to Max, but they meant something to her, and she kept walking.
It was past the fourth pool that they found evidence of habitation in a wide hollow in the rock. It was a small room with smooth walls and a makeshift bed in the corner.
Renata crouched down near the pallet and brought a corner up to her nose. “Grass. It smells like the meadow grass from the hills,” she said. “It’s not that old.”
“So whoever is here has been here since before there was snow on the ground.”
“Yes.”
It was a large mattress, even if it was thin, and there was a stack of makeshift pillows and blankets at the foot. Another stack of books sat near the pallet, and Max could see the ground kicked up and scrapes on the stone floor.
“I think whoever was here had more things,” he said. “More luggage.”
“They’re running?”
“That mattress is large enough for an adult and a child. Maybe two adults.” Max looked at Renata, waiting for her to meet his eyes. “Renata, there could be two of them.”
The books were a collection of English, Italian, Turkish, and Arabic. Some were only pamphlets. Others were magazines. It was a scattered collection of writing that told Max whoever lived here had traveled from the east and collected things to read as they went. Refugees with a kareshta child?
He looked around the room and noticed something in the corner. He crouched down and pointed his headlamp at the painting on the wall. In the darkness, he could see more work from a familiar artist.
The child who had painted the animal pictures in the classroom had also worked on this wall. The crayons didn’t work as well on stone, but he could see light outlines of a flat-topped house and a group of trees and play equipment like he’d seen in human parks. There were dogs and cats. A bed with a pink bedspread and dolls lined up beside it.
“Renata, you need to come see this.”
She was already back in the passageway. He could hear her footsteps growing fainter as she continued her search.
In the far corner was one last picture, drawn in more detail than the others. A man and woman holding hands. On the man’s shoulders perched a little girl holding a purple balloon. The man had a beard and he was smiling. The woman wore a blue head scarf and she was smiling too. She was grasping the man’s hand, a spotted dog’s leash held in her other hand. Smiles. Ease. Peace. A pink bedroom and a park with swings. A beloved pet and a bright purple balloon.
“They’re a family,” he whispered. What kind of family had a kareshta child?
He looked again at the man and woman holding hands.
A Grigori family, of course.
Max heard Renata’s breath catch and echo a second before her feet started to move.
She was running.
Max stood. “Renata!”
As soon as he entered the passageway, he smelled it. The scent of sandalwood was drifting in the air. Sandalwood meant Grigori.
And Grigori meant Renata was on the hunt.