We stood in the doorway, tense with readiness. The inside of the tunnel was silent, and the air tasted cold, but stale. I hoped there was enough oxygen for all of us. I tried not to, but was already breathing heavily, probably using up more than my fair share.
Suddenly, Gavin pulled away from the tunnel, his face twisted with worry. “I’m sorry, Alfred, Hunter,” he said. “But before we go, I need to borrow Maren for a moment.”
He lifted a torch off the wall, grabbed my hand, and led me away, into the dark.
Once we were well out of earshot, he turned to me.
“Maren,” he said in a low whisper, “I need you to do something for me.” My fear of the darkness and the demons seemed to evaporate as he said my name. Gavin’s power over me was almost mystical. Just the tone of his voice seemed to clear my head and my heart of cobwebs, worry, and anything ugly. I imagined I could see his angel breath, rolling over me, protecting me from every angle.
He reached out and gently stroked my cheek, and I heard him inhale sharply as if touching me was too overwhelming. I could have fainted for the pure pleasure of his fingers on my skin, but I didn’t want to miss a moment.
“Mmm-hmm?” I said, not really caring what he asked, as long as he kept caressing my face.
“I need you to stay alive.”
“What?” I asked, startled.
“I need you to stay alive, no matter what. Promise me that.” I felt a flood of panic rush through me. No matter what, again? Did he know something I don’t? What is in those tunnels?
“You’re here, you’ve chosen to go with us, but I can’t have you giving up, okay?” he continued, looking so intensely into my eyes, I was afraid I might start crying. “Even if you’re taken, stay alive. I will come and find you. Promise me you’ll stay alive.”
“Why do you need me to promise that?” I swallowed hard.
“Because I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love with you,” he answered. “And I won’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”
My heart fell into my toes. After pining for Gavin with every ounce of my being, of praying he would like me, he was finally standing in front of me, confessing he actually loved me. Loved me. Me, the girl from Missouri. And the biggest miracle of all was that because of who he was—the most gorgeous creature I’d ever seen and an actual angel—I believed him. I could believe him. I felt deserving of his love. I felt more special than I’d ever felt in my life.
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
“Promise me, then,” he repeated.
“I promise,” I said.
“Good,” he said with a smile. He then leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t an accidental kiss this time. It was the kind of kiss that makes you believe in fairy tales and shooting stars and happy endings.
We were back at the tunnel entrance, lined up as before. Only this time, I knew Gavin loved me, and he knew I loved him. It should have made me more confident in the journey ahead, but now that we were in front of the door, now that the kiss was a memory and the darkness stretched out to eternity, it made me more scared. Now I had something to lose.
“You’re sure there are demons in there?” Hunter whispered.
“I’m afraid so.” Alfred nodded solemnly.
I glanced at Gavin, to see if he looked worried. He smiled to reassure me, but I knew he was nervous. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made me promise to stay alive.
What kind of promise was that, anyway? Stay alive. How about, “Don’t get hurt” or “Run as quickly as you can”? Stay alive? I realized that meant his biggest concern was that I would die. Actually die. And I knew why. I had pretended it hadn’t bothered me, but I couldn’t forget the horrifying sight of the demons on the cab and the cathedral roof. And I’d more than just seen them, I’d smelled their hot, acrid breath, been grabbed by their terrible claws, had heard their beyond-the-grave yowling.
I suddenly remembered the first time I’d heard the demonic screaming. Before Campbell Hall. Before I saw Gavin in the woods with Bertie. I’d heard it at my mother’s funeral.
Images of the sudden “storm” swept through my brain: the darkness, the priest running away in terror, the men from my mother’s work disappearing . . . It hadn’t been weather-related after all. Demons had interrupted my mother’s funeral. I wondered if any of those good-looking coworkers were angels. Where had they gone? I supposed they killed the visiting demons or I wouldn’t still be alive. Why were the demons there in the first place? What could they possibly get from my mom after she was already dead?
I realized with a sinking feeling that I knew. That I was carrying the answer on my back. Her secret journal. The journal that had led me here, just outside Magnificat, to the antidote. What else did the demons not want me to discover?
My mouth became desert dry. I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. There was a distinct and very real possibility that I was going to break my promise to Gavin.
I jumped up and down a little to get my blood flowing, to jerk the negative thoughts from my head. I had to get through this. Hunter needed to get to Magnificat. Jo needed the antidote. The High Council needed my mother’s journals. I would get through this. And I would be with Gavin.
I focused my attention back on Alfred and Hunter, determined to concentrate only on the present.
“And we never turn? Just run straight?” Hunter recounted.
“Yes, the tunnel ends at the door to Magnificat,” Alfred said. “Although, come to think of it, we don’t want you running right into the door. It should take you about two and a half minutes of nonstop running. If you count to one hundred fifty, with elephants, you’ll stop just in time.”
“With elephants?” I asked.
“Yeah, like ‘one elephant, two elephant’ . . .” Hunter replied.
“Oh, we use Mississippi in the States,” I said.
“Same thing,” she said.
As it turned out, it really wasn’t. The extra syllable in the muddy Midwest river caused me more physical pain than I’d ever felt in my entire life.
To give us enough room to run, we were supposed to wait for a count of five from the time the person in front of us left before we ran after them. That’s when my trouble began.
Gavin dashed into the darkness first, and Hunter stood her ground, counting out loud: “One elephant, two elephant, three elephant, four elephant . . .” Then she bent her knees like a professional sprinter and shot off.
I immediately began my count, but silently to myself: “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi . . .” I hadn’t yet gotten to number four when I felt Alfred give me a small nudge. I was confused—I’m not at five yet!—but my body responded to the suggestion, and before I knew it, I was running.