Tunnel of Bones (City of Ghosts） - Victoria Schwab Page 0,11

painted on the ceiling.

“Back before they installed lights and gates, that was the only way to keep people from getting lost.”

I try to imagine coming down here before there was electricity, armed with just lanterns or candles. I shudder. The only thing that would make this place creepier would be being down here in the dark.

Mom turns to the camera.

“Over the years,” she says, “more than a few travelers have wandered down into these tunnels, to seek shelter, perhaps, or simply to explore, only to get lost amid the many halls. Many never found their way out again. At least, not while they were still alive.”

The Veil leans heavy on my shoulders, urging me to cross over, but I manage to hold my ground. I feel like I’m the glass box in my dream, the world pressing in from every side. But I don’t crack.

There’s no question Jacob is getting stronger.

But maybe I am, too.

“Over here,” calls Dad, his voice echoing. Here, here, here …

The bone walls are interrupted every so often by stone plaques, their surfaces carved with quotes about life and death. Dad stops in front of one, and Pauline and I hang back so our shadows don’t cross into the camera shot.

I glance sideways, and nearly jump out of my skin when a skull stares back, its empty sockets at eye level. Before I can think, I’m reaching out to touch the bleached white bone and—

All at once the Veil bristles, rising to my fingertips. As it does, I hear the muffled sound of voices beyond: sad, and lonely, and lost. Someone is calling out, and I can almost, almost hear the words. I lean closer.

“Hello?” calls a voice from the shadows, sounding scared.

I look around, but no one else seems to hear it. My parents walk on, and Pauline looks straight ahead.

“Cassidy,” hisses Jacob. “Don’t.”

My hand falls away, but I can still feel the Veil, sliding through my fingers like silk.

“… s’il vous plaît …” comes another voice from the shadows, this one speaking French, the words thin and high and faint.

“… no one is coming …” murmurs a third. And then a fourth voice—

“HELP!”

The shout is so sudden and loud that I scramble backward. My heel catches a bit of rock on the ground and I stumble, unsteady. I reach out to catch myself, but this time, when my hand hits the wall, it keeps going, as if the surface is made of cloth instead of bone.

No, no, no, I think as the Veil parts beneath my fingers, and I fall down and through.

A short, sharp drop.

A shock of cold.

The taste of the river in my throat.

And then I’m on my hands and knees on the hard stone floor.

Pain scrapes across my palms, and my camera swings from the strap around my neck.

The tunnel is dark, and I blink my eyes rapidly, willing them to adjust. The only light I can see is the one coming from my own chest. The blue-white glow shines brightly, but only as far as my shirt. Not exactly a human flashlight. More like a human firefly.

I get to my feet, pulling the mirror from my back pocket.

“Jacob?” I whisper, but there’s no answer.

As my eyes adjust, I realize there’s another light, low and red, coming from around the corner. It reminds me of the light I use in my darkroom back home when I’m developing film.

I start toward it, and then I hear a small sound, like pebbles moving or feet shuffling over dirt, and the red light shrinks away.

“Hello?” I call, walking faster. But by the time I round the corner, the crimson light is gone, replaced by an old-fashioned lantern sitting on the ground. It throws off an unsteady yellow glow and casts shadows on the surrounding skulls, so it looks like they’re grinning. Scowling. Shocked.

I realize then how quiet the tunnel is, how empty.

I heard the ghosts, didn’t I? So where are they now?

Something moves behind me in the dark. I can feel it. My hand tightens on the pendant, and I’m working up the nerve to turn around when I hear the voice.

“Cassidy.”

Jacob. I sag with relief and I turn, only to find his face sharp, angry.

“I thought we agreed not to do this,” he says, arms folded tight across his chest.

“I didn’t want to,” I say. “I swear.”

“Whatever,” he says, “let’s just go before something—”

A pebble skitters across the stone floor behind us.

“Did you hear that?” I ask.

“Could be the bones settling,” he says,