I hurried to Graysen's side and asked eagerly, "The Purveyor of Rarities?"

"That's what I'm thinking," he murmured, staring toward the arched entrance leading to the restrooms. He latched a hand around the strap of the canvas backpack hanging off his shoulder and jutted his chin toward the yawning mouth of the corridor. "Come on, let's go."

Hungry for the hunt, Graysen and I hastily made our way to the restrooms, threading through the waves of milling patrons. In the edge of my vision, the closest team of bodyguards was obstructed by a sudden swell of laughing children skipping behind a trio of performers dressed up as animals. A long-eared hare played a boisterous melody on a wooden pipe, while the basset hound juggled colorful skittles. An eruption of ear-piercing squeals shattered the market as the sharp-eyed fox tossed a handful of wrapped treats into the air.

Graysen and I strode beneath the massive archway and entered the restroom's corridor. Gauzy light filtered downward from fat bulbs tucked into recesses. The enclosed space was dimmer, and the loud noise of footfall and chatter clattered all around us. As I walked beside Graysen, my gaze crawled over the speckled stone walls carved into a swirl of dragonflies flitting between the reeds of tall grasses, before lifting upwards to the flock of small birds darting across the ceiling as if it were the sky.

Up and down the corridor, a steady stream of people flowed back and forth like a lazy river. Everyone gave way to Graysen as he strode with arrogant purpose and barely concealed menace. Fine lines edged out from his narrowed eyes and his lips were pressed firmly together as he concentrated on his senses. One hand gripped the shopping bags swinging by his side, but I noticed what he was doing with his free hand. He'd dropped it to his side and was swiveling his wrist slowly back and forth as if his fingers were dipped into a pond and stirred the surface of water.

My footsteps were a flurry as I hastened to keep up with his quick march. "What is it?" What was he detecting? Feeling?

He blinked, jolted out of his hunt. Glancing down at me, he slowed his pace and dragged his bottom lip into his mouth as he mulled over how to explain it. "It's like a faint rattle I can feel beneath my feet. A tremor in the air. It's growing stronger the deeper we walk."

My eyes widened. I felt nothing of the sort.

A deep crease furrowed his forehead at my bewilderment. "You don't feel anything?"

I shook my head, my hair fluttering around my shoulders and caressing my upper arms with butterfly kisses. I threw up a hand in a useless gesture. "Maybe. I don't know." There was something here, a cool sensation prickling my skin, but it could simply be the weak blast of air seeping from the vents in the ceiling above us.

His gaze sliced to the scarf twisted around my neck as we walked, and I had the same thought. "Maybe this is stopping me," I said, flicking my hair to the side so I could tap the rough cord of rope hidden beneath the silk of the scarf.

He grunted and pursed his mouth to the side in a considering look. "Maybe."

We picked up our speed to stride swiftly past the cluster of restrooms, and turned the corner, leaving the patrons needing to utilize the market's facilities behind. The long stretch of the hallway before us was empty, quieter, and gloomier, the white lights more sparsely set apart.

I thought we were going to head down to the next junction but Graysen came to a slow grinding halt in front of a door halfway down the passageway. He splayed his fingers wide as he hovered his palm in front of its nicked surface. Tapping the door quietly with a fingertip, he whispered, "It's coming from in there."

The door looked abused and old, with peeling varnish and a bit of dull blue paint flecked on its battered surface. I squeezed my hands into fists by my sides. Trepidation clenched the air in my throat and doused my excitement. It was one thing to hunt down the Horned God, and another to meet it face to face.

Could Florin be sitting behind this door?

What kind of lair were we about to enter?

Would our presence be welcomed?

Graysen wrapped his calloused fingers around the handle. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open, its hinges creaking in protest. Shadows wreathed the room's inner depth, and my eyesight adjusted slowly...

Only to spy a utility closet. Rather ordinary with its long-handled mops and buckets.

My shoulders slumped as disappointment spiraled through me. When I turned my gaze upward and met Graysen's expression, he didn't seem surprised at all, as if he'd been half-expecting this somehow.

From down the corridor came the sound of hurried footsteps. I cut a glance over my shoulder and watched a trio of bodyguards quickly approach. "Wait here," Graysen ordered me, the arrogant mask of indifference sliding back into place. He swiveled around and lazily headed toward his men and addressed, Luther, the older gentleman with steel-gray hair and a stern expression. The one I suspected was in charge.

I remained at the closet's threshold and turned my attention back to its innards, scanning the shelves lining the narrow space which held a variety of spring cleaning sprays, cloths, rubbish bags, and other equipment. Paper rustled when I slipped my fingers into my bag of sweets and popped a chunky square into my mouth. Decadent white fudge melted all over my tongue with a stinging burst of raspberry and citrusy orange. While I chewed the delicious morsel, I pondered the dark magic wielded by the Horned Gods. It felt like rumbling thunder jostling my bones and crisp rainfall dashing against my skin. But this...? I didn't understand why I couldn't feel what Graysen obviously did. Maybe it was Zrenyth's rope? Or, as I half-swiveled to contemplate Graysen who had braced a hand on his hip and was glowering at the older man, I considered the possibility that maybe it was more to do with him specifically.

"I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself in a fucking utility closet, Luther" Graysen barked.

The bodyguard stabbed a pointed finger into the air and shot back something else I didn't quite catch, and Graysen replied, "I don't give a shit what Kenton wants. No one else follows." And on that note he shoved my shopping bags into Luther's arms, spun on his heel, and strode away, leaving the other man scowling in dissatisfaction and hastily throwing out his orders to the rest of his team.

Graysen reached my side. "Ready, Pet?" he drawled in a cold, cruel voice.

Fire ignited in my belly. I bared my teeth and hissed back at that godsdamned nickname he used as a way to remind his family I was nothing to him but a leashed pet to be paraded around. I knew it was just for show but it still pissed me off.

He ignored me and entered the closet first, flicking the switch by the door to flood the room with brash light. I stomped inside and moved deeper into the space, glaring at the back wall with its exposed red brick.

Behind me, the door snicked shut and my ire sputtered out as soon as Graysen strode past with a sweet grin curving his mouth and eyes sparkling with adventure. His enthusiasm and eagerness were addictive and my veins began to fizz with excitement. A heartbeat later he tensed as a notch formed between his eyebrows, and his grin fell away. His upper body seemed to almost cant forward a fraction and he slid his boots apart further, as if he was bracing himself against turbulent wind. His eyes were wide and round when he jerked his head toward me. "Do you feel it now?"

There was something.

A soft tickle of magic danced across my fingertips when I lifted my hands to feel the air. "It's so soft."

His thick black eyebrows slashed forward. "It's like a storm in here. The magic... It's a quake of anger under my boots. Gusts of wind pushing at me, teasing me along."

I didn't feel it. Nothing like he was experiencing. It was soft and delicate, a whisper more than anything.

He stalked to the back wall with its corners filled with long-handled brooms and mops, commercial machinery to wash and polish the floors. He stroked his chin with a crooked finger as he stared intently at the exposed brick. In our world, we needed a special key to open doors to special places like our treasure troves or tithe prisons or even a wall blocking an escape route beneath a Keep.

Unhooking the backpack from his shoulder, he leaned down to leave it on the floor beside his feet. Straightening, he pressed his palms against the wall, sweeping them wide, feeling it out. And he did that for a long length of time, digging his fingers around the brick's edges and searching for a door, while I rested a hip against a shelf and devoured a few more delicious treats of salted caramels and rosewater-infused fudge.

Time marched on, and my bag of sweets was emptying. Though I must admit I had a perfect line of sight to the muscled physique stretching the t-shirt tight, the inked forearms ridged with veins. And that gloriously firm ass clad in a pair of black jeans as he messed about, trying to figure a way past the magic locking us out.

I sighed, stepping closer to the wall. I rapped a knuckle on the exposed brick, rap, rap, rap. "If the door's warded with magic we'll need a key," I drawled, stating the obvious. We were wasting our time. Without a key, we'd never find a way inside.

Graysen knocked on the wall with his knuckles—one, two, three. "I know that," he bit back vexed.

As soon as Graysen finished rapping an eruption of green light flared at the foot of the wall.

The bag of sweets almost tumbled from my hand as I stumbled back in surprise.

The eerie green magic zipped upwards in a swift, fiery line, then across, and down once more.

"Holy shit, Crowther."

"How the fuck?" he breathed, just as perplexed as me.

We were staring at the outline of a door. The dark magic warped the solid brick like heat waves shimmering above a desert. Graysen pressed his hands against it. Shifting a booted foot forward he leaned in and pushed it open. The ghostly door swung wide without a sound and there was nothing but darkness staring back at me.

Too soon, far too soon to be facing it after breaking beneath the Keep.

Shock had my heart hammering against my rib. Cold sweat beaded my palms and the back of my neck. I began to hyperventilate at the thought I'd have to enter the pitch-black void.

Heat was a burst of comfort against my back, and I realized that Graysen had come to stand behind my trembling body. He wrapped his arms around my heaving chest and pulled me into an embrace of safety. I clutched his forearms just as hard. "Breathe," he urged, one hand gently stroking my upper arm. "I'm here Nelle, I've got you," he whispered calmly, soothingly. "Look closer. There's light."

When my eyes attuned themselves to the darkness, I realized that there was a pocket of lavender spilling across the roughly hewn stone at a lower level in what appeared to be a staircase carved out of black rock. I sucked in a deep breath, my heartbeat slowing, but it still didn't completely calm my tattered nerves.

"You okay?" he asked, and I swallowed against a mouth that had gone dry and nodded. I didn't know why I bothered lying to him. Warm lips met my temple in a soft, lingering kiss, and he murmured, "My brave sweet liar."

Cold air swirled between me, along with a tiny bit of panic, when Graysen unwound his arms, letting me go and sidestepping away. He scooped up the canvas bag, poked his arms through the worn straps, and settled it on his back to carry properly. He reached out, his roughened fingers threading through mine, gently squeezing in reassurance, and I pushed out a thin breath on a wobbly smile, squeezing back. My other hand shook when I placed my limp paper bag of treats on a shelf beside me.

I prepared myself for the dark descent, wondering if the sparse lavender light was going to be enough to stop me from collapsing in terror, spinning around, and running.

There came a soft ruffling sound of fabric, and when I glanced over I saw Graysen gripping the knotted-bone hilt of a rather vicious-looking dagger.

"Where did that come from?" I hadn't noticed any weapons strapped to his figure.

"I have secret pockets on everything I wear," he winked cockily. "Like the deadly weapon stashed inside my boxer briefs."

"Oh my gods," I scoffed, then burst into laughter, slapping a hand across my mouth to stifle it.

"That's not the only thing you cried out this morning," he taunted, taking a step forward.

"You can talk, Crowther," I shot back, rolling my eyes and striding forward to match his pace. I tilted my chin at a haughty angle. "At least I wasn't horrendously loud. I'm surprised the whole Keep didn't hear you. All that godsdamned moaning you did was louder than a pornstar faking an orgasm."

His shoulders quaked with his soft laugh, the backpack jostling with the movement. His amusement fell into seriousness. "I didn't fake mine."

"I might have."

"Liar," he hissed, breaking back into a grin, the gold glittering in his irises.

A moment later, I realized I'd been so distracted by the banter, that I hadn't given much thought to the fact that we were already inside the staircase and walking down the crumbling steps. I pushed away the strands of hair sliding across my face while waves of lavender rippled over our figures as we moved through the patches of light. And curiously, I saw that it was caused by small, otherworldly creatures trapped in glass bowls and attached to the stone wall. Pix fluttered inside, emitting a violet glow.

"You feel it now," he stated, rather than asked.

"Yes," I whispered. How could I not? The dark magic was so powerful the staircase had become a wind tunnel of blustering magic coursing up from the black depth. A wild storm crackling through the cold, dank air. The summery fabric of my dress wrapped around my thighs, and my hair lifted and twirled, while Graysen's shorter locks shifted like wind sweeping across a dune rustling wild reeds.

I gripped Graysen's hand tighter. As we descended, I shifted closer and grasped his forearm with my other hand as well, needing his comfort and strength. "How in Nine Hells did your mother meet a Horned God?"

His upper arm shrugged against mine. "No fucking idea."

In the distance, there came a sudden scuttling of tiny claws on stone. I shuddered in revulsion. "Ew, rats."

Graysen swept a comforting stroke of his thumb across mine. "We have a family tradition my aunt started years ago. A day spent hunting rats in the Keep. All of us, the staff included. The Great Rat Hunt," he chuckled, the rich sound striking off the jabbed walls. "It's an inside joke between her and my Dad."

It sounded silly and fun, and I almost asked about it. But then I remembered myself and bit my tongue. I didn't want to talk about Valarie.

"My aunt... She never used to be like this," Graysen continued quietly.

I stiffened.

"I guess, you won't believe me when I say she used to be kind, compassionate, and shy." There was such wistfulness in his tone. "She was the—"

"No. You were right, I don't believe you," I cut him off. I didn't want to hear any more about Valarie. "It doesn't matter what she used to be like, it's only what she is now." A cruel, malicious woman.

I pressed my mouth into a grim line and fixed my gaze straight ahead, navigating the downward steps, watching the lilac light shimmer across the scarred stone, and I heard his quiet, defeated sigh. But he respected my wishes and didn't talk about her any further.

We followed the staircase curling beneath the earth, sipping on stale air, pushing through the vibrating might that charged like wind barreling down from a mountaintop. The dark magic was obviously leaking through the exposed brick wall in the utility closet. Graysen had detected it, yet, strangely I hadn't.

I was about to start prodding at that particular mystery, when Graysen abruptly stopped, yanking me back and angling himself a little in front. There was a faint sound of a bell ringing down below, then an off-beat tempo of footfall. I strained to see in the darkness below. "What is it?" I whispered, clutching his arm.

"Something is hobbling down the stairs below us," he replied quietly, his entire body rigid, the blade in his hand raised. "I don't know what or who it is." A few tense breaths later, his grip on my fingers relaxed. "They're gone now."

At the gentle tug on my hand, I resumed descending the stairs.

Down, down, down.

We continued downwards until we came to a landing and there we stopped. The staircase carried on further, and I had a feeling it led to the catacombs beneath Ascendria.

But to the side of us was an enormous door.