Before Bryce could respond, the floor below slid away, leaving the mystics in their tubs. And creating a considerable gap between the base of the ramp and the entryway.
The tubs rested atop narrow columns, rising from a sublevel lined with more books and another walkway descending down, down—to a black pit in the center of the floor. And filling the sublevel, layer after layer of darkness revealed itself, each one blacker than the last.
Seven of them. One for each level of Hel.
“From the highest stars to the Pit itself.” The Astronomer sighed, and typed again into the pad. “Their search may take a while, even with the bloodsalt.”
Bryce sized up the gap between the base of the ramp and the entryway. Could she jump it? Ithan definitely could—Tharion, too.
She found Tharion watching her with crossed arms. “Just enjoy the show, Legs.”
She scowled. “I think you’ve lost the right to call me that after this.”
Ithan said quietly, face pained, “Bryce. I know this sucks. This is … This is not okay.” His voice turned hoarse. “But if it’s the only way to learn what’s going on with Connor …”
She opened her mouth to snap that Connor would have condemned this place and told Ithan to find some other way, but … she could see him. Connor. Shining right there in Ithan’s face, in his eyes—the same hue—and in those broad shoulders.
Her throat ached.
What line wouldn’t she cross to help Connor and the Pack of Devils? They would have done the same for her. Connor might have condemned this place, but if their positions were reversed …
Tharion jerked his chin to the exit far below. “Go ahead, Princess. We’ll see you later.”
“Fuck you,” Bryce snapped. She braced her feet apart. “Let’s get this over with.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Ithan’s shoulders sag. In relief or shame, she didn’t know.
The old male cut in, as if he hadn’t heard a word of their hissed argument. “Most astronomers and mystics have been put out of business these days, you know. Thanks to fancy tech. And self-righteous busybodies like you,” he spat toward Bryce. She snarled at him, the sound more primal Fae than she liked, but he waved that hateful, ring-encrusted hand toward the mystics in their pools. “They were the original interweb. Any answer you wish to know, they can find it, without having to wade through the slog of nonsense out there.”
The female mystic twitched, dark hair floating around her in the suspension pool, black tendrils among the red salt. Dried salt water crusted the slate rim of the tub, as if she’d thrashed earlier and soaked the stones. Salt for buoyancy—and to protect them from the demons and beings they spied on or conversed with. But would those protections fade with the bloodsalt in the water?
The mystic who was both male and female jolted, their long limbs flailing.
“Oh,” the Astronomer observed, scanning the pad. “They’re going far this time. Very far.” He nodded to Bryce. “That was high-quality bloodsalt, you know.”
“For a hundred marks, it had better be,” Ithan said, but his attention remained on the mystics below, his breathing shallow.
Another push of a button, and the holographic planets began to shift, becoming smaller as they drifted away. The sun rose into the ceiling, vanishing, and distant stars came into view. Different planets.
“The mystics made the first star-maps,” the Astronomer said. “They charted more extensively than anyone had before. In the Eternal City, I heard they have a thousand mystics in the palace catacombs, mapping farther and farther into the cosmos. Speaking with creatures we shall never know.”
Hunt had been in those catacombs—their dungeons, specifically. Had he ever heard a whisper of this?
Something beeped on the screen and Bryce motioned toward it. “What’s that?”
“The male is reaching Hel’s orbit.” The Astronomer clicked his tongue. “He’s much faster today. Impressive.”
“Connor’s soul wound up in Hel?” Horror laced Ithan’s every word.
Bryce’s throat closed up. It—it wasn’t possible. How would that have even happened? Had she done something with the Gate this spring that had transported his soul over there?
Silence fell, the temperature dropping with it. She demanded, “Why is it getting colder?”
“Sometimes their powers manifest the environment they’re encountering.” Before anyone replied, the Astronomer twisted a brass dial. “What do you see, what do you hear?”
The male twitched again, red water splashing over the edge of the tub and dribbling into the pit beneath. Tharion peered over the iron rail. “His lips are turning blue.”
“The water is warm.” The Astronomer tutted. “Look.” He pointed to the screen. A graph of rising and falling lines, like sound waves, appeared. “I’ll admit the new tech has some advantages. The old way of transcribing was much harder. I had to reference every single brain wave to find the correlation to the right letter or word. Now the machine just does it for me.”
I don’t care about brain waves, Bryce thought. Tell me what’s happening with Connor.
But the Astronomer rambled on, almost absentmindedly, “When you speak, your brain sends a message to your tongue to form the words. This machine reads that message, that signal, and interprets it. Without you needing to say a word.”
“So it’s a mind reader,” Tharion said, face pale in the lights. Bryce drifted closer to Ithan—the wolf radiated dread.
“Of a sort,” the Astronomer said. “Right now, it is more of an eavesdropper, listening to the conversation the mystic is having with whoever is on the other end of the line.”
Tharion asked, hands behind his back as he peered at the machines, “How does it know what the other person is saying?”
“The mystic is trained to repeat back the words so that we may transcribe them.” The screen began to flash a series of letters—words.
“Too dark,” the Astronomer read. “It is too dark to see. Only hear.”
“Can you pinpoint where in Hel your mystic is?” Ithan indicated the holographic levels far below.
“Not precisely, but judging by the cold, I’d say deep. Perhaps the Chasm itself.”
Bryce and Ithan swapped glances. His eyes were as wide as her own.
The Astronomer kept reading. “Hello?” Silence. Nothing but endless silence. “This is very common,” the Astronomer assured them, gesturing them to move closer. Despite herself, despite her objections, Bryce leaned in to read the feed.
The mystic said, I am searching for the soul of a wolf called Connor Holstrom.
Someone, something answered.
No wolves have roamed these lands for eons. No wolf by that name dwells here, living or dead. But what are you?
Ithan shuddered, swaying a step. With relief, Bryce realized—because that was the dizzying, rushing sensation in her body, too.
“Strange,” the Astronomer said. “Why were we drawn to Hel if your friend isn’t there?”
Bryce didn’t want to know. Tried and failed to open her mouth to say they should go.
I am a mystic, the male said.
From where?
A faraway place.
Why are you here?