Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(88)

A shaky laugh escapes him. “You’re going to have to ask Jules. If I give it to you without her knowing, she’ll murder me in my sleep.”

“But aren’t you angry she was almost murdered? This is how you can get your revenge on the Chained man who hurt her.”

“By giving you the flute?”

“The dead can’t be killed; they can only be ferried.” I lean closer. “You must know where Jules is hiding it.”

His grin quivers as he rubs his earlobe. “Can we talk about this when Bastien comes back? I don’t think he’s forgiven me for letting you steal my knife.”

“Bastien will be glad I have the flute.” Tears form as soon as I say his name. I blink them back. “I might be able to break our soul-bond if I play a different song on it.”

Marcel stiffens. “Could it really be that simple?”

“I hope.” I don’t waste another breath explaining my theory or the fact that I don’t know any soul-bond-breaking songs. “Please, Marcel. Tonight is a full moon, and midnight is just over three hours away. That’s when I need to start ferrying. I don’t have any more time to lose.”

“Full moon?” he repeats with a frown. “You said the Leurress ferry on the new moon.”

“Yes, but the bone flute has both symbols—the new moon and the full moon. At first I thought the full moon was only on there to show when a Leurress could perform her rite of passage, but all day long I’ve been thinking . . . what if the full moon on the flute means more than that? What if the dead can be ferried on a full moon, too?”

Marcel drums his fingers on his lips. “The lowest tides do occur during full moons as well as new moons,” he concedes.

“I have to try,” I say. “The bone flute is finally within my reach again.” I set my jaw and steel my nerves, grateful I have a monumental task to distract me tonight. I only pray my mother will be willing to attempt ferrying with me. If nothing else, she’ll be relieved to have the bone flute back in her possession.

“Will you have enough time to find the other Ferriers and make it to the land bridge by midnight?” Marcel asks.

“Maybe—if I run fast enough.” It will mean traveling out of these catacombs and to Chateau Creux first. My grace bones should help. “That’s why I need you to hurry.” I touch his arm. “Please, Marcel. Do you know what’s really happening to the sick people in Dovré?”

“The dead are harassing them.”

“It’s more than that. The dead are growing stronger by stealing their Light—the vitality that feeds their souls. Innocent people will die if we don’t act quickly.”

His brows draw together. “Do you think Jules is sick like that? She’s been wounded this badly before, but now she’s starting to act strange.”

“It’s possible.” Though I don’t really know how a Chained goes about stealing Light. “If that dead man comes back for her, there’s a very good chance he’ll kill her. And when he does, he’ll kill her soul, too.”

Marcel’s eyes widen. Now he understands.

“I need that flute.”

He swallows hard. “Right. I’ll be quick about it.”

He shakes out nervous hands and ambles back into the chamber, assuming his usual nonchalance. I watch him and stand back from the open door to keep out of Jules’s sight.

He makes his way to the wall of shelves.

“What are you doing?” Jules growls.

“Getting some food, unless I need your permission.” Marcel brings down a sack of rough-spun cloth. With his back to his sister, he rummages through it while he walks past the shelves. He suddenly stops, seized by a coughing fit. He leans his shoulder against the wall, and his fingers creep toward a protruding limestone brick. It must be a little hollow on top, because when he reaches inside, he knocks something slim and white into his sack. He straightens and pounds his fist on his chest. “You hungry?” He pulls a chunk of bread out of the sack.

“Not hungry enough to eat that mold-ridden rock.” Jules’s voice shakes like she’s convulsing again, even though it’s warm and she’s wrapped in blankets.

“Fair enough.” Marcel drops the bread back into the sack and strolls out of the chamber with it.

We hurry several feet away from the door. He withdraws the bone flute, and my blood quickens. I reach for it, but he pulls it close to his chest.

“You have to keep your promise and never return for Bastien,” Marcel whispers. “He’s Jules’s best friend and also mine. We don’t want him hurt.” Or killed, he might add for the grave look in his eyes.

“I will,” I reply. Then my stomach knots. “Will you tell him I know he loves Jules and that I”—my voice cracks—“that I wish him the very best?”

Marcel looks at me blankly. “Huh?”

“You saw them tonight.”

“Well, yes . . . I mean, Bastien’s always cared for Jules, but you’re his soulmate.”

My chin trembles. “That doesn’t mean he never had a stronger attachment to begin with.”

“But—”

“Bastien will be safer with Jules, Marcel. You know that. Promise me you’ll keep working to break the soul-bond.”