Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(33)

Ailesse tenses and slides back on the slab. But she can’t escape. Jules tosses all the contents of her bucket at her. Ailesse breaks into a coughing fit and shudders.

Jules grabs a fistful of her dripping hair and studies Ailesse’s face. “There, much better. Now the muck is gone, and we can see the monster.”

Ailesse’s mouth forms a vicious line. She thrusts out her ankle-bound legs and kicks Jules hard in the stomach.

Jules flies backward and hits the ground. As soon as the shock fades from her face, she’s back on her feet, her eyes livid.

Merde.

“Jules,” I warn. She doesn’t listen.

She draws the knife sheathed at her thigh.

Ailesse lifts up on her knees, agile even tied up. “You want my blood?” she sneers. “Come and take it. Watch Bastien die with me.”

Jules’s grip on her knife turns white-knuckled. Marcel shuts his book. I take a tentative step forward. “Jules,” I say again. I’m not going to die. I can’t be the Bone Crier’s soulmate. “The queen will know if she’s dead.” My pulse pounds harder as I look at Ailesse. “Won’t she?”

Ailesse’s feverish eyes drift from me to the sharp point of Jules’s blade. She presses her lips together and nods.

Jules cries out in frustration and throws the knife. Ailesse jerks aside, but the blade flies wide and clatters against the stone wall.

A flood of cool relief washes over me.

Scratch, scratch.

I glance behind us. Something chirps faintly. I frown and move near the small door of our chamber. The scratching comes again. Another chirp. An animal? I’ve never seen so much as a rat down here.

“What is that?” Jules asks.

“No idea.” The scratching intensifies, the chirping grows louder. There’s more than one creature out there in the tunnel. And they really want in. What if Ailesse’s mother is with them?

Impossible. She couldn’t have tracked us that fast.

I crouch and tentatively push at the false door. I’ve spent enough time in the gutters and alleys of Dovré not to flinch at rodents, but that doesn’t mean I want my finger bitten.

The door cracks open. The muffled chirps amplify to a chorus of screeching. A fuzzy brown head with a squat face pops in through the gap. The lamplight reflects off its beady black eyes.

Another head burrows in.

“Bats.” I grimace.

“Bats don’t roost in the catacombs,” Marcel says.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I turn to Ailesse. She’s staring at the creatures fighting to get in, her eyes bright with hope. This is Bone Crier magic, though I don’t understand it.

I reach to yank the door shut, but the first bat squirms inside. It unfurls the velvety membranes of its wings. Huge for a bat. Twice the normal wingspan.

“A giant noctule.” Marcel gasps in awe. “But they’re tree-dwellers, so they shouldn’t be . . .”

His words trail off. His face pales as the bat bares its fangs at me. “I don’t think it likes you.”

Jules draws a sharp breath. “Bastien, watch out!”

The creature shrieks and flies at my face. I scramble back and try to beat it away. More flapping wings swarm around me. Other bats have pushed inside.

“What do we do?” Marcel shouts. He’s on his feet, using his book as a weapon, but there are too many. At least ten. No, fifteen.

“Shut the door!” Jules cries. She fights a bat tangled in her hair.

I swat at the creatures clawing my arms and push at the door. But the force is too strong on the other side. How many are out there?

A terrible image flashes to mind. Jules’s knife. On the ground near Ailesse. Jules never got a chance to get it back.

I let go of the door and spin around. Through the storm of black wings, I see Ailesse. The ropes at her wrists are already cut away. Now she’s sawing the ones at her ankles.

I plow forward with my arms up to protect my face. The swarm thickens. “Jules!” My voice sounds faint under the deafening screeches.

The lamps in our chamber start to extinguish from the rushing wings. I’m halfway across the room. Ailesse sees me coming. The bats aren’t harassing her. She works harder, frantically trying to cut herself free.

More lamps snuff out. I shove against the tide of wings, shrieks, and claws.

Ailesse has almost severed the rope, but she can’t finish. I’m within reach. She swipes out with the knife, but the bats throw off her aim. I scramble to grip her forearm before she can attack again.

I bash her hand on the slab—once, twice, and she loses the knife. I give it a hard kick, and it skids across the ground into the chaos.

She thrashes and pounds me with her fists. I crawl on top of her and wrestle to pin her down. I can’t find another length of rope to tie her wrists back together again.

“Bastien!” I crane my neck at Jules’s muffled shout. Through the choking black, I see dim flashes of her. She has an arm around her brother. They’re pressing toward the door. “Hurry!” she calls. “We have to get out of here!”

“You can’t escape this.” Ailesse’s soft but savage laughter heats my ear. Her words are only loud enough for me. “My mother has found you.”

I break into a cold sweat. I’m not ready for the queen. I haven’t made a plan.