A Darkness Strange and Lovely (Something Strange and Deadly #2)(84)

With a sigh, I slouched back on the sofa—or I slouched as much as I could in my corset—and examined the elaborate floor beneath my slippers’ heels. Mosaic tiles spread out in wild designs, leading in all directions. That was when I noticed there were two hallways branching off this room. A wide hall to my right that must lead to the theater’s back exit . . . and then . . .

I twisted around to inspect the narrower hallway in the back corner. It slid off into shadows.

But then a shape materialized in the dark. Closer and closer it came into the room until I could finally see it completely.

It was a young man with dark hair and a perfect smile.

My stomach hitched, slamming against my corset. Memories came flooding back. Memories of an opera, of a handsome face, and of a night that ended in death. No—it’s not possible! It can’t be!

But it clearly could be, for I was absolutely certain that the young man smiling at me was none other than my old friend and suitor, Clarence Wilcox.

Chapter Twenty

I forced myself to stand. Forced my lungs to draw in air. Forced myself to move. “Clarence!” I shouted, and in half a breath I was tearing full speed after him.

Instantly, he lashed around and fled—away from me. Down the hallway.

I ran after him, speeding into the dim hall. I had tried to speak to Clarence Wilcox, hadn’t I?

Somewhere in the farthest corner of my mind, I remembered I’d tried to call him recently . . . and that there were so many things I wanted to say to him.

So faster and faster I went, my ribs slamming into my corset with each breath until, moments later, I found myself on a winding stairwell. I bolted forward just in time to see Clarence’s dark head vanishing down it.

I dove after him. My feet beat out a racing rhythm, and I descended as fast as I could. With each step, the strains of the mazurka faded.

It was as if something compelled me to keep chasing—to keep hoping that if I followed long enough, he would stop and let me see him.

He reached the end of the stairwell and slithered into a dark archway. The instant my foot hit the final landing, I darted into the darkness too. Candles flickered every twenty feet or so, illuminating the white bricks in the walls and low, curved ceiling. No mazurka hit my ears now, only the drumming of my feet on the flagstones.

“Clarence!” I shrieked. “Wait!” But he did not wait. I tried to push my legs harder, but the dress weighed a ton and the corset flattened my lungs. If he didn’t slow, then I would never catch up.

But I could not stop trying either.

As I hurtled past white bricks and archways, the air grew heavier—damper—until soon I raced through puddles that splashed icy water up my ankles and dragged at my skirts. It slowed me, and in two desperate heartbeats Clarence had faded from my sight completely. I rushed forward but instantly stumbled to a stop as the ceiling opened up. I was in a round room with more tunnels splitting off in each direction and candlelight flickering over each archway. Yet none of the tunnels were lit—none of them held any clue as to which path Clarence had chosen.

I stepped tentatively forward. My harsh breaths echoed in my ears, and my heart slammed against my ribs. “Clarence?” I called. “Where are you?”

A cold wind licked at me from the right. I twisted around. There he was, walking backward, his handsome grin wide and his fingers hooked and beckoning for me to follow.

“Wait!” I shouted. In an instant he was gone from sight.

I lunged forward, straight into the blackness. My eyes took only moments to adjust to the ever-

increasing darkness, to the ever-shimmering figure of Clarence Wilcox ahead. I was so focused that I failed to notice the changes around me. The way my footsteps rang out on the flagstones and the room opened up. The way the air smelled like long-standing water.

Or the way Clarence’s glowing form reflected beneath him like a mirror.

In a final push, I shoved all my strength into my legs. He was so close!

He stopped abruptly, spinning to face me. “If I cannot have you,” he said, his whispers snaking into my brain, “then no one shall.”

Before I could comprehend this statement, my foot flew through the air, towing me with it . . . and

I plunged into a world of ice.

The air punched from my lungs, roared from my mouth. Water clawed into my throat.

Water! I was under water!

I flung out my arms—I had to swim, had to break the surface, had to breathe! All of my air had been pushed out; my lungs had no reserves. But the dress was like a bag of stones. I strained and kicked and flailed, my chest burning, but no air kissed my skin.

And no matter how hard I fought, the crushing in my lungs didn’t lessen.

Then, in a blinding moment of terror, I realized that I didn’t know which way was up or down.

Everything was black. Everything was empty.

I clapped my hand over my mouth and squeezed out the last of my air, trapping the bubbles in my hand. Yet I couldn’t feel which way they rose.

I flapped my arms and swung my legs in what I could only pray was the right direction . . . but my lungs were filled with razors, and my muscles were drained. Frozen. I could barely throw one arm in front of the other, barely keep my fingers flexed. . . .

I was going to drown.

Golden light flashed before my eyes. The curtain—it had to be the curtain to the spirit realm. But I was not ready for it. I fought the water, fought the death I had walked into.