‘Oh.’ Loren’s hand shot to his mouth, and the torch dropped, sputtering and rolling. Vertigo rushed over him, like the wooziness he felt before slipping into a vision, but he remained fixed in the present. He grasped for the wall. ‘This place is horrible. I feel . . .’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Felix murmured, stepping past and entering the chamber proper.
‘I have,’ Loren realised with a jolt. ‘I dreamed it the other night. You were there, too, but we stood at the top. I thought we were at the edge of the world, and when I looked down, I saw only . . . teeth.’
How mad he must sound. Verbalising his dreams was an exercise in explaining things he barely understood himself. Usually best if he said nothing at all. But here he was, spilling his guts to Felix, who must already think him deranged.
Felix ran a hand up pockmarked stone. ‘They weren’t teeth. What else did you see?’
Something in his tone rattled Loren too close to honesty. He blurted, ‘Nothing. This is last night’s wine talking.’
‘Loren. What did you see?’
‘You said I was close to the answer,’ Loren said in a rush. ‘That I held the pieces.’And asked who I’d run through with a blade.Me or you.He swallowed.
‘Do you dream about me a lot?’
It should have been an innuendo. Any other time, it would have been. But for all Felix’s lewd comments, his question didn’t ridicule. It saidI believe you. AndI trust you to tell me the truth. A spark ran the length of Loren’s limbs, heat blooming in his belly despite the chill of the pit.
‘Yes,’ he breathed.
Felix’s clever eyes met his. ‘Before you met me.’
‘How did you know?’
‘When you saw me in the temple, that first morning.’ Felix stepped closer, sandals crunching silt. ‘You weren’t surprised I was there, but that I was there at that moment.’
‘For the record, I’m sorry for hitting you with the bowl.’
Felix was near enough to touch. In the dreams, he’d stepped in until their noses nearly brushed. Loren remembered how breathless he’d felt and found – desperately – he wanted to gasp for it again.
‘In your dreams,’ Felix said, ‘what do I do?’
The moment, like so many fragile things, shattered. Loren bit his tongue and tripped away, needing the distance. Felix’s gaze tracked Loren as he edged around the chamber, still waiting for answers.Tell him, whispered the ghost lurking in Loren’s shadow, but he forced him back into the dark.
Then he did what he did best: he started talking and simply didn’t stop.
‘This is like a place from a myth, where a great fire or flood swept through and carved these tunnels out.’ Loren traced tiny stone divots. ‘It makes sense why Nonna told us to take the helmet here. The old settlers of the land worshipped Mercury in strange places like this. Places where the veil between the living and the dead thins, where it’s easy to believe he could flit among humans. Bring us messages in ways other gods cannot.’
Messages from ghosts, though the thought stirred sour. He had meant ‘Ghost-Felix’ as a nickname, a way to differentiate between real and unreal, but now . . .
His heart stuck in his throat, a pained lump.
No. Felix was alive. One only needed look at his glow as proof.
‘How does the helmet feel now?’ Loren asked, half dreading the answer. ‘Is it telling you anything?’
The question felt foolish the moment he asked, but Felix obediently unslung the laundry bag and pressed his palm against silver. He closed his eyes, listening, sensing. Loren held his breath.
But Felix shook his head. ‘I still think Nonna is full of it.’
Loren’s laugh bounced empty around the spires. ‘I thought you said you wanted to give believing a try.’
‘Loren, I . . .’ Felix’s mouth flattened. ‘Forget it.’
‘No, tell me.’
Felix’s thumb worried the bag strap. When he spoke, it was carefully even. Forced control, swallowed emotion. ‘Your belief is so easy. Your feelings are so easy. I don’t understand it.’
