“You mean”—Rina gasped, looking between Erista and the new arch warily—“the spirits in there never find eternal rest?”
Erista shook her head, curls framing her mournful expression. “Not all souls find peace. Some are rejected by the streams’ waters, some die with such unresolved disputes, they can’t move on. Some simply are not ready and linger in this realm. They can’t be given free reign over Gallantia, so they reside in a Hall of Wandering Souls.”
I peered into the Hall’s misty gray. The same speckled marble floor continued from the atrium, veiled a few dozen feet in by…was that stuff that seemed like fog actually spirits? Floating there between the marble and stone carvings lining the walls? Angels, I hoped not.
“Sounds like a sorry existence,” I muttered to Tolek.
“What would possess a soul not to rest?” he whispered back.
“Unfinished business?” Lyria suggested, and I didn’t want to know what that could mean.
A chill spread down my spine, and I shook it off, shifting closer to Mila. “Should we keep going?” I angled my head toward the original archways.
The group started to turn, a bit reluctantly.
But Erista stood her ground. “The Hall does not usually open.”
And all of our attention swiveled to her. Her eyes were slightly glazed, like the magic was taking a toll on her.
“What do you mean?” Ophelia asked.
“It is not meant to welcome newcomers.” Her voice drifted with breathy worry. “And if it does open, it is said that anyone nearby with Soulguider blood must respond.”
“Respond how?” I asked, eyes narrowing.
Erista looked at Jezebel and Ophelia. “We must enter.”
In the silence following her words, only those damn streams in the distance could be heard, soft enough that they grated on me.
“Okay,” Tolek said, “then let’s get it over with.” He waved a hand toward the arched doorway, and…did the mist within recoil?
Erista blinked at him. “Onlythose with Soulguider blood, Tolek.”
He sighed, head tipping back toward the ceiling. Instinctually, Ophelia reached for his hand. “Why?” she asked.
Erista appeared conflicted. “It’s been the Angel’s rule since she was first gifted with her magic. The doors rarely open, but if they do, we are not to question it.”
Spirits, this ambiguity drove nails into my brain. And those fucking babbling streams weren’t helping.
I asked, “So only you three can go?”
Erista nodded.
Ophelia chewed her lip. “Will it help us find the emblem?”
Looking into the depths of the dark hall, Erista said, “I hope so.”
Great. More vague answers.
Jezebel was at Erista’s side, a silent commitment that she’d go wherever her partner directed, but Ophelia and Tolek watched each other silently. His jaw ticked, and her eyes searched his. Neither said a word aloud, but they definitely were saying plenty to one another.
I wrapped an arm around Mila’s shoulders. Not a chance on an Angel’s burning wings would I separate from her while in this creepy fucking gallery.
But she and I weren’t the chosen of the Angels, thank the Spirits. We’d survived enough shit and could stay together to see all the tomorrows.
Finally, Tolek groaned, “Fuck these damn Angels.” He kissed Ophelia, whispering something to her, and then stepped back.
Ophelia’s eyes found me, Starfire tight in her grip. “Keep looking for it,” she said, somewhere between a plea and an order. “I don’t know that it will be”—she flicked a glance over her shoulder into the hall—“that it will be in there. In case it’s not, search this place.”
