Exhaustion made her sink to the ground. How deep had she gone? Were the White Foxes still searching or had they given up by now? She would rather face the witches again than be trapped wandering this stone maze. Alone in the black . . .
Splashes sounded behind her. Something was coming through the lake.
Not alone at all.
Kal unwrapped the pistol. She fired wildly into the dark. The hammer clicked down on an empty chamber. Shit! She’d forgotten to reload. Kal frantically thumbed the magazine release and crouched down. She fumbled the box of bullets from the dry bundle that she’d so carefully carried across the water, but her hands were shaking and they spilled everywhere.
Panting with adrenaline, she grabbed a bullet as it rolled away, pushed it into the magazine, and slammed the mag back into the pistol. Then she flicked off the torch, backing into the tightly corkscrewed tunnel. If she couldn’t see it, maybe it couldn’t see her.
One bullet. She’d have to make it count.
The splashing grew closer. Her heart slammed against her chest as she counted down.
Three. Two. One.
She flicked the torch on, aiming it into the cavern.
“Bitch, do you have to point that directly in my eyes?”
Kal blinked hard. A boy stood at the edge of the water, one pale, skinny arm shielding his face. But she knew that voice. That sandy hair and left foot twisting inwards.
The pistol wavered. “Get away from me,” she whispered.
Durian lowered his arm, flashing the crooked, white-toothed smile that had charmed half of Pota Pras. Then he took a rapid step forward. “Boo!”
Kal recoiled and he burst into the braying donkey laugh that always made her laugh too, even when nothing was funny.
Like now. Not fucking funny at all.
Kal stared at him. Hallucination. Had to be. She’d lost her shit.
“You look awful,” Durian said, squinting. “Seriously, could you lower the torch?”
She did, and then promptly burst into tears.
“Come on, girl. Keep it together.” He limped over, wearing the same clothes he had on the day he died. Durian’s city outfit. A long blue coat with diagonal brass buttons, which he claimed was the latest fashion, over baggy white pants. He was ridiculous about those pants. They had to stay pristine.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. Not without you.
She slid down the wall and ugly-cried. Durian sat next to her. He looked frighteningly real, even close up.
“What are you?” she managed. “A ghost or something?”
The question seemed to bore him. “I don’t know. Just tell me what happened.”
Kal drew a shaky breath. Then she crawled to the lake and splashed water on her face. When she turned around, Durian was still there. Waiting for an answer.
She swallowed. “Do you remember . . .?”
“Dying? Yeah, you can skip that part.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Okay. Uh, well, I waited for you at the statue of the Trinity . . .”
She told him about reading the article in the gossip rag about a drowned boy, but that she refused to believe he was gone until she’d come back to Pota Pras.
“I stopped by your remembrance ceremony,” she said.
“Good turnout?” he asked hopefully.
