Page 59 of Mostly Shattered

I try to walk beside him, but he keeps angling his body to force me to remain a step behind. “I had no clue this place was…this.”

“This place has been here longer than you canimagine. Some parts are older than the city above. Most people live their entire lives without knowing it’s just below their feet,” he says.

“Lucky them,” I mutter under my breath, only kind of joking. My eyes dart toward Costin’s back as we pass a particularly imposing shifter, who is staring at me a little too intently. I can’t tell what he will become, and I don’t want to find out, but his glowing eyes give his ability away. “How often do you come here?”

Costin’s eyes flick toward me for a moment, but then he shrugs. “Often enough when duty demands it. Don’t be fooled by anyone you meet. They’re not your friends. This place will always find new ways to surprise you.”

Surprise or terrify?

I hear the subtle tension in his voice. I wonder what he’s holding back. Something is making him uneasy.

An apothecary sells wares from one of the stores built into the small caverns along the side. The air is thick with something sweet and metallic, like magical spells seeping through the cracks in the earth. Every now and then, I catch glimpses of things moving in the shadows—creatures with too many eyes, beings made entirely of smoke that twist and curl as they slither between the narrow inlets along the stone walls.

I try not to stare at any one creature for too long. I feel eyes on me. Curious, hungry eyes. Some are watching me from the shadows. Others don’t bother to hide their open scrutiny. I can imagine they’re thinking I don’t belong. On any other day, I would say they were right.

I know full well that in a place like this, I stand out. I pull my arms tighter around myself, wishing I could cast a glamour to disguise my humanity and disappear into the crowd.

We pass by a group of vampires lounging near one of the many inlets, their eyes filling with red as they track my movements. I don’t recognize any of them. One stands and sniffs in my direction. I’m a meal they wouldn’t think twice of devouring. Costin keeps them at bay with a single, sharp gesture. They don’t like the order, but his presence is enough to tell them that I’m off-limits.

Not for long, if they have any say about it.

As we approach a bridge made of twisting stone, I look down into what appears to be a bottomless pit and hesitate to cross. The glow from the crystals doesn’t penetrate all the way to the bottom. A crooked figure leads a group of small, jittery beings across. At first glance, she seems like nothing more than an old woman, but as we draw closer, I can see the unnatural sharpness of her movements and thegleam coming from hollows where her eyes should be.

Costin steps several paces onto the bridge before stopping. He frowns as he walks back toward me. “What now?”

I ignore his annoyance as I watch the figure approach from the other side of the bridge. Her form is hunched, wrapped in layers of frayed fabric that drift around her like a tattered, dirty wedding gown. Her pale skin is almost translucent and stretches tightly over her pronounced cheekbones. A tangle of silver hair is pulled back into a severe bun, though wild strands slither around her head as if caught in some invisible current. She moves with unsettling precision, each step deliberate and jerking, her bony fingers gesturing for the small figures trailing behind her to follow.

“Is that a banshee?” I ask Costin, moving close to him as the woman stops on the bridge to wait for the stragglers in her group.

“Witch,” he answers. “It’s too late now. We’ll have to wait for the students to pass.”

The children—if they can be called that—are an assortment of supernatural beings. Some have tiny, spiraling horns jutting from their foreheads, others have glowing eyes that flick nervously toward the stone beneath their feet. A few even sport small wings, which flutter anxiously as they movecloser to the edge. I see leashes tied around their ankles as they’re tethered to classmates. They fill the bridge, blocking passage to all others. They seem apprehensive, casting wary glances down into the chasm below, and I wonder what they’ve been told to fear.

“Stay close! If you fall in, we’re not going after you.” The witch schoolmarm’s voice slices through the ambient noise, condescending yet laced with a warped sort of affection for her charges.

I see a kid weaving magic through his fingers like I’ve seen my brother do many times over the years. Is this what school for Anthony was like?

I glance around, looking for my brother, but I still don’t see him.

The children shuffle closer together, their collective gaze drifting toward the edge of the bridge. One of the smaller creatures, a boy with curling horns, glances up at the witch nervously, his tiny hands clutching the hem of his jacket. Their murmurs are barely audible over the hum of the city, but their expressions speak volumes.

“We wouldn’t want anyone to stray too far from the path, now would we?” The witch’s words have a sing-song quality, though there’s a menacing lurking beneath the tone. Her back is facing us.

“Is she the one from the fairytale that lures kids with candy before she eats them?” I whisper to Costin.

“You don’t want to be overheard making jokes like that down here,” he says with a frown of warning.

Who’s joking?

The schoolmarm’s head rotates on her shoulders even though the rest of her doesn’t move. Her razor-thin grin doesn’t reach her eyes as she peers at me.

Oh fuck.

I quickly look away. I wait a few minutes before glancing back. Her head again faces forward.

“Who can tell me what lies beneath?” she asks the children.

The answers come in shouted, chaotic waves.

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