Page 8 of Til Death Duke Us Part
She rustled around him and into the pitch black. Silence, then the soft hum of more fairy lights. He found her near the door, up on tiptoe again, her hands wrapped around a globe anchored to the wall there. Was there a mechanism? A switch she’d flipped to turn it on? Didn’t matter.
“Now,” he said, looking around the stark tomb, “where is the invention?”
She released the globe and looked around. “You’re on your own from here.” She glanced at the door.
He lunged for her arm and pulled her tight to his side. “No you don’t.”
“Don’t what?” She sounded indignant.
“Don’t lock me in here.”
“I would never.”
“You would in a heartbeat.”
“And you’d deserve it.” She was looking at the large, sharp-edged sarcophagus in the middle of the tomb. Made of wood, but the edges and top adorned with silver.
“There’s no floor in here.” Dirt clung to the bottom of his boots and stretched out on all sides of the small, square space.
“I’m not saying anything else about alchemists.” She motioned locking her lips with a key and pocketing it in her bosom.
The corner of his lip quivered as if it might—heaven forbid—smile. Or laugh. Or some such nonsense. “Where’s the invention?”
“Grave work,” she said absentmindedly. “We call it grave work.” She scowled at the foot end of the sarcophagus. I—Hm. It…” She walked circles around the sarcophagus, looking at the floor. She checked the walls, the ceiling. “I don’t know. It… it’s gone.”
“Do families take the devices?”
She shook her head, brows moving slowly toward one another. “Never.”
“Then—”
“You’re not the first grave robber that’s been here.”
3
MORE TOMBS AND A TUB
If Persephone had to open one more damned door, she was going to knee this damned duke between the legs like she should have done hours ago. But she wouldn’t. Because she needed to know now.
Why were all the prototypes missing from the tombs?
Every single one. They’d investigated every tomb on the ground level and had begun to move downward. Surely, they’d opened at least half of the tombs on the first lower floor. She wrapped her arms around herself and locked down a shiver. Couldn’t suppress a yawn though.
“What time do you think it is?” she asked around the yawn.
“Time to keep opening doors.” Morington nudged her to the next unopened one.
“It’s just going to be more of the same. Someone got here before you.” And she’d not even known. They must be coming in during the day. The only person she ever saw near the tombs or in the graveyard was the Master of the Alchemist Guild, but he was a pious man. He was kind to visit the departed during the lonely months. He was rather handsome, too. All golden good looks and well-tailored suits. She sighed and pressed her fingertips against the barely-there lines that worked the lock.
The door clicked open, and she stumbled inside, the dastardly duke behind her.
“Damn,” he hissed. “Nothing here either.” He ruffled a hand through his hair. The hours and the darkness weighed heavy in the shadows beneath his eyes. He shook his head and strode for the door. “Next.”
“Noooo,” Persephone moaned. But she followed him out the door. Tried to.
He popped back inside, pulling the door shut with him and wrapping his hand around her mouth.
“Mrf!” she said against his palm. His palm. The gloves on his hands were a glamour. She’d always heard they had no substance, but she’d never experienced it before. How odd to see something and feel nothing, but that was not the focus right now. “Mrf!” She struggled against his hold.
