I rubbed my eyes with soot-stained fists and stumbled toward Vale and Cherie. Neither of them would leave without me, of course. A muffled boom made the floor shake, and I hurried past and held open the curtains.
“We’d better get out of here before the catacombs start to collapse.”
Vale sucked air through his teeth. “Oh, merde. I did not think about that part. Can you make it back on your own feet, and fast?”
“I can do anything.”
“I believe it, bébé. I believe it.”
The daimons had left us two lamps, and I took them both and led the way up the slick stone steps. It was warmer in the catacombs, and the dry rasp of rock and bone under my boots was reassuring and familiar. I followed the red string, foot after foot, sometimes putting a raw palm against the wall to steady myself from falling into the sewage. Behind me, Vale shuffled sideways, careful not to hurt Cherie. After the third time her slipper struck the wall, she grunted.
“Oh, this is ridiculous. Carry me on your back.”
I held the lamp up to her face, and she looked ten times better than she had, her eyes bright and her lips pursed in annoyance. I couldn’t help smiling. “How do you feel?”
“Utterly wretched in the best possible way. And thirsty. Now, get that light out of my face and move me around so I don’t break a foot on this hideous wall.”
With his usual grace and good humor, Vale managed to maneuver Cherie onto his back, her ragged slippers wrapped around his waist. After that, we went faster. It was a nightmare, stumbling past piles of fallen bones and tripping over loose rocks. But I could smell Cherie behind me, hear her familiar little sighs of irritation, and the relief thrummed through me with every heartbeat. Burning her painting had killed the magic. She didn’t have fangs, but she was still my Cherie.
A few moments later, the tunnel around us shook with a heavy boom, and Vale hurried to shield me under his arm. We had to close our eyes as dust rained down from the stone ceiling, but the passage held.
“There goes the Malediction Club,” Vale said.
“Not if Charmant is still alive,” Cherie added, and a ripple of unease chilled my spine and set my exhausted feet to a faster trot.
The way back felt longer than the trip out, and even after gorging on my opponents, I’d never been so tired. “Shouldn’t we be there already?” I asked.
Vale faltered behind me, and I turned to stare at him. The left side of his face was bruised, and he was limping, and blood trickled from a gash on his neck, which was probably why Cherie was careful to lean away from him.
“I was waiting to make sure, but I’m sorry, bébé. I think we’re lost.”
“How can we be lost? We’re following the yarn.”
I leaned down to pick up the red string. I gave it a tug, but instead of pulling taut as it should have, it slithered down the rocks toward me. Far away, a howl echoed out of the tunnels, jolting me awake and setting my fangs on edge.
“Oh—”
“Merde, bébé.”
Vale spun, his back to me. Cherie’s back pressed against my corset, and a rush of familiarity settled through me before I realized what Vale was doing: anticipating an attack.
“Do you think—” I started.
“Shh.”
It rankled, but I shut up. Everything beyond our lantern was dark, which made the eerie howls seem as if they came from every side. I threw out my senses, trying to detect how far away the bludhounds were—because they had to be more of Charmant’s demon dogs, cut loose to run free in the catacombs. The half-dead daimon girls would be such easy pickings; we had to get to them soon and do what we could to protect them.
Up ahead, something moved, just a subtle rustle and a rock loosened from a pile. I breathed in deeply, seeking past the scents of stone and sewage and age-old bones and seeping, oily metal smoke to something alive. And there it was, up ahead where the red string slithered into the darkness, a rank scent that I knew well.
Charmant.
“You two stay here,” I whispered.
“No, bébé. Let me.”
“I’m harder to kill, and if I get hurt, you’re the only one with a hope of getting us out alive. So please, shove down your bad-boy brigand thing and let me do what I do best.”
“Oh, Demi. Always so dramatic.” Cherie sighed. “Just—”
A scream echoed down the tunnel, along with heavy splashing and a victorious bark, and Vale’s head whipped around to stare into the darkness.
“That’s Mel,” he said gently.
I sighed and put a hand on his cheek. “Then go help her. I’ve got this. Come find me, once you’ve saved her like a big damn hero.”