“You should,” Augustine said. “And you should stay that way until you’re back out.”

She nodded, instantly ghost and now hovering so she was eye level with him.

Chrysabelle glanced around but there wasn’t much to see. The fae plane resembled an endless gray field capped with an endless gray sky. Here and there drifts of fog obscured the horizon with more gray. Wind moaned in the distance, a lonely, eerie sound that made her shiver. “Not what I thought it would look like.”

“This is the landing for the Claustrum. There’s a lot more to the fae plane than this.”

“How do we get into the Claustrum?”

“Turn around.”

She did. “Holy mother.” A great black rock formation towered over them. An entrance was carved into it, the edges of it guarded with slivers of jagged stone pointing toward the center. “Those look like… teeth.”

Fi whimpered.

Augustine nodded. “They are.”

She didn’t ask from what. She didn’t want to know what creature had grown teeth that large.

“It’s meant to intimidate any fae brought here.”

Fi hovered closer to Chrysabelle. “Mission accomplished.”

He started forward. They followed. The closer they got, the more she could pick out a path between the teeth. And the more the stink of unwashed flesh and refuse reached them.

Fi wrinkled her nose. “This place smells really, really bad. Like fish left in the sun. Then covered with sewage. And vomit.”

Chrysabelle nodded. If she didn’t keep it together, she’d be adding to that vomit. “Breathe through your mouth, that’s what I’m doing.” She slanted her eyes at Fi. “Why are you even breathing? You’re in ghost form.”

Fi’s face was all twisted up. “I’m not breathing, but I can still smell it. I feel like I’m soaking in it.”

Augustine kept moving, winding through the jagged teeth until they came to an enormous silver gate. He pointed to the ground beyond it. “See that path?”

Chrysabelle stared, shaking her head. “No.”

“Close your eyes for a bit so they adjust to the darkness.”

She did, annoyed at how much her senses were depleted. When she opened them again, she saw what he was pointing at. A faint phosphorescent strip about two feet wide disappeared into the tunnel. “Okay, I see it.”

“Stay on it. Do not deviate until you find the raptor.” He looked at her. “Repeat what I just said.”

“Stay on it. Do not deviate until we find the raptor.”

He nodded. “You step off that path and you may not return.”

“Why?” Fi asked. Chrysabelle had never been happier about her curiosity.

“Because,” he answered, “that is a safe line. It runs the exact right distance away from the creatures who are most likely to try to grab you and haul you into their cells. It’s the path the wardens walk when they come here. Which isn’t often, I promise you.”

She pulled the cell number Mortalis had given her from her pocket and held out the slip of paper. “How do I find this cell?”

“Numbers get smaller the closer to the bottom of the Claustrum you get.” His finger stopped on a fae letter she didn’t know. “This means the twelfth floor from the top. Can you read faeish?”

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to count as you descend. Floor and cell numbers are written in the same phosphorescence as the path. There’s very little light beyond that, but you should be okay after a minute or two.”

He took a pocket watch from his leathers. “You have fifty-two minutes left. I suggest you move.” He grabbed the gate latch. “Just like the cells, this gate can be opened only from the outside. I’ll be here to let you out when you return.” Flipping the latch, he pulled the gate open. “If you go into the raptor’s cell, be sure Fi stays on the outside so she can let you out. Fi, if you have to take solid form to do that, do it fast and be careful.”

After a quick glance at Fi, who’d gone uncharacteristically quiet, Chrysabelle nodded. “Anything else I need to know?”

“No.” He hesitated. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She walked through, nodded to him, and then, with Fi at her side, began the descent through the cavernous maw. Every edge of the rock jutting toward them seemed razor sharp. In a few spots, water dripped from the ceiling and patches of phosphorescent moss clung to the sides adding tiny spots of ambient light.

The deeper into the tunnel they went, the more sounds scudded up to meet them. Sounds that bordered on human, but weren’t. Shouts, cries, calls for help, growls, and groans, weeping, clicking, snapping, and a low, ever-present hum. Just like the smell, there was no shutting the noise out.

Chrysabelle forced herself to focus on the reason she was here. That’s what Jerem said had worked for him. Suddenly, the passageway turned and sloped down as it curved out and around. Time to descend. “Help me count, Fi. This is one.”

The ghost nodded, but stayed quiet. From the look on Fi’s face, she was struggling to keep it together.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Chrysabelle said. “I am.”

“I hate the dark.” Fi’s voice wavered like a shifting wind. “Hate it.”

“The dark’s not so bad. Lots of good things happen in the dark.”

“Like what?”