Pauline’s grip loosens, and I see my chance.

By the time her hand falls away, I’m already reaching for the Veil. It parts around me, and the last thing I see is Pauline turning back, her eyes widening in surprise as I vanish through the invisible curtain.

My heart lurches with panic as I’m plunged back into the dark.

The air is heavy and stale. All I can think is that I’m five stories underground and last time there was a lantern on the ground, but now there’s not, and I can’t breathe. Panic fills the place where air should be, and it takes all my strength not to reach for the Veil and cross back into the safety of the light.

“Jacob,” I whisper, half-afraid that no one will answer. Half-afraid that someone else will. But then I feel him, a shift in the air beside me.

“Cass,” he whispers back, and I realize that I can almost, almost see the outline of his face. I blink, desperate for my eyes to adjust, and when they do, I realize that the darkness isn’t absolute.

There must be a light somewhere, around the corner, the thinnest glow spilling through the tunnels. I make my way forward, keeping one hand against the wall for balance. The wall that isn’t a wall of course, but a stack of bones. My fingers skip over the hollows of a skull, the dips and grooves where bones lock together like puzzle pieces.

We round the corner, and I find the oil lamp on the ground. I crouch and turn the knob up, and the tunnel brightens a little, but not nearly as much as I’d like. I look around, but there’s no sign of Thomas. No sign of anyone, for that matter. The tunnels are empty.

“Thomas?” I call. But all I hear is my own voice echoing back. And there’s no sign of him, or the red light that seems to trail him through the Veil.

But he has to be here. He has to.

And if he’s not?

I look down at the lantern on the dirt floor, then straighten. I have an idea.

“Hey, Jacob,” I say. “Want to play a game of hide-and-seek?”

He looks at me for a long moment, then swallows and holds out his hands. One fist rests in the other open palm: the universal gesture for rock-paper-scissors.

“Winner hides,” he says. “Loser seeks.”

“No way,” I say. Rock-paper-scissors isn’t a fair game when one of us is psychic. I pull a coin from my back pocket and flip it.

“Tails,” calls Jacob as the coin glints in the dark.

I catch the coin, slap it against the back of my hand.

Heads.

I’m relieved. The only thing creepier than being down here in the dark would be closing my eyes. Jacob groans and turns to face the nearest column of bones, putting his hands over his eyes.

“One, two, three …” he begins.

And instead of running to hide, I slip into a shadowed gap nearby, and wait. Wait for movement. Wait for the sight of red eyes in a small round face. I chew my lip.

Jacob gets to ten, and there’s still no sign of Thomas.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

And then, just as Jacob is saying “Twenty-one,” I hear the shuffle of feet. I look up and see Thomas. The little boy peers around the corner, red eyes wide with curiosity. He doesn’t see me. But he sees Jacob. He watches Jacob for a long moment, then turns and slips away into the dark.

I follow, careful to keep just enough distance that he doesn’t know I’m there, but not so much that I lose him. It helps that his whole body is tinged with red. His edges glow, the air around him curling with wisps of colored smoke. I slip along in his wake, and soon he stops and crouches. He folds himself into a low arch, the bones beneath long crumbled.

Just like the nook in Adele’s story.

I squat in front of Thomas’s hiding place.

“Caught you,” I whisper. But for a moment, all I see is darkness, shadow, and I think he somehow got away. And then I realize he’s there. His head was down, bowed against his folded arms. Now he looks up, red eyes glowing in the dark.

And scowls.

I jerk backward, shocked by the anger in that small face. The venom in his look as he crawls out from his hiding place, red eyes so bright they seem to burn the air in front of him.

“Thomas …” I start, drawing the photos from my jacket as he gets to his feet.

His expression flashes with the kind of temper that only a kid his age can muster. Indignation. Betrayal.

He mutters something in French, and even though I don’t understand the words, the sentiment is clear. I cheated. I didn’t play fair.

“Thomas,” I say again, trying to keep my voice steady. I hold out one of the photos of him and his brother, but he doesn’t even look. His eyes slide past the images, like oil on water, and land on me.

And then his hand shoots out with lightning speed.

I jump back, assuming he’s aiming for me. But instead, he slams his hand against the nearest wall of bones like a child knocking over blocks.

Only these blocks don’t fall.

They tremble and shake, glowing red with the force of his power.

Outside the Veil, Thomas was strong.

Here, inside it, fueled by all that mischief and menace and mayhem, he’s something else entirely. As if he can pull on the energy of the space itself, on the restless dead, on the centuries of loss and fear and sadness. The Catacombs bend around him, to him. This isn’t just a tomb for him.

It’s a playground.

And as the walls shake, something begins to seep through them, leaking between the bones like smoke. And then it takes form. A young couple with backpacks. A teenage girl with lank black hair. A middle-aged man with a disheveled beard. They come one, two, five, ten, and as the spirits pour out of the bone-strewn walls, shuffling, grimacing, angry, I retreat, realizing with horror that the Catacombs have never been that empty.

They were just asleep.

My camera flies up, my index finger already hitting the flash. The bright glare buys me a second.

And in that second, I turn and run.

My shoes slip on the damp stone.

I hit the end of the tunnel before a ragged old man rises up through the floor, blocking my way. I skid backward on my heels and tear down another, darker path, dragging the necklace over my head right before I collide with another body. I’m already bringing the mirror up when a familiar hand catches my wrist.

“Jacob,” I gasp, turning the mirror away from him.

He looks over my shoulder, his eyes widening at the tide of spirits, the rumbling bones.

“What did you do?” he demands.

“I found Thomas,” I say, pulling Jacob after me. A gate hangs open up ahead, and we stumble through. I turn and slam the iron bars shut behind us.

“Upside,” I say, breathless, “Thomas is definitely here now. Downside,” I add, sinking back against the bars, “he’s stronger than I expected.”

I close my eyes as a wave of dizziness washes over me, the Veil beginning to steal my strength, my focus.

“So what’s the plan?” asks Jacob, and I’m about to reply when he pulls me away from the gate, seconds before a hand shoots through.

A woman stands beyond the bars, reaching for me, whispering a stream of desperate French. I hold the mirror out, trapping her attention.

“Watch and listen. See and know. This is what you are.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, and I thrust my hand into her chest, pulling out her thread. She crumbles, but before she’s even gone, the walls are shaking, rousing more spirits, and I know the only way to stop them all is to stop the one who woke them up.