The tunnels stank of wet earth and spoiled milk, the walls slick with a substance that glistened unnaturally in the sporadic torchlight. Jacob ran blindly, Eleanor's icy fingers clamped around his wrist like a manacle. His shoulder screamed where he'd landed on it, and the rusted key bit into his palm with each pounding step.
Yet worse than the physical pain was the memory now gnawing at the edges of his mind - the terrible certainty that Lord Blackwood's accusation had been true. Some part of him had always known. Known why the fire had left his forearms scarred in precise, ritual patterns. Known why Emily's screams that night hadn't been of fear, but of betrayal.
"You were supposed to burn with me!"
The child's voice echoed through the tunnels, so real Jacob nearly tripped. Eleanor yanked him to an abrupt stop, her breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged the air despite the cloying heat.
"Listen," she hissed.
The dragging sounds had stopped. The humming had ceased. In the sudden silence, Jacob became aware of two terrible truths:
First - they were standing in a perfect circle of torchlight, though no sconces lined these walls. The illumination came from beneath them, seeping up through cracks in the stone like some subterranean dawn.
Second - the small, bare footprints in the thick dust at their feet. Fresh. Leading toward them from the darkness ahead.
Eleanor's remaining eye widened. "It's her. She's here."
A rustle of fabric. The whisper of small feet on stone. Then -
Emily stepped into the light.
She looked exactly as she had that final night - nightgown pristine, golden curls bouncing, the stuffed rabbit Jacob had won for her at the summer fair clutched in one arm. Only her eyes were wrong. Too dark. Too old.
"Jakey," she said, and the childish lilt couldn't mask the ancient hunger beneath. "You broke your promise."
Eleanor's grip became crushing. "Don't look at her. Don't listen."
But Jacob couldn't help himself. This was his baby sister. His responsibility. His failure. Tears blurred his vision as he reached out. "Em, I-"
The girl's smile stretched impossibly wide, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. The rabbit fell from her arms, hitting the ground with a wet thud - its belly split open and spilling not stuffing, but dozens of tiny, skeletal bird hands.
"You were supposed to burn with me," Emily repeated, taking a step forward. Her bare feet left not prints in the dust, but feathers that dissolved into smoke. "But you ran. Like you always run."
Behind them, the Priest's voice echoed through the tunnels, harmonizing with Emily's in a way that made Jacob's bones vibrate: "Like father, like son."
Eleanor made a sound like a wounded animal as Emily took another step, the torchlight revealing the truth Jacob's mind had been fighting - the girl wasn't casting a shadow. She was the shadow, her form flickering at the edges like candle smoke.
The key in Jacob's hand grew suddenly hot, searing his flesh with the stench of burning skin. Emily's gaze snapped to it, her playful demeanor vanishing.
"You stole that," she whispered. Then screamed - a sound that shook dust from the ceiling - "YOU STOLE THAT!"
The torchlight winked out. In the sudden darkness, something cold and many-fingered grabbed Jacob's ankle.