The air grew colder with every step down the spiral stone staircase, heavy with the smell of damp earth, ancient wax, and the cloying sweetness of decaying lilies. It was the smell of death, masked by perfume.
Elena walked ahead, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She was wearing a simple black dress, the fabric clinging to her skin. Hidden beneath the lace at her neckline was a small, silver device—a primitive wire Caleb had rigged to record her conversation.
She felt naked without Caleb at her side. He was behind her, silent as a shadow, but he would stop at the hidden turn before the main burial chamber. She would have to face Father Silas alone.
She reached the final step. The crypt opened up into a vast room lined with stone alcoves. Coffins, some ornate and
