Chapter 13: Six Hours

They planned to leave London the next morning.

Taiwo did not wait.

At six that evening, every door in the chapter house locked—at once.

The sound travelled through the building like a row of gunshots.

Staff members stopped where they stood. A cup fell from someone’s hand and broke against the floor.

Then the mirrors turned black.

Dr. Obi stepped out of her office. “Everyone move away from the mirrors. Now!”

The staff crowded behind her.

Zara stood in the centre of the hall. She had applied Portrait of a Lady that morning, but the rose had faded hours ago, leaving only amber, patchouli and incense on her skin.

Now, without warning, the rose returned.

Dark.

Full.

Alive.

Beside her, Adisa’s Gris Charnel deepened too. Black tea, fig and warm wood moved through the hall, calm against the fear spreading around them.

Adisa looked at Zara.

“You feel that?”

“Yes.”

The black surface of the largest mirror moved.

Elder Taiwo appeared inside it.

Then he appeared inside every other mirror in the hall.

He looked older than Zara expected. Calm. Well dressed. Almost gentle.

“You have no idea what you carry,” Taiwo told her.

Zara faced him. Adisa remained on her right, while Dr. Obi moved the frightened staff behind them.

“I know enough.”

“You think power is freedom,” Taiwo said. “Power is duty.”

“Duty is not control.”

“People cannot be trusted with their own destiny.”

Portrait of a Lady grew stronger.

Several staff members looked toward Zara, confused by the sudden scent. One woman covered her mouth as the mirrors began to shake.

Dr. Obi pulled a ritual blade from her sleeve.

“And you believe you should make their choices for them?” she asked.

Taiwo turned toward her reflection.

“You have always mistaken administration for wisdom, Yewande.”

Dr. Obi threw the blade.

It entered the mirror without breaking it.

Taiwo caught it from the other side!

The blade flew back.

It entered Dr. Obi’s shoulder.

She fell.

The staff screamed!

Adisa caught her before her head struck the floor.

“Get them upstairs!” he shouted.

A healer dragged Dr. Obi away while two staff members cleared the corridor.

The mirrors cracked.

Spirits poured through them.

They fell into the hall as long shapes of smoke, bone and human faces.

Zara and Adisa stood back-to-back.

His Gris Charnel wrapped around her Portrait of a Lady—warm wood beneath dark rose.

Adisa raised both hands.

The floor stopped splitting.

The walls bent inward, holding the building together.

“Left side!” Zara shouted.

A spirit rushed toward the fleeing staff.

Adisa turned and crushed the wall around it.

Another spirit caught Zara’s arm.

Its fingers burned against the black mark beneath her sleeve.

The creature opened its mouth.

A young woman’s face appeared inside it.

Afraid.

Trapped.

Zara held the spirit’s wrist.

“Go home.”

Portrait of a Lady rose from her skin like smoke from an altar.

The darkness broke apart.

The young woman’s spirit looked at Zara once.

Then she disappeared.

More creatures came through the mirrors.

Adisa held the room while Zara released the souls inside them.

With every spirit she freed, the rose grew stronger.

With every wall Adisa held, the fig and sandalwood of Gris Charnel spread farther.

Their scents met in the air.

The building stopped shaking.

The last spirit vanished.

Every mirror exploded!

Glass filled the hallway.

Adisa pulled Zara against him and turned his back to the blast.

When the noise ended, they remained still for one breath.

Then another.

His hand was around her waist.

Her face was against his chest.

She could smell Gris Charnel clearly now—not from the room, but from his skin. Warm. Dark. Familiar in a way it had not earned the right to be.

Dr. Obi’s voice came from the stairs.

“Seal every entrance,” she ordered through clenched teeth. “No one leaves alone.”

The staff began to move.

Zara found Adisa in the archive several minutes later.

He stood beside the table, breathing hard. Blood ran from a cut near his temple. Gris Charnel still held close to him, but beneath it she could smell smoke and broken stone.

“You could have died,” Zara said.

Adisa turned toward her.

“So could you.”

Portrait of a Lady was still strong on Zara’s skin. The rose felt almost sharp now—anger, fear and something she had refused to name.

“I am tired of pretending this is only about the work.”

Adisa became very still.

Zara crossed the space between them.

She kissed him.

It was not gentle.

Months of fear, questions and restraint broke between them.

His hands closed around her waist.

Her back struck the shelves.

Books fell around them.

Portrait of a Lady and Gris Charnel filled the archive—rose and incense against fig, tea and warm wood.

The room shook.

Adisa stopped first.

“Zara...”

“What?”

He kept his hands at her waist, but the expression in his eyes had changed.

“There is still something you do not know.”

Her anger returned.

“Then tell me!”

An alarm began to ring.

Dr. Obi’s voice came through the corridor.

“The airport route is compromised! Your flight has been moved forward!”

They had six hours.

Adisa looked at Zara as though the truth might cost him everything.

The warmth of Gris Charnel remained between them.

Then he released her.

“We need to pack.”