The Mage War had consumed all of them like a fire. It was horrible to think about — but at the same time, Call had never heard anyone say Constantine’s name with such compassion before.
Of course it was Aaron. He had compassion for everyone.
“Over here,” said Jasper. He’d wandered a little farther down the corridor and was staring into another alcove. The strange glowing stones along the walls cast an eerie light over his face. “Someone we know.”
Call knew who they would find before he got there. A skinny boy with stick-straight brown hair and freckles, his blue eyes closed forever.
Drew.
He remembered Drew’s body the last time he’d seen it, and the way Master Joseph had enchanted it to close up its wounds, even though Drew was already dead. His body looked healed now, even if his spirit was gone.
He had grave goods, too, folded clothes and favorite games, a horse statuette and a photograph of him with one arm around a smiling Master Joseph and the other around someone else — someone who’d been cut out of the picture.
Call was about to pick up the photo and take a closer look when he heard muffled and distant voices coming from below them.
“Do you hear that?” he whispered, walking away from Drew’s body and down the hallway.
Stairs receded into the gloom — they looked as though they’d been carved from solid rock, and it took Call a moment to realize that they must have been formed by magic.
The time is closer than you think.
Call crept down the steps. The others followed more cautiously. He reached the bottom stair and looked around the cavernous, shadowy room. The darkness down here was deeper, the glowing rocks set into the walls more spread out.
And then he saw it. The final body — Constantine himself. He was lying on a slab of marble, arms crossed over his chest. He had dark brown hair and sharp features; he might have been handsome if it wasn’t for the livid burn marks that covered the right side of his face and disappeared down into his collar. They weren’t as bad as Call had imagined, though, hearing the story of the Enemy’s burned face and the mask he’d worn. Constantine mostly looked normal. Horribly normal. He could have been anyone walking down the street. Anyone at all.
Call took a step closer. Stanley lurched along behind him.
“What do you see?” Aaron whispered from farther up the stairs.
“Shhhh,” Call whispered back, moving to Constantine’s body. “Stay there.” He could still hear voices coming through the walls. Whispering ghosts? His imagination? He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He couldn’t stop staring at the body. That’s me, he thought. That’s the face I grew up with first, before I became Callum Hunt.
Dizziness flooded him. He stumbled back against the wall, into a shadowed nook, just as an unseen door slid back and Master Joseph entered the room, followed by Call’s father.
Call’s heart thundered in his chest. They were too late to stop Alastair.
MASTER JOSEPH LOOKED exactly as he had the last time Call had seen him: the same staff, the same uniform, and the same manic glint in his eye.
“You have the Alkahest, good,” he said to Alastair. “I knew that we’d be better off working together. Really, we both want the same thing.”
Alastair, on the other hand, looked exhausted. His clothes were dirty; he wore old jeans and a beat-up anorak. He had beard stubble on his chin. “We do not want the same thing. I just want my son back.”
My son. For a second, when Call had first seen his father, he’d felt a rush of relief. A sense of familiarity. Now he felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He knew who his father wanted back, and it wasn’t him.