Kant tilted his head a fraction. His expression was inscrutable, the eyebrows too heavy and the beard too thick to see the angle of the muscles beneath or to get any reading on his thoughts. The harsh bulbs glinted off the edges of his eyes. “You’d prefer not,” he said.

It was only a cellar. A cellar that must be visited multiple times each day by multiple people. There couldn’t be anything to fear, no matter how deep the tunnel led her down. Margot wet her lips. “No. Please. I’d love to see it.”

He nodded once, then fell still again, waiting.

She had to do this. She had no excuse not to.

Margot took a short, quick breath and stepped forward, crossing over the threshold.

14

Dirt crunched under Margot’s shoes.

The passageway’s angle was steep. Kant, leading, took the ramp rather than the stairs, so Margot followed his example. The stairs had probably been intended for foot traffic, while the ramp would have been used for transporting the barrels, but the incline must have been easier on Kant’s gait. It left Margot feeling destabilized, though; she tested every new step, knowing a damp bit of stone could very well send her sliding down into the darkness beneath. Her skin crawled. It was all she could do to keep her breathing from growing noticeably panicked.

The lights suspended above them were high enough not to hit either of them, but Margot still felt compelled to keep her head low to avoid them. They were bare bulbs, an unkind shade of white that sapped warmth and color from the walls, and they were not set closely enough to eradicate the pools of shadows that formed between them.

Kant, familiar with this path, neither ducked his head nor struggled with his footing. He reached the floor below well ahead of Margot and waited at the doors for her to make up the lost ground.

The scents were stronger there. Although there was no dirt visible on the stone walls or floors, it hung in the air, heavy and loamy. Margot began to pick up the velvety, astringent strains of wine and, strangely, vanilla.

As she arrived at the level ground, Kant pushed the final set of doors open.

“The cellars,” he said simply, and he moved to one side so Margot could see past him.

She felt her stomach drop unpleasantly. Despite all of her expectations that had been challenged so far—the number of employees, the aboveground facilities—she had not expected the cellars to be so enormous.

Stone pillars rose out of the ground, connecting overhead to form massive, interlocking archways. Between them were barrels. They were all arranged on their sides, held in place with wooden supports, stacked five to a grouping. And they seemed to go on forever.

All Margot could manage was “Oh.”