His consciousness was tugged down to something at his feet, and horror slowly crawled up his throat.

A trail of light blinked through the water, as if something were slowly waking. A humming sound rang through the cave, shaking droplets of water from the stalactites, so the cave felt like a thing that had begun to salivate in hunger. Now, he could see clearly through the illuminated water—the domed curve of a skull, a gnawed tibia, a slim bridge made of hooked jawbones. And at his feet, one skeletal arm was outflung—

The remains of a woman.

Enrique’s gaze snapped over the details. The shroud clinging to her sunken chest. The wisps of blond hair on her skull from which boney protrusions curled back from her forehead. Someone had gilded her bones, so they shone even in the dark. In her cracked open jaw, a sign etched into a paper-thin slab of marble:

Mε συγχωρείτε.

Forgive me.

ENRIQUE SNAPPED BACK into himself at the sound of shattering glass. He blinked, looking around. He was no longer in his armchair, but crouched on the floor, his notebook and pen scattered around him. The shattering glass sound had come from Hypnos who had dropped his wineglass. Beside him, Zofia was breathing hard, the grip on her chair white-knuckled. Séverin looked faintly nauseous, but there was an unmistakable gleam of curiosity to his eyes.

He looked up at them.

“What did you see? Let’s start with the entrance.”

“The people were … not of this time,” said Zofia.

Séverin nodded. “Makes sense, the temple would be far older than Poveglia. What year would you place this at, Enrique?”

Enrique envied his calm. When he first tried to speak, his voice seemed stuck in his throat. He tried again:

“Sixth century, I believe … the people were most likely refugees from Padua during the early barbarian invasions,” he managed. “The statue of the woman … might be older.”

“Woman?” said Hypnos. “She was mostly feathers!”

“Depictions of ancient deities often straddle the wild and mortal worlds,” said Enrique.

“Did you notice her lips?” mused Séverin. “They were pursed so tightly, like someone trying not to speak.”

Enrique turned the image over in his mind. By now, his thoughts had adjusted to the weight of what he’d seen and allowed him some distance from the vividness of it all.

“Or sing…” he said slowly.

Enrique pinched the bridge of his nose, the iconography falling into place, although he didn’t see how it fit with what they’d seen in the caves.

“Perhaps the statue represented a siren,” he said. “The Roman poet Virgil makes some mention of them being worshipped in parts of the empire.”

Séverin tapped his fingers on the table. “But why a siren song? What’s the point of it?”

Enrique frowned. “I don’t know … their song is considered deadly. Mythologically speaking, the only person who was able to hear their song without drowning himself was Odysseus, and that was only because he was tied to the mast of his ship while his crew plugged their ears with beeswax.”