At first, I couldn’t help the disappointment that crept in; there was really not much to see. The corridor had a dirt floor with just a few stones scattered about, and it was empty of machinery, tools or anything else that the building’s owners might have found necessary to store inside. But I thought back to the maps Gaynor showed me this morning, and the way that the old Back Alley ran a jagged course away from Bear Alley, turning at several sharp, ninety-degree angles, almost like stair steps. Ahead, I could see the faintly illuminated path made its own such turns; and though I had no desire to venture to the very back of the corridor, my heart thumped hard in my chest.

There was no doubt that this was Back Alley—or at least a remnant of it.

I smiled, pleased with myself, imagining what Bachelor Alf would say if he were beside me. He’d probably rush ahead, seeking old artifacts.

I felt it before I saw it—a draft of air brushing up against me—and I lifted my light in the direction from which it came. Another door stood ajar just ahead, the air of the room within being sucked out, presumably, by the vacuum I’d now created in opening the door at the entrance. The tops of my arms prickled with goose bumps, and I jumped at the sudden tickle of a loose hair on my neck. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to run or scream—or look closer.

Up to this point, my breaking-and-entering had led me on a mostly predictable journey. I knew the outside door existed, and I suspected it led to a jagged corridor—a built-over street or walkway, according to Gaynor—and I felt there was a good chance the corridor wouldn’t be all too interesting once I got inside.

So far, true, true and true. But this door? This wasn’t on the map.

I was desperate to peek inside, and I told myself that was all I would do. The door was already ajar—no more kicking and shoving—so I resolved to slide my phone’s flashlight into the room, take a quick glance around and then leave. Besides—I checked my phone’s battery life, which was now at 32 percent—I didn’t have much time to stick around anyway, unless I wanted to be left in the dark.

“Christ,” I muttered as I stepped to the door, sure that I’d gone clinically insane. This wasn’t something normal people did, right? I couldn’t even be sure this was about the apothecary anymore. Was I still chasing down her story, or was I one of those people who went on reckless, adrenaline-high-seeking adventures after a big loss?