The Montmartre cemetery was below street level, giving the impression it was sunken into the earth. Leaving the horses tethered near the entrance, I led Chris down a set of steps and began to weave my way through the tombs, the statues gracing many of them casting eerie shadows in the light of our lantern. The narrow pathways were slick with ice, and twice I nearly fell, catching myself with the wing of an angel once, and on a marble epitaph the second. Both times I jerked my hand away, feeling as though I’d somehow desecrated the memory of those entombed within.

“Here,” I said. “It’s this one.” My feet, of their own accord, had led us to a plain tomb that time had worn smooth. I carefully brushed the snow away from the faded etchings and held the light up to reveal a name and two dates. “Estelle Perrot,” I murmured.

“Do you recognize it?” Chris asked, leaning over my shoulder.

“No,” I said. “I don’t. But there are two other locations in this cemetery.”

Ignoring the icy cold of the wind, I let my feet take me on to a newer section of the yard. The tombs here were more ornate and the writing clearer. I stopped in front of a statue of a hooded woman sitting on the marble top, her head bent. “ ‘Ila Laval. Your sun set far too early,’” I read from the engraving, then reached up to brush some snow from the statue’s arm. “I have no idea what this means.”

“Is there really a body in there?” Chris asked, resting a hand on the top of the tomb. “Couldn’t it be a false grave? A way of her changing lives without anyone the wiser.”

“There’s something in there,” I said, not because I thought he was wrong, but because I could sense it in my bones that the tomb contained more than just empty space. “But I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

We both stared at the statue for a long moment, then Chris set down the lantern. Bracing his feet against the granite of the next tomb, he shoved against the lid. It didn’t budge. Digging the heels of my boots into the slippery ground, I threw my weight against the slab as Chris pushed. Stone ground against stone, loud even over the wind, but the top of the tomb inched sideways, then it stuck. No amount of pushing moved it any further.

Panting hard, I retrieved the lantern and tried to angle the light into the narrow crack, but I couldn’t see anything. “Hold this,” I said, passing it to Chris. Then I took a deep breath, and slowly eased my hand into the narrow gap. My pulse throbbed loud in my ears, my breath coming faster and faster as I eased my arm deeper into the tomb.

“Anything?”

I shook my head. The stone scraped tight against my skin, but I pressed my weight down and my arm abruptly slid in another few inches, my fingers punching through ancient fabric and into a ribcage.