“Whoa, now!” I say, raising my hand to stop him.

“What the hell!” Liv says, struggling.

“Trust me,” Maurice murmurs.

If Siaka looked afraid before, now he looks downright stricken. “Okay, fine. You know how this works,” he says to his cousin. “Did you bring a paper and pen?”

She nods and jabs an elbow into Maurice, who lowers the knife. She drops her bag to the ground, pulls out a notepad and pen, and hands it to Siaka. He takes it from her. With a trembling hand he writes something down. Then, ripping the page off, he hands them back, trying to catch his cousin’s eye.

She avoids looking at him, stuffing the items back into her bag before standing and shoving a cigarette lighter toward him. “Burn it,” she says. “You know that’s how it works.”

“Liv,” he says, pleading.

“Only one of us gets the gift,” she replies. “There’s no reason it shouldn’t be me.”

“I don’t care about the gift as much as I care about your safety,” Siaka says. “You can’t help these people. They’re...”

He stops as Maurice takes a step closer to Liv, still brandishing the knife. Siaka’s shoulders slump. He hands the paper to Liv, and she reads it out loud. It’s in another language, so I can’t tell what she’s saying, but it sounds like a single phrase. Once she’s done, he brings the lighter close and sets the paper on fire. Liv holds up the note, making sure the fire catches. Once it does, she lets go and allows the burning paper to float toward the ground.

Something happens.

A kind of magical glow leaves Siaka and begins inhabiting Liv.

“Yes!” she crows, waiting until the process is completed. Then she sprints toward the open door in the wall. She raises her hand and reaches gingerly toward the darkened entryway. Her fingers pass the place where Maurice received a shock.

Nothing happens. No sparks. No frying skin. She can pass safely through the invisible barrier.

“It worked!” she calls triumphantly. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, turns on the flashlight and disappears into the tunnel’s gloom.

Maurice turns to me, a wicked smile on his face. “So tell me. How are things at La Maison?”

Chapter Twenty Four

For a tense fifteen minutes or so, the three of us stand there. An occasional gust of wind blows from the tunnel, smelling of mildew and wet clay.

Siaka and I steal a look at each other, and Maurice taps the hilt of his sword, reminding us what will happen if either of us makes a move. Siaka looks devastated, as though someone has just died. Which, I’m sure it must feel like—his cousin just stole the birthright his dead mother gave him.