14
MYLA
Lincoln and I follow the ghosts and Goliath into the mist. A gentle breeze moves across my skin.
Wait, what? A breeze?
Antrum is all caves. And caves, as a rule, do not have moving air. I swear, if you fart during a ceremony, someone can sense the miniature windstorm halfway across a cavern.
I pull out my own baculum. Yes, I’m pregnant. Still, I never go anywhere without these two thin metal rods. Grasping them in my right hand, I picture them igniting into a torch. Instantly, white angelfire ignites from the end of the baculum, giving me a better look around.
Not much to see but haze.
Before, I noticed something odd about the mist. I could make out a ghostly hand or face in the mix. Now, the angelfire reflects through the haze and I realize the truth.
“This isn’t a mist at
