"This way," Sister Cora says in a hushed voice. "Mind the step."
A single candle held out before her, Sister Cora leads the way. I follow her behind the altar, to the wooden trapdoor set into the stone at the back of the church. The trapdoor is hidden by only a threadbare carpet - from what I can see of the faded design, it depicts a pure white unicorn woven in gleaming ivory thread on a forest green background, shot through with stylised golden star bursts.
Carefully, Sister Cora pushes the carpet aside, revealing the trapdoor beneath.
With a start, I realise that it's the very same trapdoor I emerged from yesterday evening, after my journey under the mountain with Michael.
Was it only yesterday that I arrived here? It feels like days - no - weeks ago, now. So much can happen in the s
