Dan shuddered, remembering the terrible chill of that dark interrogation room and the sound of teeth spilling across a metal table.
“I’m sorry I ruined our trip, and . . . I hope I didn’t mess things up too badly for you here, Jordan,” he murmured, trying to squeeze Abby’s hand back. The drugs singing through his veins made his limbs feel detached, but he saw his fingers tighten around hers. His friends looked like they hadn’t slept in days, dark circles smudged under their eyes.
Still, Jordan mustered a smile, resting his arms flat on the mattress and laying his head down on them. “You two still have a few days left. Once you’re out of this bed we can probably sneak in a few hours of fun. And I still need help setting up my room. And there are like a thousand Xbox games you need to catch up on.”
Dan shook his head slowly, looking from Jordan to Abby and then down at his bandaged hand. “No, I think I need to go home as soon as I can. I owe Paul and Sandy an explanation . . . for a lot of things.” He paused, reveling in the weightless feeling keeping the pain at bay. For a second, things were kind of all right, and he wanted to remember how it felt. “Thanks for coming back for me,” he added.
“I don’t know what we would’ve done without the tip, Dan,” Abby continued, entwining her fingers with his, “but we would’ve done something.”
“I know,” he whispered, leaning back against the pillows and feeling himself start to drift. “Thank you.”
The university was like a little slice of history and old-world charm. The campus and the neighborhood around it felt like they were from a bygone era, but thirty minutes on the El and the fast, dirty bustle of Chicago sprang up to pull you out of the academic bubble. It suited Dan just fine, the feeling that while the campus might be old, something new was always just a stone’s throw away.
It wasn’t anything like New Hampshire College, tucked away as it had been in that little hilltop city, isolated and lonely. Here he could watch the colors change, walk beneath old stone arches, and get just about the best pho a kid could hope for.
And that he was doing, maybe too much. But putting on a few pounds would go a long way to making Paul and Sandy worry less. He had toyed with the idea of joining a gym, thinking it might impress Abby if he showed up to visit her looking less like a string bean and more like a linebacker.
He had taken to bringing a blanket and his bag to the Midway Lawn to study. Being surrounded by the wide open greenery and the trees transitioning from green to gold reminded him of the better parts of being at NHC. Sometimes he wished Abby and Jordan were right there with him, walking to class like they had once done—Jordan teasing Dan about his hopelessly ugly clothes, and Abby trying to keep them from getting into a real fight.
At least he’d get to show Abby a bit of his life in Chicago soon. He was already the darling of his history class, which he didn’t want to brag about, but which he knew Abby had picked up on during their Skype conversations. A family friend had invited Abby to join an artist’s commune for a semester in Minnesota, which worked well with her decision to take a year and work on cataloging their adventures in a photo essay to show at a little gallery in the spring. She wanted him to visit her in New York for winter break, but getting Paul and Sandy to go along with that would be difficult, to say the least.
They knew everything now. For better or worse, they knew everything. It had made things a little easier, in the end, and after the tears and confusion and long talks into the night, Dan felt unburdened. They knew, and he didn’t have to lie about his finger or who his birth parents had been or what he had seen at NHC. . . . It had been the last test of their love for him, and it still shocked and amazed him that they had passed it with flying colors.
Dan’s phone buzzed on the plaid blanket. He grabbed it and huddled down into his scarf, a bitter wind coming off Lake Michigan.
Hey dork, u going 2 MSP for fall break? U should. Gonna see Abs & then I’m flying to NYC. Cal is dragging me 2 some dumb show. He is the worst. Come visit 2, miss u.
He grinned down at the text, feeling a pang of regret that he wouldn’t get to go and watch Cal and Jordan in action. Apparently they were doing the long-distance thing (usually via a video game) and it was working out just fine.
Oliver and Sabrina stayed in touch, but only sparingly. All three of them were happy to discover that once Micah’s remains were recovered from the funeral home and buried properly, the messages stopped. They still couldn’t agree on whether it had been Micah’s ghost or some kind of omniscient hacker, but in the end, Dan decided it didn’t matter. They had brought his spirit peace.
Dan slept better. He dreamed better. Even though the occasional image from the past year bubbled up to haunt him, that’s what therapy was for. Lots and lots and lots of therapy.
Now, Dan sent his regrets to Jordan, promising to visit soon, although he didn’t quite know when that would be.
The wind rippled across the park again, frightening dog walkers back down the paths and toward home. Dan looked out in the direction of the water for a second and then began packing up, preferring to finish his studying inside where it was warm. He shoved his books back into his canvas bag and stood, folding up the blanket and wedging that into his pack, too. His phone tumbled out of his grasp, bouncing on the grass below.
“Here.”
He nearly knocked heads with a woman, her red hair whipped around her face by the wind. She grabbed his phone with a woolly white glove and stood, gazing down into his face with the strangest expression. Dan felt a tremor pass from his nose all the way to his toes. He knew her face, and his hand froze as he opened his palm to take the phone.
“Hello, Daniel,” she said softly, shyly. She pushed the fiery hair out of her face, sweeping it behind cold-reddened ears. Her eyes were pale, pale blue, and she had a black motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm.
“Mom.” He tried the word out. It sounded different when he said it to her, tentative but also relieved. “You’re . . .”
Dan hugged the backpack to his chest, feeling small and terrified.
“You know why I had to stay away, right? You understand. . . .” Evelyn Ash trailed off, pressing her lips together tightly. “I’m not here to interfere with your life. You’ve done amazingly well on your own so far. No thanks to me.”
“I wasn’t on my own,” he said defensively, but he couldn’t keep up the chilly façade. He wanted to ask her so many things, just ask and ask until all of the questions he had stored up for eighteen years were finally out of him.
He wondered if maybe he owed her something of an apology for using her as a bargaining chip with Finnoway. But he had been right, hadn’t he? She could handle herself, and she did, taking the Artificer out of the picture for good.
That was something to be thankful for, even if part of him wanted to snap at her, punish her somehow for abandoning him the way she had.
“No, of course not. And, well, if you want me to go away and never come back, I will.” A tear escaped one of her eyes and she brushed at it impatiently. “God knows I’ve done it before. But I didn’t want to, Daniel.”
“I usually go by Dan,” he murmured.
“Dan,” his mother replied slowly, as if testing out the name. “Do you think I could walk with you? Just for a little while? I’ll go if you ask me to.”
“No!” he said, too quickly. Now that he had her there, well, the urge to scream at her was weaker than the urge to know her. Like her. She had made hard decisions, but hadn’t he done the same? For his friends, for himself . . . “I mean, let’s . . . let’s walk. I’m this way.” Dan gestured toward the walking path that circled back toward his dorm. “I knew it was you,” he said after a while. “The anonymous tip? The motorcycle? I wasn’t sure if you would still be around when I got to the street, but I knew it was you.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re obviously very clever. How did you know?”
They kept a meandering pace. Dan wasn’t keen to get to his destination too quickly. This
could very well be the first and last time they met, he thought; there was always a chance she could disappear again. “There was a picture of you and Dad in Finnoway’s basement. You were wearing a motorcycle jacket. I recognized the symbol.”
“I wished every day I could reach out to you,” Evelyn whispered with a shivering sigh. “I couldn’t risk it. But when I found out you were going to New Orleans, to his domain . . .”
“You were the one who pulled me out of Finnoway’s clinic, too, weren’t you? The good Samaritan,” he said. “He didn’t know it was you because you kept the helmet on.”
“Like I said, clever.” She grinned, then looked closely at his hand and the smile faded away.
“I bet it felt good to run over that jerk,” Dan muttered.
“You have no idea.”
“Yeah,” he said with a dry laugh, glancing at his hand. “I kinda do.”
Too soon they were back at his dormitory, standing under one of the yellowed arches carved with elaborate scalloped points. “So this is me.” He dug his toe into the ground, searching for something profound to say. “Can we . . . can we maybe do this again? I don’t know if you’re staying in town or whatever but . . . I’d like to see you again. Get to know you. Get to know about Dad.”
“Sure, yeah, Marcus would . . . God. You look so like him,” she said gently, reaching out to touch his hair. Then Evelyn turned and ducked her head a little, tucking one stand of red hair behind her ear. She gave a wave and started back down the road. “Take care, Dan, sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you real soon.”
First, I have to thank the long-suffering Andrew Harwell, my editor, who is always willing to listen patiently while I work through insane plot ideas and blubbering what ifs. He makes my writing better, cleaner, and scarier, and for that I will be eternally grateful. I also want to acknowledge the major contribution of Kate McKean, who is as patient, understanding, and realistic as an agent can be. The team at Harper always outdoes itself with the beautiful design and photos, and they are hugely responsible for the atmosphere in these books.
To my family and friends, who listen to my griping, moaning, and fears, thank you for believing in me and lending your support. I am extremely fortunate to have such an amazing team behind me. Mom, Pops, Nick, Tristan, Julie, Gwen, and Dom, you can’t be thanked often or intensely enough for the faith you’ve put in me and my writing. To Michelle, thanks for becoming such an amazing influence and mentor—you made some of the crappiest parts of this year bearable. To Steve, Kai, and Katie, thank you for pulling me out of the house and making sure I didn’t starve or go too stir-crazy.
And finally, I have to thank the readers and fans who have turned Asylum into such a success. I’m constantly humbled by the outpouring of love and interest, and I have to pinch myself every day to have any of it make sense.
IMAGE CREDITS
The images in this book are custom photo illustrations created by Faceout Studio and feature real found photographs from New Orleans.
PAGE TITLE FROM THE COLLECTION OF
Title page Girl ghost Eva van Oosten / Trevillion Images
Epigraph Mask on iron fence TravisPhotoWorks / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 1 Fence and trees in the mist Jens_Lambert_Photography / istockphoto.com
Chapter 1 House with graffiti tyalexanderphotography / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 1 Cemetery gate bttoro / istockphoto.com
Chapter 2 Woman driving vehicle Tana Teel / Stocksy.com
Chapter 3 Man with vintage car Jupiterimages / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 4 Proprietor in his store Jupiterimages / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Arlington School John Morse / Bham Wiki
Chapter 5, Chapter 10 Handwriting Emily Weigel / Faceout Studio
Chapter 9 Tree in graveyard Kefca / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 9 Screaming face Heartland Arts / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 9 Bones in dirt spxChrome / istockphoto.com
Chapter 9 People at a table Brand X Pictures / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 10 Men sitting outside a tent Photos.com / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 10, Chapter 26 Fox mask Stokkete / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 10, Chapter 26 Pig mask Christopher Oates / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 10, Chapter 26 Rabbit mask Celiafoto / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 10, Chapter 26 Men standing in front of a brick wall shironosov / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 10 Cat masks Alloy Photography / Veer.com
Chapter 10 Civil War soldiers sitting
Civil War soldiers outside tent
Frame on a wall Everett Historical / Shutterstock.com
Thinkstock.com
LiuSol / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 10 Torn paper STILLFX / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 13 Masks with long beaks VanessaGF / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 13 Photo album bgwalker / istockphoto.com
Chapter 14 Taxidermied alligator heads WMI Photography / Veer.com
Chapter 14 Mardi Gras masks jojobob / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 16 Man outside store window Brand X Pictures / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 16 Mannequin heads huseyintuncer / istockphoto.com
Chapter 16 Odd trinkets MURAT SENEL / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 17 Masked man in doorway Dimitris Kolyris / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 20 Couple in photo Zurijeta / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 21 Skull pile Marco Klahold / Stocksy.com
Chapter 25 Group of men with hammers Jupiterimages / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 26 A séance National Media Museum / Wikimedia Commons
Chapter 28 Pile of skulls Micky Wiswedel / Stocksy.com
Chapter 33 Couple sitting by vintage vehicle CaseyHillPhoto / istockphoto.com
Chapter 33 Outdoor statue jbd30 / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 36 Dimensional mask Ablestock.com / Thinkstock.com
Chapter 37 Bloody teeth Rpsycho / istockphoto kilukilu / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 38 Stacked skulls waggers33 / istockphoto.com
Chapter 39 Ornate Mardi Gras mask Jean Orrico / Shutterstock.com
Chapter 40 Couple under umbrella wrangler / Shutterstock.com
Epilogue Cemetery Madeleine Roux
Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 14, Chapter 16, Chapter 20, Chapter 26, Chapter 28, Chapter 33, Chapter 40
Worn photo paper val lawless / Shutterstock.com
Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35, Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44, epilogue, acknowledgments
Vintage postcard Karin Hildebrand Lau / Shutterstock.com
Fleur-de-lis pattern Hadrian / Shutterstock.com
Title page, epigraph, prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35, Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44, epilogue, acknowledgments
Vintage texture Eky Studio / Shutterstock.com
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo credit Greg DeStefano
MADELEINE ROUX is the New York Times bestselling author of Asylum, which has sold into nine countries around the world, and its sequel, Sanctum, which SLJ called “seriously spooky.” Catacomb is the third installment in the series about Dan, Abby, and Jordan. Madeleine is also the author of Allison Hewitt Is Trapped and Sadie Walker Is Stranded. A graduate of the Beloit College MFA program, Madeleine now lives in Southern California.
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BOOKS BY MADELEINE ROUX
Asylum
Sanctum
Catacomb
The Scarlets
The Bone Artists
CREDITS
COVER ART:
GIRL © 2015 by Stephen Carroll / Trevillion Images
TEXTURE © 2013 by Naoki Okamoto / Getty Images
PHOTO BORDERS © 2013 by iStockphoto
KEYS © 2013 by Dougal Waters / Getty Images
MASKS © 2015 by VanessaGF / iStockphoto
COPYRIGHT
CATACOMB. Copyright © 2015 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.