The stink hit them first.
Rot-water and rust settled on the back of Meredith's tongue as she followed her brother into the tunnel that gaped beneath London's neat streets.
Richard, to his credit, didn't show any signs of discomfort beyond a slight wrinkle of his nose.
He glared at his sister. And I don't keep crying about everything.
"I'm beginning to think you collect awful smells," Meredith muttered, her green-glowing wand casting a sickly hue over the brickwork. "Old books, battlefield sweat, and now sewer soup. Is this some kind of perverse hobby? Because if it is, Rich, I don't want to have any part in it!"
Richard adjusted his coat collar and pressed on, boots clacking over damp stone. The hush felt thick enough to bend around them.
"Hey! Do you hear me?"
"Focus, Mer," he said without turning. "We can argue perfume choices once we're clear of the pipes."
