The Owl Keeper by Christine Brodien-Jones

bang, it slammed shut behind them and they clattered down a ladder, into a vast cellar lit by flare lamps. Once they'd reached the bottom, Rose pushed the ladder and sent it crashing down. Max blundered ahead, disoriented by the shadows, knocking over a stack of wooden crates. Heart thudding, he pushed aside old machinery as he and Rose stumbled over broken desks and filing cabinets, dented freezers, smashed computers heaped in piles. Overhead he could hear the woman running.
    The wolf howled.
    Rose clutched his hand and they ran wildly down a stone passage, into complete and utter darkness. Terror gripped Max's chest, squeezing his lungs so he could hardly breathe. His only hope was that the guard wouldn't follow. The ladder was gone and night goggles, he'd been told, only worked properly out-of-doors.
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    The passage twisted and stretched, winding deeper into the earth. Max raced on, gripping Rose's hand, boots pounding over wet stone. The tunnel narrowed, its dripping walls closing in around them. He could see a faint light ahead. Huffing and wheezing, he lurched toward it.
    Moments later they stood before a wooden door. There was no handle, no smart-card machine, just a door of ancient pitted wood that Max guessed hadn't been opened in at least a century. He scratched his head, trying to think what to do next.
    Rose didn't hesitate. She swung her leg back and kicked. To Max's surprise, the bottom half of the door fell in. "Dry rot," she said, and kicked again.
    The door splintered and collapsed. A dreamy light flooded over them.
    Max gazed up a flight of stone steps that wound upward, vanishing into the light, and a million scary thoughts crowded into his mind. What if the Dark Brigadier knew a shortcut and was up there with the wolf, waiting to attack?
    Rose scrabbled up the steps, coat swirling around her. "I don't believe this!" she shouted down to Max. "Come here, quick!"
    Heart banging, Max scrambled after her, wishing he had his owl with him, to give him a boost of courage. At the top of the steps stood Rose, framed beneath an elaborate curved doorway. He looked about, bewildered, at the endless arching spaces around him.
    "What is this place?" he whispered.
    "Don't you know?" Rose's eyes glowed with feverish excitement. "We're in The Ruins!"
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    CHAPTER TWELVE
    [Image: The pillars.]
    The grainy air trembled. Pillars arched above them, and Max stared at the worn carvings, the high stone walls, the thick candles that dripped from suspended iron wheels. His skin went cold and clammy.
    Rain wept against the stained glass windows. The space around him was vast and terrifying; thick gnarled columns trailed off into the gloom. In the hushed silence nothing moved.
    "This is a cathedral!" said Rose, her voice filled with awe. "That tunnel we were running in? That was a crypt, Max, it had to be!"
    Max looked around in wonder. Gran had told him about cathedrals, and how many of them dated back to medieval times. She'd been furious with the government for pulling them down.
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    "My dad said the High Echelon turned some of the cathedrals into prisons," murmured Rose, "but this doesn't look like a prison to me." She wandered off, looking strangely enchanted by everything. "Who lit all these candles, do you think? Monks?"
    Max knew very little about monks. The High Echelon had branded them superstitious outcasts, but Gran said many monks supported the Silver Prophecies. He wondered if there were monks living here now.
    But all he could think was, whoever was here--monks, prisoners, wolves--he didn't want to meet any of them. What he really wanted was to go home.
    "I've got a bad feeling," he said, catching up with Rose. "Listen to me!" He grabbed her arm. "Something's not right here. This place is even creepier than Cavernstone Hall!"
    "Hey, Max, this is an opportunity with a capital O." Shaking him off, she strode away. "If I can tell my father any little thing about The Ruins, he'll be so grateful and happy."
    Max