by Linsey Hall
“Everything in it is at least three hundred years old. Wouldn’t the descendants of the original owners have cared for it?”
“Maybe the owner had no children.” I reached the top landing and turned left, striding toward the large window at the end. I could just barely make out the sight of the mist that filled the air despite the bright sunlight. “This place is hidden from humans, and the mist keeps supernaturals away.”
“Or dead.”
“Or dead. But either way, it’s possible no one has been here since the original owner died.”
“So we might find a body.”
“An old one, at least.” I spun in a circle, taking in the three hallways that diverged off this main landing. I didn’t have Cass’s gift for finding things, so I couldn’t tell which way to go. “What do you think? Left, right, or forward?”
“Forward.”
We started down the hall, which appeared to be endlessly long. At one point, we passed through two enormous bronze doors that were propped open. They were decorated with a relief of a naked woman and cherubs and had to weigh thousands of pounds each. If they were closed, they would shut off this part of the hallway from the rest of the house.
“There must be something valuable back here if they have these doors,” I said.
Iain frowned. “If the owner had shut down the house for a long absence, wouldn’t they have closed these doors to protect whatever is in this hall?”
“Yeah probably.” I looked at him. “Which means they may have been caught by surprise.”
He nodded. “Let’s see what’s down here.”
We moved silently down the hall, and the first room on the right caught my eye. There were hundreds of Greek and Roman vases inside, their terracotta forms distinct. Black paint covered the surfaces, showing various scenes of Classical life.
“Someone is a collector,” I said.
The next room was similar, though this one contained an enormous variety of silver. Vases, plates, serving dishes, jewelry, ceremonial weapons. I didn’t know what culture they were from, but they were definitely very old.
Further down, there was a room full of stone weapons—all shapes and sizes, made from dozens of different materials. The fourth room was clearly an homage to all things Egyptian. There was even a mummy in a coffin, though he looked a bit moldy.
“An archaeologist?” Iain asked.
I shook my head, staring at the mold on the mummy’s wrappings. “If I’ve learned anything from Cass, a real archaeologist doesn’t do this with artifacts.”
“They don’t have private museums?”
“No. And they certainly don’t let things grow moldy.”
“I doubt anyone has been here in centuries to clean it up and take care of things.”
That was a definite. Whoever had amassed this collection, they’d died a while ago. I gestured to the objects fixed to the walls, still unimpressed. “There’s no signage, no interpretation. It’s displayed as art, not history.” I looked back at the doors. “And those doors are meant to protect this stuff.”
I turned and headed down the hall. The fifth room caught my eye, forcing me to linger at the entrance. The walls were covered in weapons of all varieties. Swords, daggers, spears, axes. They were arranged in patterns on the wall, forming starbursts and circles and octagons. The prize in the center of the room was a full suit of horse armor—everything from a helmet and chest piece to leg armor. An armored man sat atop it—though there was no man inside the armor. The figure carried a sword in each hand.
I stepped over the threshold, called to the interior of the room.
The horseman shifted, as if the animal were alive. It moved so much like a living horse that I swore I could almost hear the snuffle of its breath.
It stepped forward.
“Crap.” My heart jumped in my chest.
The creature charged toward us, the suit of armor raising its weapons in both hands. The swords began to spin unnaturally fast, propelled by a spell I didn’t recognize. They were a blur of silver spinning on the air.
“What the hell is that?” Iain said.
“Something we can’t fight. Not here.” I glanced at the walls. “If those weapons come alive as well, we’re screwed.”
Right now, we needed brains, not brawn.
“Run.” I turned and sprinted down the hall, Iain alongside me. The horse charged after us, the armor clattering as it ran.
I looked back, spotting the warrior’s weapons spinning.
Crap, crap, crap. We could fight him, but he had such an advantage.
I turned back, spotting the huge window in front of us. It stretched from floor to ceiling.
Would the mist rush in if it broke?
Probably not, otherwise the inhabitants could never open a window.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Follow me.”
We sprinted right toward the massive stained-glass window, the armor-clad horse following close behind. When I made no move to turn down any of the hallways, Iain said, “We’re not slowing down, are we?”
“Nope.”
“You want to send him right through the glass.”
“Yep.”
We reached the window and stopped abruptly, then spun around. The horseman was only ten feet away, and I prayed that I was right about the mist outside.
As expected, it charged toward us, hooves thundering on the carpet.
I called on my wings, feeling the flare of magic. Iain did the same, and when the creature was nearly upon us, we launched ourselves into the air. I hurtled toward the ceiling, barely stopping myself from slamming into it. The ceiling thumped hard against my head, and pain flared.
Iain and I darted down and kicked the horseman hard in the back, simultaneously slamming into him and driving him through the glass.
The mounted horseman crashed through the window, plummeting to the grass below.
The dark mist hovered outside the window, and my heart leapt.
I’d been right!
Then the mist rushed in, the dark substance flowing through the broken window.
Shit.
10
As the dark mist flowed in through the broken window, I turned to Iain, my voice frantic. “I thought it wouldn’t come in. How else could they open windows?”
His jaw tensed as he called upon his magic. The scent of the sea flared, and a cold breeze rushed across my skin as he thrust his hands out toward the mist and forced a massive gale to blow it out of the hallway.
“I can’t keep this up forever,” he said.
I spun around, searching for something to block the window.
Of course there was nothing. The window was so huge that I wasn’t going to find a framed painting of the right size. And the mist would just creep around the sides, anyway.
Halfway down the hall, in the direction that we’d come from, were the huge bronze doors we’d seen earlier. If they were shut, they would block the entire hall. It would cut off this entire part of the house, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“The doors behind us,” I said. “We can shut them and close any gaps with draperies.”
“What about the tower we need to find?”
“The tower is in another part of the house, I think.”
We flew back toward the doors that punctuated the hallway. It took all of my focus to keep my speed reasonable and make sure that I didn’t slam into any walls, while Iain kept his attention on controlling the powerful breeze that forced the mist away from us.
I landed at a run, grabbing the side of one of the heavy bronze doors. It towered above me, at least fifteen feet tall and touching the ceiling. I was eye level with the woman’s curvy bronze butt, and an ugly cherub stared me right in the eye.
Iain landed near the other door, grabbing it with one hand while he directed his magic toward the mist with the other.
“Now.” I pulled hard on the door, muscles straining. It didn’t budge an inch. I looked behind it into the dark crevice b
etween it and the wall, searching for any kind of lock that kept it bound to the wall. There was nothing. “Holy fates, it’s heavy.”
“Solid bronze. Thousands of pounds.”
I grunted and pulled harder, finally managing to get it to move an inch. Iain pulled his with less trouble, but his face still looked strained and he gave a low grunt.
Together, we forced the doors shut. Every muscle ached fiercely as I pushed mine into place. When they finally slammed, I stumbled back and searched for any kind of fabric to shove under the crack between the door and the rug.
My eye snagged on heavy curtains that surrounded another window, and I ran to them. Iain stayed put, forcing the deadly mist away from the cracks between the door and the wall. I yanked the curtain down and ran back, shoving it into place to block the mist.
As soon as I was done, Iain pulled me up. “Come on. We need to move. That’s not going to be a foolproof block and it will slowly seep through.”
I nodded, brushing my hands off and turning. “There must be something important in that room if it’s so well protected.”
“Let’s check it out.”
We strode quickly down the hall, our footsteps silent on the carpet. My senses were pulled tight as I listened for any oncoming attack.
“This entire house is a threat,” I muttered.
“Whoever created this place was intent on protecting their treasures.”
“Stolen treasures.”
Iain made a low murmur of agreement in his throat.
We reached the weapons room a moment later and entered on cautious feet. The floor was tiled with smooth white stone, while the walls were the same dark wood carved with ornate designs. Hundreds of weapons covered the walls.
I spun in a circle, inspecting the intricate designs. Starbursts and swirls and octagons, all created from blades of every variety. Most were likely steel, and Iain and I would need to avoid touching them.
“Caera, the horseman is returning.” Iain’s voice caught my attention, and I turned to the center of the room where the statue had once stood. The air was shimmering.
“Crap. Just like the glass ceiling that replaced itself.”
“All of the magical defenses will return once we’ve defeated them.”
I could already see the shadowy outline of the horseman. From the rate it was regenerating, we had less than a minute. “Let’s hurry. I think we’re looking for something in here.”
We split up, searching the walls. My gaze raced over the various weapons, finally snagging on an ornate design of swords arranged in a circle, their points all facing the center.
A key sat there, large and ancient.
“I think I found it.” I reached for it.
“Wait.” Iain’s voice cut in. “Draw your shield.”
My gaze flicked to the swords. “Oh, hell yeah, good point.”
I drew my shield from the ether, holding it in front of me as I grabbed the key. It came away from the wall easily, but as Iain had predicted, the swords floated off the wall, their points facing toward me.
“Hurry. The horseman is almost back.”
I followed Iain’s voice out of the room, my feet quick on the stone floor. The swords raced after me, hurtling themselves at my shield. They struck hard, making my arm shake and the vibration streak up to my shoulder.
Iain joined me, his shoulder pressed to mine as he held up his shield to provide more cover. The swords moved to our sides, unerringly seeking the open spaces to cut.
I shoved the key into my pocket and drew my sword from the ether. Ian shifted to give his sword arm room and began to slice at the attacking swords. Blade clattered against blade, and I joined him, swiping at the swords that snuck through the gaps in our shields.
More and more weapons drifted off the walls, and my heart began to pound. Some of them hovered overhead, their sharp points plunging downward.
I yanked my shield over our heads, protecting us from the downward attack, but a stray sword snuck through and pierced my side. A gasp of pain escaped as the burning heat seethed through me.
“Are you all right?” Iain demanded.
“Fine.” Lie.
I struck out with my blade, catching my hilt on the hilt of the sword that had pierced my side. Stars popped behind my eyes as I jerked it away from my flesh.
“Hurry.” My voice was weak, my heart rate frantic.
We moved fast toward the door, never letting up our defense. In the center of the room, the horseman grew more and more solid.
“We have to make it across the threshold before he appears,” Iain said.
The horseman was halfway there at least, maybe more. The swords behind us slowed our escape, unless we wanted to run right into their pointy ends.
My shoulder burned as I swung my weapon, moving as fast as I could, knocking aside blades before they could hit me. Fortunately, one strike seemed to kill the magic within them, and they lay still on the ground.
Iain cursed.
“Are you hit?” I demanded.
“Just a flesh wound.”
“Damn it.” Another blade swiped my thigh, making me stumble as agony streaked up my leg. I barely stopped myself from falling, using Iain’s back as support.
Finally, just as we knocked the last of the moving swords to the ground, we stepped over the threshold. Panting, Iain and I stared at the horseman, tension thick in the air.
“It’s not moving,” he murmured.
“Thank fates.” The memory of the whirling swords was enough to chill my skin. I was so not up for another sword fight.
Quickly, I stashed my sword and shield in the ether, wincing as I moved too quickly. I pressed my hand to the wound at my side, pain blazing through me.
“You were stabbed.” Concern radiated in Iain’s voice. He dug into his pocket, then handed me a healing potion. “Take this.”
“Do you have one for you?” He had a number of wounds along his arms and legs, each seeping blood.
“I do.”
“Let me see it.” I needed to know he really had it.
“Even if I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t take that one away from you.” He pulled another potion from his pocket. “But here. Since you insist.”
“Good. Take it.”
He nodded, then swigged the potion back. Through a gap in his sleeve, I saw one of his wounds immediately begin to close. I uncorked my potion and drank it, grateful when the pain dulled and the deep gash in my side repaired itself.
I drew in a relieved breath and dug the key out of my pocket. I held it up and inspected it. “I think this is going to lead us to the crown.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Let’s keep going.” I put the key back in my pocket and moved silently down the hall. “We just need to find that tower.”
We passed more rooms full of ancient treasures, along with an impressive library and a huge ballroom.
“Who the heck was this guy?” I murmured. “He had to be a millionaire.”
“There are no paintings on the walls,” Iain said. “Which is strange, considering that was usually the style back then.”
“He was more interested in ancient history than art,” I said.
We were nearing the end of a hallway when I caught the sound of voices.
Iain must have heard them as well, because he stopped abruptly next to me. I tilted my head, listening more closely.
“It’s a large group,” I murmured. “Mostly men.”
“It sounds like a meeting.”
“This place is too dead-feeling to have living people holding a meeting. And they’d certainly have noticed the racket we were making.”
“Ghosts.”
I nodded and we crept forward. As we neared a doorway, the voices grew louder.
I stopped right at the threshold of the door, then crouched low and peeked into the room. Iain crowded behind me as he peered in.
The dozen ghosts all sat around a long table. It was a fancy meeting room of some kind
, with an ornately carved ceiling and fireplace that roared with ghostly flame.
Each of the ghosts looked to be in their mid-forties or older. They wore clothing that hadn’t been in fashion for at least three hundred years, and each sat in a chair that had a pile of bones on the seat and around the legs.
Holy fates.
They’d died in those chairs and just kept arguing.
I glanced up at Iain, and mouthed, “They’ve been here forever.”
“I don’t see what killed them.” His words were nearly silent, but I caught them.
He was right, though. There was no evidence of what had killed all of these men at once. All of their flesh had decayed, but I saw no bloodstains on the furniture or floor. No weapons, and no bones far away from the chairs, indicating dismemberment or battle.
Which one of these men was the ringleader? Which had stolen the crown?
Their English was a bit different than what I was used to, but after a moment I began to catch on. They were so preoccupied with their argument that I sincerely doubted they were going to look over at us.
Anyway, I wanted to know what the hell was going on with this place. Who were these guys?
“As I stated previously, Mortimer, we must expand our areas of interest,” said a man who wore a huge, ruffled white collar and a pair of tiny spectacles.
Another man frowned, his nondescript face twisting with displeasure. He had to be Mortimer.
“Clarence, don’t be silly. There are so many ancient human societies left to explore.”
“Yes,” Clarence said. “We could keep recovering antiquities from long-dead human societies, but we should think bigger.”
These were definitely antiquarians, just like I’d thought. I’d heard Cass talk about them before. They were like the ancestors of modern-day archaeologists, but usually they were little more than wealthy men who were comfortable raiding the treasures from ancient cultures without so much as a by-your-leave from the local government. Hell, normally they were the local government, considering how many colonies England had possessed in the past.
“I don’t know.” A small man with a goatee fidgeted uncomfortably. “You really think we should excavate supernatural cultural sites?”
