by Linsey Hall
I could feel the magic in the room—and this whole house was full of it—but not all of these men were supernaturals themselves.
“Count Delevue agrees with me that there is so much more to be gained from exploring the cultures of the ancient supernaturals,” Clarence said. “In fact, he’s already begun the work himself at a nearby Fae city.”
My home.
That’s where this Count Delevue had gone. I searched the room, waiting for the Count to speak. He had to say something now—they were talking about him.
But no one stepped up.
He must not be there.
The rest of the men murmured and mumbled, until Goatee Man spoke up. “The problem with the supernaturals is that most of their cultures aren’t dead yet.”
A quiet man at the edge of the table inclined his head and spoke softly. “I can attest to that.”
He had to be a supernatural, though his magical signature was weak. Maybe he was controlling it, but it was unlikely here. He was amongst friends, and in my experience, groups of men often liked to try to outshine each other, especially at things like this, where they were all trying to convince each other that they alone were right.
“We, of course, wouldn’t want to study your people, Roberto,” said Clarence.
He shifted. “You could run into some trouble from other cultures, though. What you are suggesting is more akin to theft than historical study.”
These men had become too used to strolling into ancient cities and taking whatever they wanted. It was an attitude that would get them in trouble.
I blinked, realizing the error in my thoughts. It already had gotten them in trouble. They were dead. Died sometime during this meeting, it seemed, since they kept reliving it.
“If we were to do this,” Mortimer said, “where would we start? What do we attempt to take for study?”
For study. I almost scoffed. They didn’t study anything. They took the things, looked at them a bit, then arranged them in pretty designs on the wall. This was as far from modern archeology as T-ball was from professional baseball.
All the same, I expected them to mention the Fire Fae castle and the Crown of Truth. They’d gotten it, obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. But they hadn’t gotten much more, because they’d died so soon into this endeavor.
“There is a tor on Dartmoor, ancient and powerful,” said Mortimer. “It is in the realm of the Fae, a place of great magic. Surrounding the tor is a stone wall. Within, there are many treasures. Count Delevue has found some.”
I frowned. The Tor of the Ancients? That’s where they wanted to go?
It was sacred, true. But so dangerous.
Fates, these men were idiots.
Iain tugged at my arm, and I backed away from the room.
His lips moved to my ear, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath. I shivered as he spoke. “We’ve learned as much as we can. We need to move on.”
I nodded. Entertainment alone could keep me here a while longer, but there was no time for that.
Quickly, we snuck past the room and left the arguing ghosts behind. We searched the second floor for nearly fifteen more minutes, fortunately avoiding any more magical protections.
Finally, I stopped. “There’s no sign of an entrance to the tower.”
“I don’t think it’s in the part of the house that we blocked off,” Iain said. “I think the tower is in this hall.”
I frowned, catching sight of myself in the huge mirror set into the wall. I looked frustrated as hell, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. The mirror itself was massive, especially for a house from this period.
“Don’t you think that mirror is a bit big for a house that’s at least four hundred years old?” I asked.
“I can’t say I’ve thought about it,” Iain frowned at the mirror. “But now that you say it, it does seem large. Could they make mirrors that big back then?”
“I don’t know if humans could manage it. But magic certainly could.” I walked up to the mirror, my gaze moving over the surface. There were some darker gray patches where the mirror had aged and the silvering had pulled off the back, but one patch in particular caught my eye.
It was located right in the middle of the mirror, at the level of a doorknob. And it was shaped like a keyhole.
I pulled the key from my pocket. “I think we might have found the entrance.”
11
Magic shivered over me as I raised the old silver key to the huge mirror. The keyhole-shaped shadow beckoned, and I inserted the key, watching as it disappeared into the glass. I turned it right, and the mirror shimmered, magic sparking on the air. The reflected glass dissolved until it disappeared.
A small, dark foyer beckoned, revealing a square spiral staircase that led upward.
I whistled low. “That’s some secret entrance.”
Iain drew in a slow breath, scenting the air. “No one’s been in here in hundreds of years. The air is completely stale.”
I stepped over the threshold, shivering at the cold chill. It was so dark that I could barely see the steps, so I called upon a fireball to light the way. It exploded into being, far too big and bright.
I lunged back, blinded, and killed the magic, snuffing out the fireball.
“Whew.” I grimaced. “I definitely need to find this crown and sort myself out.” Irritation swelled. “I hate being unpracticed with magic that I’ve had my whole life.”
Iain gripped my arm comfortingly. “It’s just stronger now, that’s all. It would slow anyone down to have to adjust to as much power as you have.”
I squeezed his hand gratefully, realizing with a start that we were doing the kind of thing that old couples did. Trying for nonchalance, I withdrew my hand from his and approached the stairs. “We can just let our eyes adjust. And with any luck, magic will ignite some candles like it did in the rest of the house.”
Iain followed me to the stairs, and I lifted my foot to step onto the first. Magic sparked beneath the sole of my shoe, and I hesitated, grabbing Iain’s arm. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
I crouched low, hovering my hand over the stair. Magic fizzled against my palm. “There’s a charm here. Something that will fight back.”
Iain held his palm over the next stair, then the next. “There’s nothing coming from these.”
“Maybe we just skip the first. Anyone who came here often would know that and avoid triggering the protections.”
“The rest of the stairs?”
“We can take it slow, test each one, but I bet they aren’t protected. It’d be too annoying if you lived and worked here.”
“Let’s try it then.”
We started up the stairs, skipping the first. I moved at an awkward crouch, briefly hovering my hand over each stair as we went. As expected, none of them buzzed with magic. The farther we went, the better my eyes adjusted.
On the downside, I sensed more and more dark magic the higher I got.
And it felt just like what had poisoned me.
“Do you feel it?” I asked. “The evil?”
“I do,” Iain’s voice was soft. “It grows stronger. The source of it must be at the top of the tower.”
Why was it up there? How was it up there? I’d only ever seen it come from deep within the ground or another person—but from the top of a tower?
Was the Crown of Truth haunted?
I lost track of the number of times we went around the spiral, my attention was so focused on the stairs. Though my eyes had adjusted, the space grew darker and darker the farther we got from the entrance below, which was the only source of light. By the time we were at the top, it was nearly pitch black.
When we reached the top of the stairs, we found a sturdy wooden door ornately carved with symbols that I didn’t recognize. An iron doorknob sat over a keyhole.
Dark magic wafted from it, pulling at the evil inside me. It roiled, trying to fight its way to the surface.
Burn it all.
/> Images of fire burst in my mind, devouring Dartmoor and leaving it as ash.
I sucked in a deep breath and shoved it back down, praying that Connor’s potion could keep me going.
I raised the key and looked at Iain. “What do you think? Worth trying?”
“We don’t have another. Might as well.”
I stuck the key in and twisted, holding my breath.
Nothing happened.
“Crap.” I tried again. Still nothing.
“Shall I break it open?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I have no idea where else we’ll find a key, and if we ignite a defensive charm, we’ll figure it out.”
It was risky—so risky—but I could feel the darkness pulling me toward the room and I wanted to get in there so damned bad.
Iain shifted his sleeve so that it covered his hand and gripped the iron doorknob, yanking so hard that it pulled straight out of the wood. He tossed it to the landing beside us, then reached into the hole left by the missing knob and tore out the locking mechanism.
The door swung open a moment later, revealing a large tower room with the windows shuttered against the light. Narrow shafts of sunlight seeped through the cracks, nearly blinding against the darkness.
There was only silence.
“Hey. No protections. Our lucky day.” I stepped into the dark space, blinking to adjust to the strange light.
As soon as my foot crossed the threshold, a shrieking noise filled the air. The room exploded with ghostly blue light, and the temperature dropped to freezing. My heart thundered against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my veins.
“Ghosts,” Iain said.
The ephemeral figures filled the room, shrieking their rage as they converged on us. There were so many of them that it was impossible to see into the room beyond. They surged for me, hands outstretched and curled into claws. Their forms gleamed a bright blue, and when one grabbed me, unbearable pain streaked up my arm.
I shrieked, nearly going to my knees as horrible fears filled my head—me sending my friends to die in battle, me failing to save the Fae, losing Iain to an enemy’s blade.
Their screams filled my head, making me shake wildly. Terror opened a hole in the floor and threatened to devour me. I stumbled, nearly going to my knees.
I’m not strong enough. Not brave enough. Not smart enough.
Iain’s strong hands gripped my arms and yanked me up. Briefly, the ghostly creature’s grasp broke away, and Iain’s touch grounded me enough that I could gasp, “Phantoms. Not ghosts.”
Iain cursed.
There was no way to fight Phantoms. If I tried to punch, my hand would pass right through. Only another Phantom could make contact with one of its kind.
These were the worst of the worst in the magical world—ghostly beings who could bring your greatest fears to life with one touch. It was so painful that it could cripple a person.
“What do we do?” I gasped the words, unable to speak clearly as they surrounded us, surging closer.
Beside me, Iain dropped to his knees, head bowed and face twisted in a grimace. Three Phantoms had grabbed him, gluing themselves to his side. He struggled to throw them off, but it wouldn’t matter. Running was the only way to escape a Phantom, but we needed to explore this room.
Two Phantoms grabbed my arms, pain burning up to my shoulders. I fell to my knees as the horrible thoughts returned.
Failure.
Weak.
They’ve relied on you and you’ve failed them.
The thoughts were followed by an awful vision of losing Iain—of watching him die right in front of me, his blood leaking out onto the ground. Grief pierced me, so raw and real that terror followed in its wake.
Had I really lost him?
I searched for him, but I’d gone nearly blind from pain. All I could see was bright blue light conflicting with dark shadows.
Puka appeared at my side, her warmth pressing to my hip. Blindly, I reached for her fur, sinking my hands in and gripping her back. The touch grounded me enough that I could think clearly for a moment.
Instinct drove me. I called upon the magic deep inside me, letting it burst to life. The light filled me up, exploding out as a sonic boom that blasted the Phantoms away from us. They shrieked and shot backward, the light forcing them to dissipate until they were completely gone.
Darkness fell once again.
I stumbled against Iain, leaning against his side as I gasped, unable to catch my breath.
Panting, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and dragged me closer to him. “I think perhaps we should have looked for the key.”
I chuckled darkly, absorbing his strength as the memories of what I’d just seen clashed inside my head. I shivered as I tried to shove aside all of the horrible self-doubt.
The memory of losing Iain—of the grief—flashed in my mind.
I might love him.
“Caera? Are you all right?” His voice was low and soft against my ear.
I jerked, surprised. “Yeah.”
“What did you feel when they touched you?”
“Um.” My throat tightened. “I… you go first.”
“Losing you.” He tightened his arm around me, his voice choked with grief. He didn’t need to say any more for me to know how that had made him feel.
“Me too.”
He jerked slightly, clearly surprised. “You saw losing me?”
I scrambled upright, ignoring his question. I couldn’t believe I’d admitted to it. But now that I had, I wasn’t going to go into further detail. “Let’s see what’s so special about this place that there were Phantoms guarding it.”
Now that the Phantoms were gone, magic sparked on the air and candles burst to life as they had in the rest of the house. The light gleamed on the square space. Shelves lined the walls, each stuffed full of artifacts from all over the world. Old books and scrolls were shoved in between the objects. In the middle of the space sat a huge desk, behind which was a chair.
A black substance was smeared all over it, chunky and gross. I frowned as I moved closer, feeling my nose wrinkle. The evil in the air reeked most strongly around the chair—it was coming from it.
“It’s a body,” Iain said.
“It was a body.” It had been destroyed by the same kind of dark magic that polluted me. It had melted the flesh and bones, turning it into a waxy black substance that coated the chair. “How did it happen?”
We circled the desk and chair, walking through a powdery black dust that surrounded it. On the desk, right in front of the man, sat a twisted silver medallion. It was about the size of my palm and had once been intricately made. Now, it was blasted apart, the original design indistinguishable.
My palm itched to touch it.
Why did it call to me so strongly?
It was partially the darkness that radiated from it, yes. But it was more, too.
“It was cursed,” Iain said.
I rubbed my chest, worry tugging at my belly. “It killed the others too. The ghosts down in the meeting room.”
But it was even bigger than that. I could feel it.
This was the answer to everything.
Skin buzzing, I moved toward the desk. Without touching anything, I stood over it, inspecting the contents. The twisted metal amulet sat on top of a map.
“The Tor of the Ancients,” I read the title out loud to Iain. “But he’s not Fae. He wouldn’t be, if he lived out here. Yet he still knows the name of it.”
“He had insiders. You heard them talking downstairs.”
“But they didn’t use the name.” I gestured to the map. “This was the first part of their plan to take treasured objects from supernaturals.” A dark laugh escaped me, despite the fact that this was no laughing matter. “They didn’t care that these things were holy relics to a people still alive. And the first thing they took was an object enchanted with so much dark magic that it killed them.”
“The humans are enamored with the idea of karma, and this is a
prime example.”
I stared hard at the pile of dried, blackened muck that had glued itself to the chair. “This has to be Count Delevue. Was he just a human?”
Was he connected to me somehow? Because there was no question about the fact that I was connected to this darkness. My past self was twisted all up in this.
“I think he was human.” Iain pointed to a document on the table near the map.
I studied it. “It’s some kind of legal document. A human one.” My gaze flicked to the name at the bottom. Count Alberto Delevue. I looked back at the stain on the chair. “He was just a human. One who reached too far into things that weren’t his.”
The blackened, twisted metal that sat on the table called to me.
There were answers there.
I reached a trembling hand toward it, unable to stop myself. I had to know the secrets it contained. There was something so familiar about it.
“What are you—”
I didn’t wait for Iain to finish the question before I grabbed the twisted hunk of metal. A blast of power threw me across the room. I slammed into the bookshelf, the bite of pain the last thing I felt before darkness took me.
My consciousness swirled through time and memory, my head feeling like it was spinning as I was thrust into another place.
When I opened my eyes, I stood on the moor. The hills rose tall in the distance, sweeping up from the valleys below. The sky was dark and scattered with clouds of thick gray smoke.
The moor was burned.
All around, the heather and bracken had been reduced to ash. Trees were withered black husks of themselves, and even the tors were affected—their granite blackened and charred.
I breathed in the smoke, somehow—horrifyingly so—energized by it.
Nearby, massive pillars of granite reached toward the sky. I stood at the Tor of the Ancients, though it was far different than how I remembered it.
I looked down. A dagger was sheathed at my side, attached to a leather belt that hung low around my hips. I wore a red wool dress. The fabric gleamed brilliantly, the color of fresh blood. It wasn’t even smudged by the ash that surrounded me, though I had the terrible feeling that I’d been here as it all had burned.
