Page 67 of Cursed Wolfsbane

The old limestone moving after however many hundreds of years sends a plume of dust and debris straight into my face. I cover my eyes and cough to clear my lungs, and I can hear my mates hacking as well. It takes a few passes of the back of my hand to clear my vision enough to focus on the small opening.

I’d kill for a flashlight because I can’t see anything in the dark crack. Like he can read my mind, Saint’s hand glows with a gentle red flame. It provides just enough illumination to see the folded-up papers, brass key, and rough fire quartz stone.

What an odd collection of items.

After inspecting the space for any creepy crawlies looking for their next meal, I tentatively reach inside the narrow opening. My slender hands only just fit, so I’m the only one who can retrieve the items.

Carefully gathering the papers, I pull those out first. I hand them off to Malachi who’s watching anxiously from my right. Then I’m able to grab both the key and quartz and remove those from the opening. As soon as the last objects leave the space, the stone slams together with a loud bang.

With wide eyes, I look at the nonexistent crack my hand was just in.

Jesus fucking Christ.Well, that could’ve turned out horribly. Whoever created that spell should’ve included a time delay. Trying to calm my racing heart, I stare down at the engraved key and the pyramid-shaped quartz, wondering what they go to.

“Can I see those?” Saint asks after he plucks the locket from where it sank into the stone and shoves it in his pocket. Shrugging, I hand them over to him. Maybe he’ll know something I don’t.

Moving over to Malachi, I watch him shuffle through the five pieces of aged parchment paper. Noticing me staring, he hands the papers over to me. “These are all written in Latin. I’ll need some time to translate them.”

Three of the pages have blueprints to what looks like the same structure, just different floors. One parchment piece has a list of something, and the other has what looks like a letter written to someone or a diary entry. If Malachi can’t understand it immediately, there’s no chance I’ll be able to. I give him back the papers, which he hands off to Xander.

We spend a few minutes examining the artifacts we found. Saint looks up from the papers he’s now studying. “I think the best course of action is to take these back to Hawthorne Grove or Wolves Hollow and investigate them further.”

“I agree,” Malachi rumbles. Bastian and Xander nod their approval, so Malachi turns to me with his eyebrows raised.

“Sounds good.” I sweep my gaze along the crypt, looking for anything we might’ve missed. “I’d like to walk through the cathedral once more just to be sure.”

“That’s good with me. We better get going before they close.” Malachi shoves the quartz and key in the inside pocket of his wool coat. Saint does the same with the papers after carefully folding them along the existing creases.

Before we can even make it to the crypt stairs, thundering steps sound above us. With each pounding footfall that reverberates through the ceiling, the footsteps move closer.

Oh shit.I’m pretty sure we’re in trouble. I wonder if something from the column alerted the cathedral authorities. We need a way out of here. Now.

As if summoned by my thoughts alone, a portal ringed with my ice-blue magic winks into existence in my peripheral vision. It’s to our right, directly in front of the tomb. I stare at it dumbfounded for a second, wondering how the hell I did that.Portal magic is pretty complex. If I can’t even do a defensive spell on demand, there’s no way I should be able to create a portal without even a single focus word.

“Uh, I think my magic is trying to tell us that we need to go,” I whisper-shout, not wanting to draw any more attention to us than there already is.

The Wyldharts look at the portal in slight confusion, but Saint is gaping open-mouthed at it. “What? How?” He shakes his head to clear it. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Briar’s right, we do need to go. I can feel magic above us, and it feels… malevolent. We don’t want to be here when they come down.”

Saint puts one hand on my back and pushes me toward the portal. Malachi rushes to walk in front of me, with Bastian and Xander flanking me. We’re in the middle of the crypt when something tumbles down the stairs, clanking as it goes. When it falls on the ground, it rolls slowly toward us.

I only have a moment to register that it looks like a long grenade with holes in it before I’m blinded by a bright flash of light and hear a deafening explosion.

CHAPTER 31

BRIAR

The world moves in disorienting flashes of armed men storming down the stairs, me being shoved away from my mates, and the whole crypt spinning like a demented carnival ride. My already ringing ears are bombarded by shouted orders and protests as I try to make sense of what’s going on.

It takes me several long, disorienting moments to get my vision to stop seeing three of everything. My ears still have a high-pitched ringing drowning out most sounds, but I can at least see what’s happening. And when I do, I wish I couldn’t.

Twenty armed Knights of Aeneas soldiers dressed in the same strange tactical spartan armor are crammed into the underground space with us. I’m in the center of their circle. Each of my mates are held by a Knight with a matte black pistol shoved against their heart. I have to do a full spin to see all of my mates because they’re being held at the four opposite points of the circle.

My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest with how scared I am. The only thing that even comes close to the sheer level of terror I’m feeling right now is when I watched Xander get shot. I’m not worried about myself, but I’m paralyzed withfear for my mates. With all five of us separated, Saint can’t cast a shield to protect us.

No. No, this can’t be real. Please, don’t let this be real.

I briefly close my eyes, hoping that I can will the Knights away. The only thing that changes when I open them again is that one of the Knights and a man not in the tactical skirt and breastplate get-up have stepped toward me.

The Knight is older than the rest of his men by quite a bit, his black hair peppered with white and gray streaks. He looks to be in his fifties or sixties, while the rank-and-file Knights look in their twenties or thirties. Although he is visibly older than the rest of them, he’s also the most menacing. A ragged scar slices through his forehead, down his right cheek, and through his lips, permanently twisting his mouth in a grimace. The man is also almost as tall as Malachi and packs on nearly as much muscle.

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