Page 48 of Goody Magic Academy: Year Three

Broken religious statues littered the floor, their once serene faces now shattered and defaced. Strange symbols, eerily familiar from my dreams, were smeared across them in what looked disturbingly like blood.

I stumbled slightly, my foot catching on a warped floorboard. The wooden pews that lined the aisle were barely recognizable, twisted and cracked from years of neglect. Some had collapsed entirely, creating a maze of splintered wood that would be difficult to navigate.

But it was the altar that truly captured the full horror of this desecrated place. I felt Jaxon stiffen beside me as we both laid eyes on it simultaneously. The once-pristine white marble was now a canvas for blasphemy, covered in graffiti so vile it made my eyes water to look at it. Symbols and words in languages I didn’t recognize—and some I wished I didn’t—crawled across its surface like armies of malevolent insects. What remained of the altar curtains fluttered weakly, the tattered velvet looking like strips of flayed skin in the harsh light.

I swallowed hard, tasting bile. This place, once a sanctuary of peace and holiness, had been transformed into a temple of demons.

Jaxon’s hand found mine, his grip warm, steady and reassuring. We exchanged a glance, our faces pale and drawn in the unforgiving light. Then, without a word, we began to move forward, each step carrying us deeper into this twisted mockery of a church, toward whatever awaited us at its heart.

Out of the darkness of the shadows, the high priestess emerged, cloaked in her robe. She wasn’t alone. Five other robed figures stepped out of the shadows. They had to be members of the Bloodborne Brotherhood.

The high priestess’ voice sliced through the horrific silence of the desecrated sanctuary. “Welcome, Peyton, Jaxon,” she purred with malicious satisfaction, the sound sending involuntary shivers down my spine.

I watched as triumph flared in her dark eyes. She pushed back her hood, revealing her raven-black hair that cascaded around her shoulders like a cloak of shadows. The sight was both terrifying and mesmerizing, and I found myself unable to look away.

“I see my little errand boy delivered my message,” she continued in a mocking tone. Referring to Dimitri so disparagingly sent a jolt of anger through me, making my fists clench at my sides.

She stretched out a hand, her long fingers adorned with rings that glinted wickedly in the light. “Hand over the Dragon Nexus,” she demanded. Her words were pure venom, quick and cruel.

Beside me, I felt Jaxon stiffen. His voice when he spoke was hard as steel. “Not until you let us see Peyton’s parents.” Tension radiated off him, his body coiled like a spring ready to release.

The high priestess’ lips curled into a cruel smile. She gave a peremptory snap of her fingers, the sharp sound echoing through the cavernous space like a gunshot and making me flinch involuntarily.

Two hulking figures I hadn’t even realized were there, doubtless also members of the Brotherhood, emerged from the shadows. My breath caught in my throat as they dragged a man forward—and I got the first glimpse of my father. His long dark hair was matted with blood and grime, his face a cruel map of bruises and cuts. My stomach lurched painfully at the sight of his emaciated frame, the evidence of starvation clear in his sunken cheeks and protruding bones.

“Dad?” I whispered, the word escaping with a choked gasp. I took an involuntary step forward, only to be held back by Jaxon’s steadying hand on my arm.

My heart hammered against my ribs as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over me—rage, disbelief and anguish at his condition…fear for his life…and most of all a desperate, aching need to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was real.

Jaxon’s steadying hand on my arm grounded me but couldn’t quell the trembling that had taken hold of my entire body. In that moment, I felt like both my father’s lost child and fierce protector all at once, our shared blood and all the lost years pressing down on me with suffocating intensity.

Before I could fully process the sight of my father, so badly beaten, another Brotherhood member appeared and my eyes widened in horror at what—rather, who—accompanied him. He held my mother dangling in mid-air beside him, her feet several inches above the ground. Her face was a mask of torment, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth open in a silent scream. The devastating sight sent a powerful wave of nausea through me.

“Mom!” I cried out, my voice cracking with emotion. There was no recognition in her eyes or any indication that she had heard me at all.

The high priestess’ laughter, cold and cruel, echoed through the sanctuary. “All right, you’ve seen them. Now,” she said, her voice hardening, “the Dragon Nexus. Unless you’d like to see what other tricks I might have up my sleeve for your dear parents.”

Rage and fear battled within me. The urge to transform, to unleash my dragon form and tear this place apart, was at war with the knowledge that one wrong move could spell doom for my parents. I looked at Jaxon and saw the same conflict mirrored in his eyes.

“Release them. Then I’ll give you the Dragon Nexus.” Jaxon’s voice rang out steady and defiant in the oppressive atmosphere of the desecrated church.

As he spoke, I felt subtle movement beside me as something small and velvety brushed against my hand. Without glancing down, I felt my fingers close around a familiar object—the purple pouch containing the Dragon Nexus. It felt warm against my skin, pulsing faintly with the power contained within it.

I fought to keep my expression neutral, acutely aware of the weight of the artifact in my hand, but my heart raced, each beat echoing its thrumming energy, and my breath caught in my throat as I realized that Jaxon must have used his vampire speed to slip the pouch into my hand. The action had been so swift that even with my enhanced senses, I hadn’t seen him move.

I risked a glance at the high priestess. Had she noticed the exchange? The air around her shimmered with malevolent energy, making it difficult to focus on her features, but I could see that her dark eyes remained fixed on Jaxon, narrowed in suspicion and barely contained greed.

Suddenly a realization hit me—she couldn’t take the Dragon Nexus from us. That’s why she needed us to bring it to her, why she was demanding we hand it over instead of simply taking it by force.

The purple pouch grew warmer in my grasp, as if responding to my realization. I curled my fingers tighter around it, careful not to draw attention to the movement. Whatever Jaxon’s plan was, I knew this artifact was the key.

As the tension in the room mounted, I became acutely aware of every sensation. The soft texture of the velvet against my palm. The slight tremor in my fingers as I fought to keep them still. The acrid taste of fear in my mouth. The musty, oppressive air in the desecrated church.

I steeled myself for whatever was to come next. Jaxon had entrusted me with the Dragon Nexus at this crucial moment and our next move would be decisive. The high priestess might think she held all the cards, but I knew we had an ace up our sleeve—or rather, in my hand.

I was wrong.

The air in the desecrated church suddenly crackled with tension and before I could even blink one of the robed figures blurred into motion, moving with inhuman speed.

---