Page 27 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Thanks to the additions to the castle over the centuries, the passages were anything but straightforward. Years ago, he’d come to seal the tunnel for good, and he tried to remember the route. After a few familiar turns, he found the steps that led to the lower levels just where he’d expected them.

He slid his second blade back in its sheath and took out his small, powerful torch. He wouldn’t turn it on, however, until necessary. Thankfully, the team at his back moved silently as they followed him into the bowels of the castle. The dirt-floored hallways turned back and forth upon themselves, slanting ever lower into the earth.

They passed the doorway that had once led to the inside of a tomb, an enchanted space through which many of the Rosses had traveled through time. But he knew without checking that the door would never open again. The wee space beyond was packed full with dirt and stones and barrels full of ale from which no one would ever drink.

That room had been sealed with witchcraft as well, the same day he’d sealed the tunnel, to ensure the children of Clan Ross would never find themselves in trouble for seeking adventure in the caverns.

At the deepest, farthest end of the tunnel, in recesses long forgotten by spiders, a thick heavy blanket of dust covered a wall of debris—parts and panels from crates and barrels and the like. Nothing interesting in the lot. Nothing to tempt little boys bent on discovery. The two crates at the fore lay open, declaring nothing to see here. Look elsewhere.

Wickham’s own spells echoed in his head. There was more to the taste of that dust than others could know. Beneath grains of must on his tongue, he tasted the tunnel itself—the tunnel that lay beyond yet another false wall behind this one.

None of which had been disturbed.

His own shoes had done more to stir the dirt here than the last five centuries of servants combined. Unless…unless one of Orion’s monsters had drawn their doorways here, to step into another dimension, only to come out again on the other side of the false wall. Perhaps Orion himself used the same mechanism.

It would take time to move the refuse out of the way for the team to enter the tunnel. And even then, those without Muir blood would have to stay back or pay an unbearable price. Urban, Everly, Lennon, Kitch—they would all have to hang back and wait.

Or he could go in alone, take stock, and get out again.

“Wait here,” he said. “Touch nothing.”

Due to the fact that he’d been imprisoned, embedded in the tunnel for sixty years, he knew it like the back of his hand. In truth, itwasthe back of his hand. It was his entire being. He was the cursed, wickedly enchanted tunnel and it was him.

There were offshoots here and there, along the path that ran from Castle Ross to Muirsglen. He chose one in particular and popped into it, breathing silently, deeply, tasting the earth as it filtered through his nose and down his throat. He tasted familiar stones, too, along with bits of bones from those who had perished inside those walls.

No hint of visitors. No scent of those devilish creatures, be they made of mud or blue-black flesh.

He silently wept with relief—not because his tunnel was undisturbed and undiscovered…

He clicked on his torch and searched the ground as he followed the side tunnel to its very end. There, where the path curved up into the wall, the earth was only slightly uneven. Two vague impressions told him his deposits lay undisturbed. The last signs that someone had passed this way were two depressions that would match the exact outline of the toe of his own boot.

Wickham couldn’t hide his smile when he rejoined the others. His friends instantly relaxed. “No monsters, then?”

“No monsters. They must have used their own tricks to get into Muirsglen.”

Urban gestured to the wall of debris. “We were debating how long to wait before we tore down all this to come after ye.”

“Nay. Ye should never, ever, enter this tunnel from either direction, for any reason at all.”

Then he explained about the curse upon it, that anyone without Muir blood in their veins was subject to its rules and consequences. He’d given the history to Lennon, the last time the two of them had gone to Muirsglen, then to Kitch. But they all needed to hear it.

“Now that the Rosses and the tunnel are safe, let’s pop back to Muirsglen and see if we can find more survivors.” He tapped the hilts at his waist. “I hate to get dressed up for nothin’.”

I pulled my new sword out of its scabbard. “Just what I was thinking.”

While we’d waited for Wickham to come back, I’d started imagining what might have been going on behind that bizarre wall—things likeTimebeing taken away from seven-foot monsters. If a young creature came running out, would I be able to fight it? Kill it? Would it be a teenager? A small child of a beast? Would it be helpless?

Could I really murder one?

Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer that question.

“If the numbers are against us,” Wickham said, “ye run to me so we can pop out. Any sign of Orion and we do the same. We must survive.”

Urban shrugged. “If we dinnae, yer sisters will save the day.”

“We might learn more about Orion,” Kitch said hopefully, “even if we don’t kill him.”

“I don’t care about Orion,” I said. “I care about a clear conscience. I may never sleep again if I think we’ve left children behind who could have been saved.”

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