Page 15 of Whispers of the Magical Forest

"I believe you owe me twenty quid," she whispered as we crept closer.

"Let's survive this first," I replied. "Then we can settle all bets."

"Deal. Ready?" Fiona asked as she paused with her hand on the ancient wooden door.

"No," Violet and I replied in unison.

"Perfect," she grinned. "Let's go save the world. Again."

The door creaked open, revealing stone steps descending into purple-lit darkness. As we started down, my heart stopped along with my watch. It felt like we were freezing solid. The door closed behind us with an ominous thud. We descended into whatever chaos awaited below. Something told me we were going to need more than one bottle of Winter's Embrace when this was all over.

CHAPTER 5

FIONA

The staircase felt endless. Each step took us deeper into what had to be the most cliché evil lair I'd ever seen. And trust me, I've seen plenty. Purple light pulsed against the weathered stone walls. As you guessed, it cast eerie shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Why does all evil magic involve shadows? Likely because there were few things scarier. They’d been used so much, I barely gave them a second look.

"Ten quid says there's a pentagram," I whispered to Aislinn, trying to ignore how the temperature kept dropping.

"Twenty says it's drawn in blood," she muttered back, her breath visible in the unnatural cold. The banter helped remind me we’d been through enough to be able to predict what we would see. It would take away the fear when we eventually reached the bottom.

"You're both terrible," Violet hissed, but I could hear the smile in her voice. Sometimes, gallows humor was all that kept us sane in situations like this.

The narrow staircase opened suddenly into a chamber that would have made any wine connoisseur weep. The spacewas massive. It was easily the size of a small cathedral. It had vaulted ceilings held up by ancient stone pillars. Rows of enormous oak barrels lined the walls. Their surfaces were carved with intricate Fae runes that stored and enhanced magical energies. Now, they pulsed with that sickly purple light, corrupted by whatever ritual was taking place. The air was thick with the scent of winter roses and something metallic that made my stomach turn. And speaking of rituals. I won the bet. Again.

At least thirty robed figures stood in a circle around an enormous pentagram that dominated the center of the chamber. It wasn't drawn in blood. I almost smiled when Aislinn grumbled something about owing me money. Rather, it was carved deep into the stone floor and filled with what looked like liquid darkness. It flowed against gravity and formed shapes I couldn’t make out. The chanting grew louder as we crept closer.

Aislinn pulled me into the shadows cast by the massive wine barrels. "That's not Latin," Aislinn breathed. "It's something else."

"And much older," Violet agreed. "It’s pre-Roman. It might even be pre-Celtic. The cadence reminds me of those texts we found in that tomb in Wales."

I was about to suggest we call Gadross for backup when one of the robed figures turned slightly. There was a familiar notebook tucked into his belt. "Peterson," I mouthed to the others. Well, that confirmed our suspicions about the overly curious constable. His hood was pushed back just enough to reveal lips moving in the ancient chant. His skin was showing the telltale pale translucence of someone who'd been working with death magic.

The chanting reached a crescendo and the liquid darkness in the pentagram began to swirl like a whirlpool of concentrated shadow. Again with the damn shadows.Ghostly faces emerged from the surface. They were twisted in eternal screams. We were looking at the souls of the dead. They'd been bound and corrupted. And now they were being forced into servitude. The temperature dropped even further. Ice crystals formed in the air around us. Each one contained tiny reflections of the trapped spirits.

Behind the circle of chanters, I spotted something that made my blood run colder than the supernatural chill in the air. Three bodies lay on stone altars. Their skin was marked with the same binding runes we'd seen at the accident sites. Purple energy pulsed through the markings in time with the chanting. Dark veins were spreading across their pale flesh like ink through water.

"Now?" Violet asked. Her hands were already glowing with protective magic.

"Now," I agreed and stepped out from behind the barrels. "Evening, folks! Lovely weather for a bit of illegal soul binding, isn't it?"

The chanting stuttered to a halt as thirty hooded heads turned our way. I cast a protective bubble around us. At the same moment the leader, who was taller than the rest and wearing robes trimmed with purple (because this guy was a walking cliche), raised his hands. Purple energy crackled around his fingers like dark lightning. "Kill them," he commanded in a voice that seemed to echo from all around us.

"Really?" I called out as I deflected the first blast of corrupted magic with a shield spell that turned the air blue with force. "That's the best you've got? 'Kill them'? No monologuing about your grand plan? No villainous exposition?"

"Fi," Aislinn warned as she threw up a barrier of pure energy that sparkled like frost in sunlight, "maybe don't antagonize the evil cultists?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Snark was howI dealt with assholes in situations like this. As an added bonus, it usually threw the bad guys off.

I lobbed magical bombs like I was playing fetch with an enthusiastic dog. Except these toys went boom, and the recipients weren't nearly as cute. The resulting chaos sent robed figures scrambling in every direction. Their dignified cult aesthetic was completely ruined as they tripped over each other like drunk penguins at last call.

Most of them scattered faster than roaches when the kitchen light flicks on. Guess Evil Overlord School skipped combat training day. There's always that group that didn't get the ‘run-away' memo, and about ten of them stood their ground. That illustrious group included Peterson and Mr. Purple-Robes-Are-My-Personality.

They hurled spells at us with all the precision of a toddler food fight. Purple lightning crackled, black energy sizzled, and darkness writhed through the air like angry snakes. Our defensive spells met their attacks in a light show that would have given a rave DJ an inferiority complex. The chamber lit up like a disco ball in hell. It was all strobing purples and blacks with occasional bursts of ‘oh shit, that almost hit me’ blue.

"Is this really the best the forces of evil can do?" I shouted as I ducked another wildly aimed spell. "I've seen better coordination at a headless horseman party!"

I ducked and rolled as a blast of shadow magic sizzled past my head. It left a trail of frost in the air. The stone where I'd been standing crystallized and shattered. Damn that was close. I couldn’t dwell on that when two cultists rushed me. Their hands were wreathed in that sickly purple energy. I reached for my magic and let it flow through me like wind through trees. The air around me began to shimmer with power.

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