Page 19 of Whispers of the Magical Forest

As Harrison finished his explanation, Gadross made a final pass with the disk. "You'll file these as resulting from accidents. There’s nothing unusual to note. Just another sad day in the morgue."

"Yes, quite right," Harrison nodded dreamily. "Accidental death. Nothing unusual at all. Though it is rather dreadful. They were all so young."

Once we were safely in the corridor, Gadross pocketed the relic before I could get a better look at it. His expressionwas troubled as he stroked his beard. "The energy signatures are stronger than they should be," he said quietly so only our small group could hear. "These victims are holding more power than should be possible. Why here, when Cottlehill Wilds has a far larger supernatural population to choose from?" He shook his head. "There has to be a reason. Something about this location is significant."

"Could it be the ley lines?" I suggested as my mind raced through possibilities. "This area does have some weird energy patterns." And by weird, I meant the magical equivalent of a drunk spider trying to weave a web while high on caffeine.

"No," Gadross said firmly. "The ley lines here are actually quite weak compared to other areas. Cottlehill Wilds sits at a major convergence point. If they were just after raw power, that would be the logical choice. There has to be something else."

"The wine cellars," Aislinn said suddenly, her eyes widening. "They were modified using Fae magic. What if this whole area has similar modifications? Ancient workings we can't see?"

Gadross's eyes sharpened. "Now that's an interesting thought. The Hambledon archives might have answers. There are records there of similar wounds from the Second Age. And more importantly, documents about why certain locations were chosen for ritual work."

"The Second Age?" Violet asked as her eyebrows shot up. "That's what, three thousand years ago?"

"Three thousand, four hundred and twelve years, to be precise," Gadross corrected. "There was a period of significant magical experimentation then. Particularly in combining different types of power. Most of the records were lost in the Great Burning. Hambledon's archivessurvived."

"And you're just mentioning this now because...?" I let the question hang in the air.

His expression grew grave. "Because I had no idea what we were dealing with until I saw these bodies. The rune patterns, the way they're preparing the vessels... it's too similar to be coincidence." He glanced back at the morgue doors. "And I think it would be a good idea to visit the archives before more bodies turn up."

"Right then," I said, fishing my car keys from my pocket. "To Hambledon. Though I still want to know how that relic of yours works."

We made our way out of the building. The winter wind whipped around us with renewed vigor. The sky had darkened while we were inside. Heavy clouds gathered overhead, and a few fat raindrops splattered against the pavement. It carried the metallic scent of an approaching storm.

"Priorities, Fi," Violet muttered, though I caught her eyeing the disk with curiosity.

"Indeed," Gadross agreed. "The archives first. Artifact lectures later."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I agreed with a wave of my hand. “We’ll handle it like we have countless other sensitive cases.” And pray no one else fell victim before we figured it all out.

CHAPTER 7

AISLINN

The Hambledon town archives smelled exactly like you'd expect. I inhaled musty paper, aging leather, and centuries of carefully preserved history. After our disturbing visit to the medical examiner and our earlier confrontation with the cult, we needed answers about what we were really dealing with. The lingering sensation of that corrupted magic still made my skin crawl. That wasn’t what made me want to groan though. The place was smaller than the closet in the room Argies and I had at the Fae palace in Eidothea. How could it possibly have what we needed?

"Remember," I whispered as we followed the ancient archivist through towering shelves, "no magic unless absolutely necessary. Some of these documents are old enough to have their own magical signatures. We don't want to trigger anything nasty."

The archivist, Mrs. Pembroke, looked exactly like central casting's idea of a librarian. She had grey hair tied back in a neat bun. She also wore wire-rimmed glasses and a cardigan that had probably been old when Queen Victoria was young.Something about her made my magical senses tingle. She wasn't entirely what she seemed.

"The historical records you're requesting are quite sensitive," she said as she gave us a look that suggested she thought we were going to be trouble. "Are you sure you want to disturb them?"

"We're sure," Fiona replied as she pushed a persuasion spell toward her. "It's rather important that we learn about the history of the area. Particularly anything that can tell us about the concentration of magic in the town."

Mrs. Pembroke's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm immune to persuasion magic, dear. Been working with magical texts too long. But I'll help you anyway. Something's wrong with the town's magic, and I suspect you three are here to fix it."

Well, that was unexpected. I shared a look with Violet, who shrugged. "How did you know?" I asked.

"Please," Mrs. Pembroke snorted. "I've been guardian of these archives for longer than you've been alive. I know trouble when I see it. And you three practically radiate magical chaos."

"We prefer to think of it as enthusiastic problem-solving," Fiona grinned.

The archivist led us to a heavy wooden door marked "Historical Records - Restricted Access." The lock clicked open at her touch. The scent of old magic washed over us. The air was thick with centuries of accumulated power. Okay, maybe I’d misjudged what the archives could offer.

"Everything related to the town's magical history is in here," Mrs. Pembroke said. "Including the records you're looking for about the concentrations of power. There is also information about the Midnight Cellar. Gadross called to give me a heads up,” she explained before we could ask. “I have to warn you. Some knowledge comes with a price."

"Story of our lives," Violet muttered as we entered.

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