Page 20 of Whispers of the Magical Forest

This room was bigger than it should have been. It was magic at play that expanded the space beyond its physical boundaries. Shelves stretched up into shadows. Glass cases held artifacts that hummed with old power. But what caught my attention was the massive table in the center. It was covered in maps and documents that seemed to have been recently disturbed.

"Someone was here before us," I said as I ran my fingers over the papers. I could feel traces of that same corrupted magic we'd encountered in the wine cellars.

"Yes," Mrs. Pembroke confirmed. "About a week ago. A young man came in. He was very polite and interested in the town's wine-making history.” Her forehead crinkled, and her eyes widened. “He was particularly interested in the old cellars."

"Let me guess," Fiona said dryly. "He was especially interested in anything related to The Midnight Cellar?"

"Indeed. Though he seemed disappointed when I wouldn't show him certain restricted documents." The relief on her face spoke volumes. She had good instincts. She hadn’t known his true intention, but she held back anyway.

"But you'll show us?" Violet asked.

The archivist's eyes gleamed. "Like I said, I know trouble when I see it. And sometimes trouble is exactly what's needed."

She pulled out a heavy leather-bound volume. Its pages crackled with age and residual magic. "This is the town's true history. The one that records everything the mundane books don’t have. Including deaths that couldn't be explained."

I was on alert for any magical traps as I carefully opened the book. The pages were filled with precise, neat handwriting. It documented centuries of supernatural activity in Hambledon. To my horror, there were accounts that made my blood run cold that were scattered throughoutthe years.

"Look at this," I said, pointing to an entry from eighteen-forty-seven. "A body found with binding runes, described as 'patterns that pulled at the soul itself’. The victim had markings that match the ones we found in the wine cellar."

"Here's another from nineteen-twenty-three," Violet added, flipping forward. "Three victims were arranged in a triangle. The report mentions 'shades bound so tightly they couldn't even scream’."

"And again in nineteen-fifty-six," Fiona continued, tracing the words with her finger. "A series of disappearances. The victims all showed signs of magic, so either witches or warlocks. They were found weeks later. Their bodies had been prepared just like the ones we saw on those altars."

"Bloody hell," I muttered as I saw the pattern emerge. "This has been going on for centuries. But why here? What's so special about Hambledon?"

“There’s a book that might shed some light on the matter,” Mrs. Pembroke said before she moved through the stacks with the kind of grace that spoke of centuries of practice. Each step seemed precisely measured, as if she was navigating invisible wards. Given the magical energy I could feel humming through the shelves, she probably was.

"You know," Fiona whispered as we followed the archivist, "I'm starting to think our wine tasting weekend might have been hijacked."

"What gave it away?" I replied dryly. "The cultists, the dead bodies, or the fact that we're now sneaking through magical archives instead of sampling vintages?"

"I was really looking forward to trying that sparkling rosé," Violet sighed. "The one with fairy dust that makes your mind shut off for a few hours."

“I could use that right about now,” Fiona muttered in agreement.

"Focus, you two," I chastised them. Although, I couldn'thelp smiling. Gallows humor was all that kept us sane in situations like this.

"You know what really gets me?" Violet said as we navigated another row of towering shelves. "The timing. We just happened to be here when all this is going down?"

"Nothing 'just happens' to us anymore," I pointed out. "Remember Paris?"

"That was different," Fiona protested. "How was I supposed to know that pastry shop was a front for a necromancer's guild?" At least we hadn’t run into any major problems on that little venture. Being friends with the Twisted Sisters and Phoebe had given us a more open view of necromancers. Thank the gods for that because Kalli was with us. We‘d gone on the short trip because we had no supernatural crisis on our plates at that moment.

"The croissants were glowing, Fi." Violet gave her a look and shook her head.

"I thought they were supposed to do that! It was France. They're artistic about everything," Fiona countered.

Mrs. Pembroke cleared her throat, silencing our banter. "Ladies, if you're quite finished." She gestured to a heavy wooden door. Its surface was carved with protective runes that shifted subtly in the dim light. She pressed her palm to the center and the sigils lit up in a sequence. A series of clicks echoed as if bolts were sliding back in non-existent locks.

Stale air hit us in the face as she pulled open the panel. The room beyond felt older than time itself. Dust motes danced in beams of light that shouldn't have existed in the windowless space. The air tasted of ancient magic and forgotten secrets. The inside was small. There were enchanted bookshelves on three of the walls

"I don't like this," Violet muttered. "These documents are alive. Touching them will be dangerous for us."

She was right. Each page seemed to pulse witha heartbeat made of stored experiences. I could feel them trying to share their stories. They pressed against my mental shields with increasing urgency.

"That's why most researchers don't last long here," Mrs. Pembroke said, carefully lifting a leather-bound volume that looked like it might crumble at any moment. "The power can be overwhelming."

"Lovely," Fiona drawled. "Any other warnings you'd like to share? Secret curses? Ancient prophecies? Temperamental ghost librarians?"

---