Page 22 of Whispers of the Magical Forest

"I vote for trying that next time. It would be easier,” Fiona replied.

The shadows stirred again, more urgently this time. The guardians were trying to hurry us along. "Take what you need," Mrs. Pembroke said, already gathering specific scrolls and books. "The knowledge here might help you prevent the ritual's completion."

We left the room with the living books and headed back through the rest of the hidden section when a thought occurred to me. “Who do you think looked through this stuff?”

"I bet it was Peterson," Fiona confirmed, examining the log book. "He's the leader’s go-to guy. He’s thorough."

I stopped, and we looked over what he had been reading. Violet tapped a page. "Look at the dates. He's been researching more than just the victims of previous attempts."

"I’d bet anything he was looking for precise information on what the vessels need to be. The book said they had to have specific qualities,” Fiona suggested.

The implications were chilling. How deep did this conspiracy go? How many others were working to bring back beings that should never return to our world? We left the archives with arms full of ancient documents and heads full of disturbing revelations. The sun had almost set and was painting the snow-covered town in shades of blood and shadow. It felt appropriate, given what we'd learned.

"So," Fiona said as we loaded our findingsinto her car, "who's up for stopping an apocalyptic ritual and saving the world?"

"Again," Violet added with a small smile.

"Just another Saturday night," I agreed, though my attempt at levity felt hollow.

As we drove away from the archives, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were missing something important. The pieces were all there. The vessels, the binding runes, and the seventy-seven-year cycle. Something about the pattern nagged at me.

CHAPTER 8

VIOLET

The circle awaits its completion. The vessels call to their purpose.The words from that bloody business card kept echoing in my mind as we left the archives. Something about this situation felt pointed. Like we were being targeted. If I was right, it could mean we were being led to where the leader of the cult wanted us. I hoped the ancient texts about binding magic and shade creation would offer us some insight that could inform me one way or another. It seemed like a long shot.

The sun had nearly set and was painting the snow in shades of crimson. It felt entirely too appropriate given our situation. The weight of this case grew heavier on my shoulders as we loaded the ancient texts into Fiona's car. My fingers tingled where they touched the spines of the books. Old magic recognizing old magic. The sensation reminded me of the time my gran had let me help organize her grimoire collection. Each tome hummed with power as we carefully arranged them in the boot.

"Careful with that one," I warned as Fiona hefted a particularly ancient volume bound in what looked suspiciously likedragon skin. "We don’t want to find out what happens if we drop it."

Aislinn nodded in agreement. “I think that’s dragon skin which means it could melt us into puddles of goo.”

"I do not want to know how they managed to get their hands on something so rare," Fiona replied as she gingerly placed the book among its fellows.

"My mind keeps going back to the question we asked Gadross." I said as I looked down the street. "Why Hambledon? I mean, yes, there's the ley lines and the ancient wine cellars, but as we discussed before there are other places with more magical convergences. We are no closer to finding answers."

"Location, location, location," Fiona quipped, though her expression was serious. "I’ve been thinking about it too. It’s a small town with little oversight. It also has the perfect cover with the various energies of the wineries. Who's going to notice a few more mysterious magical signatures?"

"Plus," Aislinn added, "it's far enough from London that Gadross and his Department can't keep as close an eye on things. Well, usually."

"The Department," I snorted, wondering why Britain's officially unofficial magical oversight committee doesn’t expand their numbers. "I've heard they’re a bunch of stuffed robes who wouldn't know real magic if it tap-danced on their desks wearing a top hat."

"Based on that disc Gadross has, I would call bullshit on that assumption," Fiona pointed out. “That is a powerful relic designed to be used by any supernatural being.”

"True. Making something that works so well by someone without witchcraft isn’t easy. It has to work with Gadross’s elemental magic when its nature would be to fight it," I explained.

"We've got company," Aislinn interrupted as she nodded toward the road.

"What are they after?" I muttered as we watched the police cars pulling up to the curb. Their blue lights painted the snow in alternating patterns that made the magical residue shimmer like oil on water.

Three police vehicles had arrived. Fiona closed the boot of her car and moved closer to me and Aislinn. The nametag on the guy who stepped out of the lead car said, Detective Inspector Matthews. He looked like he'd been sucking on particularly sour lemons.

"Ladies," he called out as he approached with that measured stride coppers use when they're trying to look non-threatening while actually being very threatening. His coat flapped in the bitter wind, and his breath fogged in the freezing air. "Quite the coincidence, finding tourists at our accident scene."

"Is it?" Fiona asked as she channeled her best innocent American tourist voice. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the ancient tome she was trying to hide behind her back. "We're just doing some local history research. Fascinating stuff about the wine industry."

"You know," Matthews said in a deceptively casual tone, "I've been doing this job for twenty years. I’ve seen all sorts of strange things. Things that don't quite add up." He pulled out a small notebook that looked worn and well-used. "Like what happened at the accident site today."

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