Page 24 of Whispers of the Magical Forest

"Do you think the leader is slowly making his minions shades?" I asked as we turned onto a less populated street. The purple tinge in Carter's magical signature pulsed in time with her heartbeat. "It's similar to what we saw in Peterson's magical signature at the wine cellars."

"I’m not sure, but speaking of Peterson," Fiona said as she carefully navigated through the worsening weather, "anyone else wondering where he disappeared to after our little cult encounter? Because, I'm thinking he's probably not filing his incident report like a good little cop."

"He’s probably groveling at the feet of the guy who's really running this show," Aislinn suggested. "The kind of power we saw in those cellars took serious magical juice. He would need people to continuously feed him power. Taking from a handful wouldn’t keep it going long. He also needed someone to teach them how to use those Fae wine cellars for storing corruptedenergy."

"About that," I said, frowning as I recalled something from the archives. "One of those books mentioned something about 'vessels of power' being used to store and amplify magical energy. I don’t think it was talking about wine cellars or physical containers."

"Let me guess," Fiona said grimly. "It meant people."

I nodded. "I think you’re onto something, Aislinn. Living vessels would offer more. Especially if they are willing and bound by a series of rituals. The text was pretty vague about the details, but it mentioned something about emptying the vessel to make room for power."

"Well, that's properly horrifying," Aislinn muttered.

Carter's car veered onto one of those creepy-ass back roads that screamed ‘potential dismemberment ahead.’ Where every horror movie victim's last words are, ‘I'm sure it's perfectly safe out here.’ The fields on either side stretched forever. They were covered in pristine white snow that was just begging for a body or two to mess up its perfection. Yeah, that's how my brain worked now. Thanks to the supernatural shit-show that was my life.

That nasty energy from before? It was back with a vengeance and hitting us like a wave of rotted magic that made my insides do the cha-cha. The corruption in it felt like someone had taken normal magic and let it sit in a dank basement for a few centuries, growing all kinds of nasty. My skin broke out in goosebumps. And not the fun kind you get from watching hot guys at the gym. No, these were the ‘something really bad is about to try to eat us’ kind. Again.

"I know this road," I said, recognizing the ancient stone walls that lined the way. The sight sparked a memory from childhood. It was one of my gran's many warnings about places better left alone. "It leads to the old Blackwood estate. It’s been abandoned for years after some sort of tragedy.Gran used to say the place was cursed. Something about the original owner dabbling in powers he shouldn't have."

"Maybe that has to do with why this area was chosen," Fiona muttered as she squinted through the windscreen at the deteriorating road conditions.

"Your gran mentioned this place?" Aislinn asked as she leaned forward between the seats. "What else did she say about it?"

"Not much," I admitted. "Just that old Blackwood was obsessed with immortality. He spent years researching ancient magic and collecting artifacts. Then, one night, some kind of ritual went wrong. The whole family disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Fiona asked. "Ordisappeared?"

"Bit of both, probably. The police found evidence of a ritual circle in the basement. They confiscated a lot of ceremonial implements and that sort of thing. But there were no bodies. I believe Gadross swooped in and confiscated everything. Last I heard, the Department sealed up the house."

"And now someone's unsealed it," Aislinn observed. "It sounds like the perfect place for storing corrupted spirits and prepared vessels. Especially if it already has the right kind of magical infrastructure."

The Blackwood house squatted in the Hampshire countryside like a middle finger to good taste and proper British sensibility. Some Victorian-era twat had clearly gone nuts with their inherited fortune. They’d built the kind of place that made the local historical society weep into their tea. It was red brick and soot-stained stone. There were enough pointy spires and gargoyles to make Notre Dame look understated.

Most of the windows were dark. Many of them were straight-up broken. Ivy had gone to town on the facade. It was probably trying to do the neighborhood a favor, and hide the whole mess. The place looked like it hadbeen lifted straight from one of those penny dreadful novels. Minus the charm with a healthy dose of "dear god, why?"

The aesthetic disaster wasn't what had my magic doing the macarena under my skin. No, that honor went to the energy oozing from the place like toxic waste from a badly sealed drum. Obviously, this night needed more nightmare fuel.

"Bloody hell," I breathed as we parked a discrete distance away. "Look at those wards. I've never seen anything quite like them."

The house was surrounded by layers of protection spells. They weren't the usual kind meant to keep things out. These were designed to keep something in. The magic pulsed with that same sickly purple light we'd seen in the wine cellars. Sticking with the cliche, the shadows around the building moved in ways shadows shouldn't.

"Those are containment wards," Aislinn observed as we carefully approached on foot. Our boots crunched in snow that seemed unnaturally dark. "They make me think of those used for holding powerful spirits. But there's something odd about them. Are they inverted?"

"Looks that way to me. They’re doing double duty," I added as I studied the complex magical patterns. "They're corrupting the spirits as well. No doubt, changing their very nature." The realization made me feel slightly ill. "This could be where they're keeping the shades between ritual attempts."

"And probably where they're 'preparing' new vessels," Fiona said grimly. "Which would explain why the bodies keep disappearing. They're bringing them here."

We huddled behind what was probably once a fancy wall but now looked like someone had played Jenga with the stones. And lost. Badly.

Carter's car crept around the back of the house like amouse sneaking past a sleeping cat. A really big, probably murderous cat. That was the kind of night we were having.

The snow had dropped right out of existence about twenty feet from the building. It was falling everywhere but close to the place. Like it hit an invisible ‘screw this, I'm out’ barrier. Even nature knew better than to mess with whatever corrupted magic was oozing from this place. And yet, we were going to go inside.

The magic here writhed around us like a nest of pissed-off snakes. It carried that special kind of tension that usually meant someone was about to try to murder us in creative ways. You know, the kind that makes your shoulder blades itch and your fight-or-flight response start packing its bags for a tropical vacation.

My mouth filled with the taste of copper. It was like I'd been sucking on pennies while licking a battery. It was always a fantastic sign when your taste buds decided to join the ‘something's wrong’ party. Really. It was just peachy. This night needed more warning signals that we were about to do something monumentally stupid.

"Is it just me, or is anyone else's magic doing the supernatural equivalent of drunk-dialing an ex?" I whispered. My power kept hiccupping like it had knocked back one too many shots of tequila.

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