Page 54 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
"Well," I said quietly, pointing to walls covered in scratches, "this is where the tour takes a decidedly darker turn."
Sage moved closer, her face growing pale as she examined the markings, tally marks counting days, weeks, possibly months of captivity in neat, desperate rows. "These aren't just recent," she whispered, tracing older scratches barely visible in the phosphorescent lighting. "Some of these dates go back decades."
"Sarah Chen," she read from one wall. "Maria Santos. Jessica Williams." Her voice carried the hollow tone of someone reading a very long and very depressing guest registry. Horror churned my stomach. These weren’t even the girls we were looking for; they weren’t even from Old Hollows. They started outside the town, then moved to the half-blood shifter witches in town. "How many victims are we talking about?"
"Dozens," I realized, moving from cell to cell like a morbid accountant. "This appears to be Old Hollows' worst-kept secret for decades. But look at this—" I pointed to where the markings changed, becoming more clinical and organized. "The really sophisticated stuff only goes back about three years."
"Around the time Reid Bishop took over council leadership," Sage noted with dark satisfaction. "Funny how some people's management styles include upgrading torture facilities."
In the next chamber, we found documentation that read like a twisted scientific journal. Charts tracking magical extraction rates, noting which bloodline combinationsprovided the most ‘harvestable essence’ with the clinical detachment of someone rating wine varietals.
"They're stealing their magic," Sage said, studying charts that tracked something called the ‘purification process’ over weeks of what the documentation cheerfully referred to as ‘treatment.’ "Actually draining it away and storing it like some sort of horrific magical wine collection."
Cosmo examined a crystalline container filled with swirling energy, each one labeled with dates and victim identification numbers. "Well, this explains the premium pricing," he observed with the sort of casual horror that made my skin crawl. "Nothing quite like artisanal magical essence, carefully aged in underground terror facilities."
We moved deeper into the complex, documenting everything with the grim determination of crime scene investigators. Financial records showing payments to contractors and city officials. Correspondence discussing the ‘mixed-blood problem’ with the casual tone typically reserved for discussing pest control. Personnel files listing dozens of conspirators, many bearing familiar names from the local government and business community.
"Half the town leadership is involved," Sage breathed, reading correspondence that bore official council seals. "This isn't a conspiracy, this is municipal policy with really excellent public relations."
"Listen," Cosmo said suddenly, his ears swiveling toward distant voices. "Our hosts are making their rounds. Time to play hide-and-seek with people who probably have very poor senses of humor about uninvited guests."
We concealed ourselves behind extraction equipmentas two figures passed by, discussing their work with the casual efficiency of people performing routine maintenance on something horrible.
"Subject 247's extraction is nearly complete," one said. "Should be ready for final processing by midnight."
"Excellent. The client specifically requested Blackstone bloodline essence. Premium rates for premium product."
Sage's magic flared dangerously at the mention of her family name, but I caught her hand before she could turn our hiding spot into a crater. We needed to maintain our cover until we understood the full scope of this operation.
"Subject 247," Cosmo observed once the guards passed. "How charmingly impersonal. Nothing quite like reducing people to inventory numbers to really embrace the whole 'industrial evil' aesthetic."
After confirming the guards had moved on, Cosmo scouted ahead and returned with intelligence. "Found them," he reported with grim satisfaction. "Four girls in a heavily warded chamber about fifty meters ahead. They're alive but barely conscious, connected to enough extraction equipment to power a small city. And here's the interesting part, only two guards posted."
"Too few," I agreed, immediately suspicious. "If this operation is as sophisticated as everything else suggests, why such minimal security on their most valuable assets?"
"Maybe they're confident in their magical restraints," Sage suggested, though her expression suggested she found this as unlikely as I did.
"Or maybe," Cosmo said with the sort of casual insight that made him particularly unnerving, "they wantsomeone to find the girls. Nothing quite like a well-baited trap to really bring an evening together."
Before we could fully consider these implications, sounds echoed from the direction of the holding chamber, guards changing shifts with the sort of routine that suggested this was standard operating procedure.
"Now or never," Sage said, magic gathering around her like a very fashionable and extremely dangerous evening wear.
We moved through the tunnels with concealment spells and Cosmo's scouting, avoiding security patrols that seemed oddly sparse for such a sophisticated operation. The holding chamber was exactly where Cosmo had indicated, secured by magical wards that were impressive but not insurmountable.
"I can break these," Sage whispered, studying the containment spells with the kind of interest typically reserved for fine art. "But it'll take time, and subtlety isn't really on the menu."
"Do it," I decided. "I'll handle whatever comes to investigate the fireworks."
But before we could proceed, distant sounds reached us, angry voices and the faint acrid smell of burning wood filtering through the tunnel system from somewhere far above.
"The mob," I realized, the implications hitting me like cold water. I reached out to halt Sage's forward momentum; not prepared for the sudden stop, she staggered slightly. I turned to steady her, my hands instinctively moving to her waist, and suddenly we were standing far closer than tactical situations typically required.
She cursed under her breath and glared at me with those magnificent blue eyes that had haunted my dreams for five years. But that was precisely the wrong thing for her to do, because with those eyes focused on me with such intensity, I could no longer hold back the emotions I'd been suppressing since the moment I'd seen her again.
The realization that we might not survive this confrontation, that I might lose her permanently this time, shattered my self-control completely.
I pressed my body against hers, pinning her against the tunnel wall with gentle but insistent pressure. She softened against me as I brought my lips down on hers in a kiss I'd been craving for five years of regret and longing. When our lips touched, I started sweet and tentative, but soon I was crushing my mouth to hers in a kiss that consumed us both with desperate hunger.
