Page 68 of Magical Melee
The air grew cooler as we descended, carrying the faint scent of earth and something else—something ancient.
At the bottom of the stairs, the space opened into a cavernous room. The walls lined with shelves held more jars, scrolls, and strange artifacts. In the center stood a large stone pedestal mirror, its surface etched with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with light.
“This,” Twobble said, his voice reverent, “is the heart of the cottage. Some might say the heart of Stonewick, but I don’t agree. This here is a repository of knowledge and power, passed down through generations.”
I approached the large pedestal mirror, my eyes drawn to the runes carved in the wood. They seemed to hum softly, resonating with a rhythm I couldn’t quite place. “What does it do?”
“Depends,” Twobble said, hopping up onto the edge of the pedestal. “For some, it reveals hidden truths. For others, it grants visions of the past. It’s a reflection of what you seek or what you want hidden.” His bony shoulders shrugged.
I reached out, my fingers hovering just above the surface.
“And for others…” He took his index finger and ran it over his neck. “It can mean death.”
His words smacked me like a fish to the face, and I quickly pulled my hand back. “Death?”
“It doesn’t happen that often,” he assured me. “And usually only to people who don’t belong here.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I’m starting to understand why everything isn’t just revealed all at once.”
“Go on.” His eyes widened. “Give it a whirl.”
“I don’t think I’m quite ready to give anything a whirl that can kill me. My daughter just started college, and I need to be around for her because her father is out gallivanting with his mistress.”
“Okay.” He whistled and cinched his brows together. “A little TMI, but that’s okay. Still fresh. Still fresh.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Anyway, I don’t think today is a good day to die.”
“I don’t either,” he agreed. His forehead wrinkled. “The odds are in your favor.”
“Still not selling it.”
“You want some answers?” Twobble’s eyes gleamed. “Go for it.”
Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand on the pedestal. The runes flared brightly, and a wave of warmth surged through me, carrying with it a flood of images and sensations.
I saw my father, younger and full of life, standing in this very room. He was speaking to someone—Nova, perhaps—his expression serious yet determined. The scene shifted, and I saw my childhood self running through a sunlit garden, laughing as I chased after a fluttering butterfly.
And then it hit me.
I grew up in this home, too.
Until…
Then, the images grew darker. A stormy night, shadows creeping across the walls, and a figure cloaked in darkness. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light.
I gasped, pulling my hand away as the visions faded. My heart raced, and I felt a strange mix of awe and unease.
“What was that?” I whispered, my voice shaking.
Twobble hopped down, his expression unusually serious. “The past, the present, and a hint of the future. This cottage holds many secrets, Maeve. But it also holds the key to understanding who you are.”
I stared at the pedestal, my mind racing with questions. Whatever this place was, it was more than just a home. It was a gateway to something far greater—and far more dangerous—than I had ever imagined.
Frank nudged my leg. His presence grounded me. I reached down to scratch his head, grateful for the steady comfort of my loyal companion.
Twobble, ever the opportunist, broke the tension with a grin. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it? And to think, we’ve only just begun!”
Chapter Eighteen
