Page 121 of Live To Tell

A single set of chains with manacles are attached to the exposed brick wall, and the floorboards gouged in places. Claws. I turn one eighty degrees and come face to face with a set of runes daubed on the painted ceiling.

“Rowan.” He shines the flashlight at the shapes and then at the floor beneath.

“Runes here too,” he says.

They’re not intricate. On the floor, intersecting lines and circles create a spell circle that enhances magic, and the runes above us appear to be protective.

Protecting the room from anybody entering? I exchange a look with Rowan. He recognizes their purpose too.

Behind, the chains rattle as Grayson takes hold.

“I don’t know whether to be happy or not that we haven’t found a shifter,” he says. “Rowan. Can you pick up any images or energy from the chains?”

“Uh. Maybe.”

But he stays by the runes as I prowl around the dusty attic space. Squares mark the floor where stored items held off the dust—items since removed. There’s a skylight window above, large enough for someone small to wriggle through, and the ceiling’s dry walled and painted a light cream color rather than exposed beams.

“This was a room,” I say. “Someone’s bedroom?”

“Someone who likes chaining up guests?” asks Rowan hoarsely.

“No, I think the chains are more recent.” I walk over and take hold of the cool metal. “Dorian’s people went through the place carefully. The chains are newer than the bed. That’s rusted; these are shiny.”

Grayson crosses his arms and slowly turns full circle. “Look under the floorboards, I guess? Seems a popular hiding place for people involved with this shit.”

Rowan shines his flashlight downwards. “Yeah, but most boards are already wrecked. Looks like Dorian was thorough.”

“The man had the tiara,” I say, half to myself. “He hid the box here and had to move it.”

“Viktor?” asks Rowan.

“Or Whitegrove. Somebody connected to Madison’s death. I bet Whitegrove helped his son cover up what happened,” says Grayson.

Rowan’s hand shakes and the beam from the flashlight wobbles. “Do you think Madison’s body’s here?”

“Good grief, Rowan, calm down. If someone moved the box with the tiara, I’m confident they wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave a body behind.”

“If she was ever here,” puts in Grayson.

“Check on Leif,” I say. “In case we were followed.”

Grayson nods and moves towards the gap we climbed through and silently disappears back down.

“There must be a clue to something,” I say in exasperation.

“The box was probably here,” says Rowan and waves his light at where the floorboards are removed, not broken. “And I’ll ignore your rude dismissal of my fears.”

Crouching down, I peer into the hole, but it’s smaller than the one at the factory. Would the tiara box fit in here? I place a hand inside the dark hole. Nothing. No bones either, but I don’t say that to Rowan.

Standing again, I rub Rowan’s arm. “I apologize for my earlier response. Are you prepared to touch the chains?”

“Do you think I really need to—someone obviously chained up shifters here. Good thing Mrs. Brightgrove is half-deaf; I bet the ‘guests’ weren’t quiet.”

“Hmm. Magically subdued, I imagine. We need another visit for tea and biscuits,” I say. “Meet her husband this time.”

“How? We created a dubious reason for visiting last time. We might not be so lucky twice.”

I suck on my teeth. He’s right. “They’re friends with the Whitegroves,” I say.

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