Chapter 9

Okay, not quite his face. I wasn't that mean. I shot him in the muscular side of his neck. It would leave one hell of a bruise, but that was it.

Aaron caught Blake's shoulders as he keeled over backward. He eased the heavier man to the ground, almost dropping our flashlights in the process.

"Tori!" Justin gasped. "Why did you do that?"

I holstered my weapon. "Lesson one for the mythic world, Justin. Don't trust random mages who could bury you alive in the grave they just dug."

He glanced nervously at the hole.

Flicking my ponytail off my shoulder, I faced the scary darkness. "Blake can take a little nap while we investigate. Right, Aaron?"

"Yep. Also, Tori?"

I glanced back at him.

He grinned. "You're seriously hot when you take out mages twice your size."

"Aw, thanks, babe." I kept my reply flippant, hoping he didn't notice the slash of despondent guilt that iced my chest. Without any artifacts, shooting mythics with sleeping potions was the extent of my usefulness—and look how much good it had done in our earlier fight against Blake.

I approached the opening in the hillside. "Got those flashlights ready?"

Joining me, Aaron passed over a flashlight. As he turned his on, Justin stepped up on my other side, his expression vacillating between an annoyed scowl—directed at Aaron—and an uneasy frown—directed at the hole.

Turning on my light as well, I directed the beam into the pit. Hmm. Did mine eye spy a dirt-dusted stone floor?

"Are you both going in there?" Justin asked.

"Yeah, but maybe you should wait here. I don't think we should all go in."

Aaron pursed his lips. "I've got to agree."

Pulling out my paintball gun, I extended it toward my brother. "If Blake starts to wake up, shoot him on bare skin and he'll lose consciousness again."

Justin hesitantly took the gun. "All right …but only if you actually explain all this to me afterward."

"Fine," I grumbled.

"And keep calling to me. We should stay in earshot in case anyone else shows up. If they're …a mythic …you'll need to get out immediately."

My brother was many things, including smart. I should've thought of that myself.

"Good idea. Okay, Aaron. Into the villainous lair of evil we go."

Snorting in amusement, he passed me his flashlight, sat on the edge of the hole, and dropped in feet-first. He landed with a thud, the top of his head five feet below ground level.

I handed both flashlights to him, then jumped in. My boots landed on gritty stone, and musty staleness assaulted my nose.

"We need a canary," I muttered to Aaron as I retrieved my flashlight from him.

He pulled a blocky electronic device from his pocket. "Or a gas monitor?"

"Oh, yeah. Much better."

He switched the monitor on and clipped it to his belt, then we both lifted our flashlights to see what we were dealing with down here. My beam landed on a wall directly across from us, where a pair of eyes glared angrily above a toothy, snarling snout.

"Well, that's creepy," I muttered.

I flicked my light around, finding more snarling gargoyles carved into the thick stone pillars supporting the ceiling. Aaron and I stood at the edge of a decent-sized room, the ceiling and floor both made of stone.

"We're going farther in," I called to Justin.

"Okay."

Dust puffed away from my boots as I moved deeper into the room, moldy cobwebs hanging from the corners. I rubbed my toe over an uneven patch of floor and uncovered a line of tarnished silver inlay. Who wanted to bet there was another summoning circle down here?

At the far end, something that could've been a stone lectern or a sacrificial altar faced the summoning circle. I crossed to it, checking its flat top and the gap underneath, finding nothing that resembled a grimoire.

"Tori, over here."

Aaron had gone left while I'd gone straight, and he stood in a dim corner, his flashlight moving across a stone table. Three wooden crates formed a line across it.

I rushed to his side. In front of him was a fourth box—rectangular, only a couple inches tall, with a carved exterior featuring a strange symbol: a ring with a spiky line in the center, the three points of the line piercing the top of the circle.

"What is that?" I muttered, tracing the zigzag without touching the wood.

Aaron canted his head, squinting. "I think it's …a crown?"

A crown inside a circle? Weird. But the important thing was the box's shape—perfect for a large book.

Aaron dug in his pocket and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. I held his flashlight as he pulled them on. They weren't for warmth; the thick leather would hopefully protect him from any poisons rubbed into the wood.

Using a fingertip, he flipped the box's metal latch and lifted the heavy lid. Its hinges creaked as it opened. I shone both lights inside, my heart in my throat.

The interior was empty.

I swore furiously. "Where's the grimoire?"

"Good question. It looks like Eterran was telling the truth about its existence." Aaron shut the case. "Did the summoner move it before the Keys showed up?"

"To where?" My fragile hope was cracking. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be a dead end already.

Aaron nudged the lid off the nearest crate. It clattered to the table, and I directed the lights toward it. Inside was a dusty silver chalice, two candelabras, and something that vaguely resembled a foot-long scepter, with the same crown-in-a-circle symbol topping it.

The gargoyle carvings glowered accusingly with their stone eyes as we opened the second crate, which contained bundles of heavy red fabric sealed in clear bags. Desperation tightening my throat, I watched Aaron pull the lid off the third and final crate. This one held another chalice with a dent in the side, a candelabra with one arm snapped off, a yellow tub of polishing wipes, and a legal-sized padded envelope with the top ripped open.

Aaron pulled out the envelope. The address was a P.O. box in Wheeler, Oregon, mailed from an address in Portland. Inside it was something bundled in a layer of bubble wrap—and a piece of paper.

"Is that a letter?" I asked, angling my flashlight into the envelope.

He pulled out the single sheet, yellowed with age. I lit the faded handwriting.

"‘Revered Leaders,'" Aaron read quietly. "‘I hope my letter finds you blessed with the wisdom of the Goddess. With the humblest thanks, I return the holy scepter you graciously lent me. I can only hope I carried it with befitting dignity and grace. I eagerly await my next ceremony within your sacred temple. Enshrined in Her Light, L.'"

Gooseflesh covered my skin, and I had to force a jaunty tone. "What a sniveling brownnoser."

"Did Ezra ever mention members of the group living outside Enright?"

"No …but someone recruited his parents. Maybe the cult had part-time members?"

He flipped the envelope back to the addresses. "If this L member had enough clout to borrow a scepter, they might know about this hidden room."

"And if they weren't in Enright for the extermination, they might have survived." I turned the flashlight to the empty box that had probably held a book. "Could L have taken the grimoire?"

We stared at each other, then Aaron nodded. "All right. Let's check the rest of the room."

I called an update to Justin, then we split up and scoured the underground room for items of interest, hidden compartments, or any other clues. As I brushed dirt off the walls, I sneezed at the dust clogging my nose. If there were any secret levers in here, they were well hidden.

I stopped to peer at a snarling gargoyle, weirded out by its gaping mouth, then joined Aaron at the stone table.

"I guess we'll move this stuff up into the sunlight and take a better look," he decided, taking hold of the empty book box. "Then we can—"

He lifted the box—and a loud click echoed through the room.

A quiet hissing followed, and for a long second, Aaron and I stared at the metal switch in the table where the box had sat.

Fire burst from the snarling snout of the gargoyle above our heads.

Aaron lunged into me, shielding my body from the flames. Light and heat roared through the room—all the stone guardians were spitting flaming liquid from their jaws. Smoke billowed and the gas monitor on Aaron's hip blared a warning.

"Run!" Aaron yelled. "Get out!"

I didn't need to be told twice. Dropping the flashlights, I bolted for the hole at the room's edge. A shadow blocked the sunny opening—Justin leaning down, an arm outstretched. I grabbed his reaching hand and he hauled me out. Aaron jumped for the ledge, swung over it, and rolled onto the frozen ground.

Black smoke boiled from the opening, unseen flames crackling loudly in the hidden room.

Aaron sat up and brushed at the flames eating holes in his leather jacket, the fire vanishing under his touch. At my anxious look, he lifted his other hand, showing me the undamaged envelope.

"What happened?" Justin demanded. "How did the room catch on fire?"

"Booby trap," I informed him. "But it's okay. We got the most important thing."

"And what is that?"

I pointed at the envelope. "An address."

He blinked.

Pushing to his feet, Aaron unwrapped the item inside the envelope, revealing a scepter in the same design as the large one in the now-burning crate down in the secret room, except this one was only eight inches long. He studied the envelope's return address.

"Well, Tori?" His blue eyes rose to mine. "Are we going to Portland?"

Wiping the snow off my leather pants, I also stood. Black smoke mushroomed from the hole, the dark haze drifting across the temple ruins where Ezra's parents and sixty-six other victims of the cult had died.

"We're going to Portland."

* * *

I surveyed the stack of gear in the SUV, ensuring nothing would bounce around too much on the drive back to civilization. Wedging a shovel more securely in its corner, I pulled the hatch down and slammed it shut.

Justin, leaning against the vehicle's side panel, scowled at me.

I scowled back.

"You promised," he reminded me.

Ugh.

Stomping over, I leaned against the cold metal beside him. It was kind of weird because the SUV was sitting two feet lower than it should've been. "Do not repeat anything I'm about to tell you to anyone, got it? Including Blake."

Not that we'd be seeing Blake again once we drove off this property.

Justin nodded, and I heaved a deep sigh.

"Okay." Another slow inhale, then I spoke at top speed. "Eight years ago, a cult operated here and my friend's parents got caught up in it and the cult did something to my friend and now we're here trying to find a grimoire that will explain what they did to my friend so we can save him before he dies."

Justin blinked a few times. "Uh. Okay. What …what's a grimoire?"

"A book of magic. Like, spells and instructions and stuff. Sometimes, they're kind of like journals too, and mythics will write down their experiences."

"And something in this grimoire will save your friend's life? Is a spell going to kill him?"

"More or less." I gave him a hard stare. "So, will you go home now?"

"No. I'm sticking with you, Tori."

I gritted my teeth. "I already reset my phone."

"No, you didn't."

"I'll do it right now."

"I can follow you anyway."

I gripped my paintball gun, half lifting it from its holster. "No, you can't. One pop of sleeping potion and I'll be long gone before you wake up."

He returned my threatening stare, unflinching. He was calling my bluff and we both knew it.

Ugh. Brothers.

"Don't you have a job?" I muttered angrily, slumping against the vehicle. "You can't follow me for days on end."

"I took some time off." He sighed. "Tori, I'm not doing this to be annoying. This is important to you, isn't it? I want to help."

I tried to think of a comeback and ended up grumbling wordlessly under my breath.

"You're awfully distrustful of Blake," he remarked. "Why?"

"He's a member of the Keys of Solomon—a demon-hunting guild." I tipped my head back, squinting at the cloud-dotted sky. "Remember back around Halloween, when parts of downtown Vancouver were put in lockdown?"

He nodded.

"That happened because there was a demon on the loose. A Keys of Solomon team showed up to hunt it, and they were so bent on killing it themselves that they deliberately hampered the search efforts and threatened other teams. According to pretty much everyone, that's standard behavior for the Keys."

"Does the MPD allow that?"

"It's complicated."

He shifted his weight. "Were you involved in the …demon hunt …too?"

"Briefly."

"Is that normal?" He cleared his throat. "My impression from the law-enforcement side was that venturing into those neighborhoods was extremely dangerous, so it seems …unusual …for civilians to participate."

I was guessing "unusual" hadn't been his first word choice, but he was trying to sound neutral.

Pressing my lips together, I considered how to answer. I didn't want to get into my near-death experience at the unbound demon's claws, our failed attempt to hunt it, or Ezra's confrontation with the Keys team. Technically speaking, I shouldn't have been out there at all. I had only recently been classified as a mythic and hadn't had any combat training yet.

"Do sleeping potions work on demons?" Justin asked after a moment.

"I don't think so."

"Do you have other magic weapons that do work on demons?"

Not really …but though I didn't say it, my silence answered for me.

"Then …" His brow scrunched. "Then why were you out there hunting a demon?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I'd gone to support the guys, but …had they actually needed me?

"Tori!"

I whirled around at Aaron's call. He was striding toward me, Blake limping in his wake.

"We have a problem," the pyromage snapped. "Blake here is refusing to undig the hole he put my SUV in until I tell him what we found in the underground room."

"We found cult junk," I told the terramage flatly. "Chalices, candelabras, scepters, some fabric—probably cloaks or something creepy and over the top like that."

"Yeah, sure," he rumbled, leaning on his staff. "But you also found something that has you rushing off instead of digging through the burnt ‘cult junk.'"

Sometimes I hated smart people. Why couldn't Blake be dumb as a rock like I'd initially hoped?

I glanced at the SUV's tires, sitting in the two-foot-deep hole. "Screw it."

Blake's eyebrows rose expectantly, then lowered again as I stomped past him. Opening the SUV's hatch, I yanked out a shovel.

"Do you have any idea how much I didn't want to dig?" I growled, tossing the shovel to Justin. I grabbed the second one. "Digging sucks."

Justin followed me to the front bumper, and when I set the point of the shovel against the frozen earth, he copied me. As much as there was to complain about when it came to my brother, he'd never been afraid of hard work.

Now I was thinking nice things about him, and that made me angrier.

Snarling like a dog, I stomped on the shovel's step. The blade dug an inch into the hard earth.

Aaron hurried over. "Tori, I can—"

"I'll do it! I can dig a damn hole!"

Blake's staff thunked toward us. He stopped beside the passenger door, glancing over his handiwork. It was a very nice grave with lovely straight sides. The bastard.

I jumped on the shovel's step with both feet, wobbled, and almost fell. When Aaron tugged the handle away, I let him take it with a bitter sigh. He set the shovel against the earth—and the ground heaved.

Staggering, I flailed my arms for balance. As quickly as it had begun, the mini-quake ended. My glower flashed toward the asshole terramage.

He stood beside the passenger door—which was now open. And in his hand was the eight-year-old envelope I'd left on my seat in plain sight, like a complete dumbass.

"This address," he growled. "Is it—"

Aaron snapped his fingers.

The envelope burst into flame. Yelping, Blake dropped the flaming paper. The scepter inside fell to the ground and bounced on its stubby handle, shreds of flaming envelope clinging to it.

I folded my arms. "Get lost before Aaron lights you on fire too."

Blake smirked. Turning, he walked away from our vehicle. Aaron, Justin, and I didn't move, watching until he'd disappeared down the road that led away from the property. A minute later, the echo of a car door slamming reached us. An engine rumbled to life, and the sound receded into the woods.

"Finally," I growled, stooping to pick up the scepter. "Now let's—"

I broke off. The front edge of the hole our SUV was trapped in had, moments ago, been a straight vertical edge. Now it was a smooth ramp.

Snatching the scepter, I puffed out an angry breath. "He's still an asshole."

"Yeah," Aaron agreed, collecting the shovels. "Now let's get the hell out of here before he decides to come back."