Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Adriel scanned the area and frowned. “Did we make a wrong turn?”
“It doesn’t work that way.” Juniper once again looked at the folded map. The Indian ink made of soot, wood oil, and mineral water from the gorges was supposed to lead them directly to Dane. She’d been certain she’d done everything correctly.
“Maybe you mispronounced a word.”
“That’s possible.”
Spells were written using the Theban alphabet and spoken in a Latin-English hybrid tongue, but sometimes—because grimoires were passed down through generations—traces of Old Norse and Creole terms ended up transposed.
“I was a little anxious when we started.”
It was the first time they really left Ithaca. Juniper didn’t feel ready to face whatever was hunting Adriel. She wanted to brush up on her basic magick and learn more because the last time things got scary, her magick froze inside of her.
Dropping to her knee, she dug through the backpack and pulled out the big book. For all she knew, they were scammed by the good folks on eBay and sold a replica of crap inspired by the movie Hocus Pocus, but she really hoped that wasn’t the case.
A chill raced down her spine as her fingers brushed the soft leather cover, and her fears abated. There was tangible magick in this book, a presence that lingered in the carbon of the pages and the glue and thread that tethered each handwritten spell to the spine.
She opened the entry for the locator spell and dragged her finger over every scribbled word, whispering them silently to herself, enunciating the final verse aloud. “Invenire unum cupio.” Her hand rushed to her throat.
“June?”
It hit her like the wind of a hurricane, not quite solid but complete. She shut the book and slipped it back into the bag, hooking it over her shoulder as she stood. “He’s here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, no, I’m not sure. I’ve never done anything like this before, and we bought our spell book from an online auction. But this feels…right. Sort of.” She just couldn’t understand why he would be in a Boston cathedral. “Was Dane religious?”
“I don’t recall seeing him at our prayer meetings.”
Juniper opened the door and hesitated. “Crap.” She looked at Adriel.
“Is something wrong?”
She shrugged. “It feels weird, right? A vampire and a witch walking into a church? There’s a punchline there somewhere. Or am I thinking about the joke where the pope walks into a bar?
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I babble when I’m nervous.”
“What do you think is going to happen?”
“Wait—” Too late. Adriel rolled her eyes and stepped across the threshold.
Juniper looked up nervously the moment she stepped inside. No bolt of lightning. No fire and brimstone. Not even a swarm of locusts or toads.
Adriel sniffed the air as Juniper shut her eyes and held out her hands, concentrating.
“What’s that smell?”
“Shh. It’s frankincense.”
“No, there’s something else.” Adriel sniffed again. “Something…ripe.”
“I can’t concentrate through your talking.” Glancing curiously at the basin of holy water, Juniper kept her hands to herself and crossed the vestibule into the open nave of the church. “Are you sensing anyone here?”
“No, but my senses are turned down at the moment.”
They agreed that was best since Juniper was working the locator spell and unable to maintain the protection spell as well.
“But there is a trace of mortal activity.”
“It’s Monday. They probably had service yesterday.”
Long, wooden pews lined the church's body, and a detailed portrait of archangels adorned the cathedral ceiling. As a descendant of witches, Juniper hadn’t spent much time in buildings like this. Her family was more into rituals that required them to dance naked under the full moon or set out garden offerings for the goddesses and gods.
“This feels a little like trespassing. Maybe we should leave.”
Adriel drew in a long breath, fully sniffing the air. “He’s here.”
“You can smell him? You’re sure it’s Dane?”
Rather than answer, she disappeared, moving at immortal speeds too fast for Juniper’s eyes to track.
“Uh, Ade?”
“Up here.” Her voice echoed from the mezzanine balcony above.
Juniper followed the closed staircase to an open loft set for a choir but frowned when the energy shifted. Something was off. The energy here was cold and solemn. Bad things had happened in this place. Things that could never be undone.
The aura of the gallery was dark and thick, hinting at haunting crimes that happened right where Adriel stood. “I think we should leave. Dane’s not—”
Adriel pressed a finger to her lips and pointed behind a mahogany wall that housed the keys of an enormous organ. “Which one of us is carrying him out of here?”
Disbelief flooded her as she rushed forward and sucked in a breath. Dane lay passed out on the floor, wrapped in a purple tablecloth, hugging a bottle of what looked like wine. “Oh, my God.”
“He’s pickled.” Adriel poked his foot with the toe of her shoe. “Dane. Dane, wake up.”