Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Powered by residual magic.” Just like the boundary.
For such a sizable area, the air was stale. Cobwebs crisscrossed the floor and walls, but they looked old.
When Rök shadowed her steps, Poppy’s heart thumped. She didn’t want to spend a night trapped here with him, but she couldn’t prevent him from staying unless she was ready to sacrifice a pouch.
She’d just have to lose him inside. Poppy was mystically sensitive; he wasn’t. She would uncover the prize well before he could.
“Anybody home?” she called out into the echoing expanse. “Hellooo? Is anyone—”
The door slammed shut behind them. She and Rök whirled around. The hissing sound of pressurization proved more ominous than the castle’s appearance.
Poppy had a feeling that this place promised hell, and she’d come to collect.
TWO
Chills skittered up Rök’s back. He inhaled the air; remnants of blood and death greeted him.
Poppy was a formidable mercenary like him, but he suspected they were both in over their heads. Better to teleport her to safety and convince her to pick up where they’d left off two years ago. He grasped her arm. “We’re leaving.” Before she could protest, he teleported her.
Then blinked in confusion. They hadn’t budged.
He tried again. Nothing.
“You asshole!” She yanked free of his hold. “You were going to trace me away? Oh, it’s on.”
He concentrated on teleporting across the dusty foyer. Failed. He tried to turn into smoke. Only a useless haze arose over his skin. He was a godsdamned smoke demon; he’d been able to fade into smoke since before his pup horns had first molted.
As the witch gazed on, he hastened to the front door. Couldn’t open it. He kicked the wood and clawed at the frame, leaving not a scratch. He strode to the nearest window and launched his boot into the glass; got thrown backward. “What is this?”
“The boundary spell works from the inside too.” Her amused tone rankled. “It won’t open until tomorrow morning.”
Disbelief. “We’re trapped.” Teleporting demons didn’t do trapped. “Why can’t I trace within these walls or turn to smoke?”
“Dunno. I don’t sense any problem with my pouches. Must be a species-specific power dampener. Maybe the castle’s owner hated smoke demons?”
“What owner?”
“A long-dead wizard. You really did zero research?”
He waved that away, checking his cell phone. “No bars? This is a Wiccan LoreLine!” Despite his distance from civilization, he should still get reception. He shoved it back into his pocket. “What about yours?”
“Didn’t bring one. Even if I need help, no one can breach the entry.”
“You’re cool with that?”
“What can I say? I dig cheap thrills.”
Her words distracted him. Ah, witch, I can provide the cheapest, filthiest thrills you ever imagined. . . .
No! Head in the game, Rök. “Use one of your spells for a portal out of here.” She always had one handy for her work.
Scoffing laugh. “I’m not tapping out because my adversary has cold feet.”
“I’m not your adversary.” He ran a hand over his nape. “Everything about this castle is wrong. I know your senses are like a rock’s, but you have to feel how off this place is.”
She tapped her chin with a pink nail, so unlike his black claws. “A wizard’s bespelled fortress? From which the previous expedition failed to surface? With some ghouls for curb appeal? Nah, feels great.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “They didn’t surface?”
Her grin was cheery. “Not one explorer.”
“How much would it take for you to abandon this mission?”
She read his obvious unease and gave another laugh. “What’s the matter? Never had a mission hiccup?” She turned to check the coat closet—empty—then investigated the statuettes along the perimeter of the foyer. “Even if I wanted to open a portal, which I don’t, it would just transport me to another part of the castle.”
“Then how do we get out of here?”
She must’ve taken pity on him because she answered, “According to legend, the door will reopen for a short interval when the moon sets.”
The setting of a full moon corresponded to sunrise. Had he ever been so ready for dawn? “How short of an interval?”
“A raven will call four times from a spruce by the pond.”
“Four calls. Of a raven.” Rök had heard of sketchier shit in the Lore. At the same time, not much was random in the world of immortals. Random usually meant he hadn’t discovered the pattern yet. So why did this castle open under such precise circumstances? “And if we miss the grand opening?”
“We’ll be stuck here until the next Halloween full moon.”
His jaw slackened. “That only happens every twenty years or so.”
“Yup.”
Magic might power the lights, but that didn’t mean they’d find decades’ worth of food and water inside. Generally only fire or a beheading could kill an immortal, but some Loreans perished from less. Could a witch of only a hundred years starve? “Tell me about the wizard. Why did he build this place?” What would Rök and Poppy face tonight?