There were two empty chairs almost identical, apart from a few features.
They were both medieval-like with deep ornate hand-carvings into the mahogany, the cushioned seat and back upholstered in tufted ebony leather. But one of the chairs was flanked by sculptural spider arm rests, with the Earth symbol carved into the wooden back above the leather. An upside triangle slashed by a horizontal line. The other chair was intended for the high priest.
I took a seat, sliding my palms down the cool wood of the armrests as energy buzzed through me. I lifted my head and looked around the circle.
All four of them were staring at me, Beck with tears in his eyes, Phoenix trying to conceal his, Julian a relieved grin, Zephyr an approving nod.
We all felt at ease. The end of a long, tiring battle we’d all fought in our own ways. Neither of us could hide it, deny it, or push it away.
“For our entire lives, we’ve been staring at an empty chair,” Beck choked, then pinched the corners of his eyes. Julian leaned over and grabbed his shoulder. “Seeing you sitting there ...fuck.” He wiped a palm down his face. “None of us ever thought it was possible, but we couldn’t let go. And I don’t know what we were holding on to. Hope. The hollow. Hell, I don’t know, but we couldn’t let go.”
“Aww,baby Beck,” Zephyr cooed. “You sentimental softy.”
“Beck’s right,” Julian stated. “This is a big moment for us at a time we needed you the most. With Stone completing the circle, we now have the ability to access magic we’ve never been able to access before.”
Clarence took his seat, his straight white hair curtaining his face. “Go on.”
Julian nudged his chin toward Zephyr. “Zeph, your idea. You’re up.”
Zephyr had his ankle crossed on his knee, elbows resting above each side of a moth’s wing, fingertips pressed together near his visible mouth. “What we do know is that the Shadows are five ripples of smoke that are killing people in their sleep. I have a theory that they are accessing their dreams because it’s easier when a person isn’t conscious. Which means they’re weak. Either way, we can’t kill them in the shadow state. We tried. With Stone, the earth element, the revolving door, I think there may be a way we can access a dimension we’ve never accessed before.
“You want to access people’s dreams? Get into their heads?” Clarence leaned back, amused. “Yes, this certainly sounds like an idea you would come up with.”
“We can cross from one dream dimension to another in search of the Shadows. In this state, they could take on different forms. Something whole, tangible. Something to wrap my bloody hands around,” Zephyr clarified. “I know it’s possible. I’ve seen it before in one of the books. The Heathen Athenaeum should have what we need.”
157 years ago, I would have thought the idea to be absurd, but if there was a way to protect Adora from these Shadows the town was so afraid of, I’d do anything. “With everyone refusing to sleep, we can use this to our advantage. The fewer minds we have access to, the better.”
“Stone’s right,” Zephyr agreed. “This narrows it down.”
Clarence stood. “There’s only one way to find out if it’s possible.”
The others walked with him to the cigar wall.
I followed, and the room fell quiet.
Clarence reached for a box, slipped a fingertip into a crevice, and slowly pulled until there was aclick. “Pull too hard, you’ll sound the alarm.”
The center of the cigar wall pushed back on its own, then slid to the left, revealing a hidden passage.
Clarence walked through first, and I walked through last, the six of us in a single file line through the passage and down a spiraling staircase.
Phoenix whipped his head around, a mischievous grin growing. “Welcome to the Heathen Athenaeum.”
I marveled at the two-story room hidden underground just as Phoenix sparked flames in the massive masonry fireplace on the opposite wall.
Dark, aged brick with wood detailing surrounded it and stretched from one side of the wall to the other. Melted candlesticks and lanterns stacked on the hearth.
On the other side, from where we were descending, were two levels of bookshelves packed tightly from the ceiling to the floor. Bordering it was an iron railing with scroll detail along the upper level, and the same design descended down the matching spiral staircases on each side.
In the middle of the room, on the lower level, were two sunken-in leather couches facing one another and five mahogany desks surrounding them, papers and scrolls strewn across.
When we reached the lower level, an apothecary was tucked into the wall on the right. Dozens of bottles glowed inside with labels dated and worn from the passing years. To my left, a wall of portraits in antique frames.
The wall of portraits drew me in, and on this wall, all but five men had their faces covered. One portrait in particular stood out to me. This man was wearing a mask, his eyes the color of the night sky. Under his portrait was a plaque with the name Foster Danvers, and then 1836.
“That’s your father,” Zephyr said, appearing at my side. “And this here without a mask is your grandfather. One of the five men who started it all here in Weeping Hollow.”
“I always wondered what my father looked like,” I confessed. “I thought perhaps if I knew what he looked like, I’d know what I looked like.” I bowed my head and adjusted my stance to try and contain myself, then looked back up at the man who gave me life. “I never thought him to be cursed, too. It seems we looked the same after all.” I turned to Zephyr. “Do you know what happened to him?”
