Daniel paced as much as he could in the confined space, his boots crunching softly. "Maybe it was for something else?"
"Like what?" My palm itched at the thought of unknown dangers. I rubbed the scar without thinking.
"Remember the bodies we found last week?" Wade chimed in, flashlight beam dancing across the pit's walls as he spoke. "They were in a pit, too."
"Graves," Beth corrected, her fingers deftly sorting through her bag. "But this doesn't look dug for the dead. It’s not as big as that one was, for starters. And it might be even deeper."
"Then what?" I eyed the steep sides.
"Us. Alive." Daniel's words hung heavy, a silent accusation against the shadows around us.
"Great." The weight in my chest grew heavier. Daniel reached out, brushing my hand with his own, a silent plea for comfort that I returned with a squeeze.
"We might be in deeper trouble than we thought."
The beam of my phone’s flashlight quivered as I aimed it at the walls, searching for a way out. Beth's fingers danced through her spell components, each movement deliberate and tense. "Talk,” she said.
I sighed and grabbed the first subject that came to mind. Obviously, about the unicorns. "So, someone is using unicorns to cure werewolves."
Wade turned his head, considering the question, his dark blue eyes contemplative under the furrowed arch of his brows. "Yeah." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Unicorn horns are known to heal a wide range of ailments, including that one."
"I didn’t know that." I said. All this mess, all this danger, because of some twisted form of medicine?
"Indeed," Wade replied, his tone matter of fact. "Been used for centuries in various forms. Potent stuff." He shifted his weight, the sound of dirt shifting underfoot.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Unicorns, werewolves, spells, this was fast becoming too much to take in. But Wade seemed unfazed, like he'd seen it all before. And maybe he had.
"Do you think it really works? For werewolves?" I asked.
"Probably," Daniel replied, his flashlight beam dancing over Beth's hunched figure. "A whole horn could probably do it, wipe the curse clean."
"Completely?" The word hung in the air like a tangible thing.
Wade nodded slowly. "And even just part of a horn, I’d bet it can stave off the transformation for a while."
"Wow." It wasn't just about trapping some mythical creature; it was someone's desperate grasp at normalcy, or so it seemed. "But curses too?"
"Yep. Unicorn horn does have the power to break those, given the right spell."
"Amazing," I murmured. My mind raced with possibilities, with questions. Who would do this? Why?
"Are you done yet?" My voice was more of a whine than I intended, the tension knotting tighter in my stomach.
"Shh," Beth hissed without looking up. She emptied her bag with swift movements, an assortment of jars and sachets tumbling out onto the dirt floor like a magician's endless handkerchief trick.
"Sorry." I rubbed my neck as Beth's fingers danced over her collection of oddities: a feather here, a stone there, all illuminated in the jittery beams.
"Almost," she murmured. She was focused, scanning her makeshift inventory with the seriousness of a general at war.
"Got it!" Beth stood abruptly, triumph written across her face. "These should work." She thrust her hand toward each of us, and in her palm rested a piece of gum that looked like it had rolled through a witch's pantry. Dried herbs and what I hoped were just colorful stones protruded from the sticky mass.
"Uh, what?" I eyed the offered piece suspiciously. "We're chewing our way out of here?"
"Exactly," she said as if this was everyday advice. "Chew them; they'll get us out of the pit."
"Seriously?" I turned the gum over in my fingers, the bits and bobs jutting out uncomfortably. "This isn't going to turn me into a frog or something, right?"
"Trust me," Beth insisted, popping her own piece into her mouth. "It's perfectly safe."
