A rumbling sound echoes in the cave around us as she tucks the book in a bag that appears out of nowhere. We all look around warily, afraid of what that might mean.
“Let’s not overstay our welcome,” Tiernan says, glancing warily at the shadows clinging to the corners of the chamber.
Before we turn to leave, Fiadh and Revelin exchange a wordless nod, their hands moving in synchronized gestures. A shimmering veil of magic cascades over the altar, an invisible shield locking away what we’ve found.
“Done,” Revelin confirms, though his gaze lingers on the enchanted barrier. “No one will disturb this place again—not easily.”
With the book secured in Fiadh’s bag, we retrace our steps through the cavern, the weight of discovery settling in with each footfall. The cave releases us reluctantly, the outside air feeling suddenly fresh and full of possibility.
“Home stretch,” Khol says, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Now we just head back to the Sex Machine and we’re golden.”
The moon is high as we approach the bus, exhaustion weighing on our shoulders like cloaks. But beneath it thrums excitement; soon, we’ll unravel the book’s mysteries together.
“Unscathed, for now,” I think aloud, earning nods of agreement from the group.
Whatever lies ahead, this moment of victory binds us tighter than any spell could.
The first light of dawn filters through the enchanted windows of the magical bus, casting a soft glow on the ancient book sprawled across my lap. I blink away the remnants of sleep, my fingers tracing the embossed runes on the leather cover. The pages brim with mysteries from last night’s venture into the hidden cave, and my mind buzzes with excitement at the prospect of deciphering them.
This is the first step towards finding the shit the feystag told us to locate.
“Revelin’s got band practice,” Dezi announces, his gaze glued to his phone screen. His fingers dance over the glass, scheduling our day with an efficiency that somehow is both annoying and endearing. “Tier’s tagging along. Says he’ll do some sleuthing about the leak among the crew.”
“Good,” I murmur, flipping through the book, eager for any scrap of knowledge that might enhance my burgeoning magic. “The more we know...”
“Meanwhile,” Khol interjects, stretching his arms above his head, “we thought it’d be a good idea to take you shop-hopping.” A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes. “Time to stock up on some mystical essentials, and maybe catch up on local whispers.”
I can’t help but grin at the thought. “Sounds perfect. I need more pictures of fae trinkets for Feray anyway,” I say, the idea of weaving through town with my camera at the ready, sending a thrill through me. “And experimenting with magic? Count me in.”
I’ve never felt this excited about my magic before, and it’s odd, but good.
“Great,” Dezi chimes in, pocketing his phone. “Then let’s hit the Grail for some grub first.”
Slipping the book into my bag, I join them as we step off the bus. The morning air is crisp, carrying the scent of dew and distant enchantments. We weave through the awakening streets, and I can already feel the pulse of the town’s magic beckoning me to explore its secrets.
But first, breakfast awaits, and with it, the promise of another day steeped in adventure.
The clangof the Holy Grail’s door announces our arrival, and the scent of frying bacon wraps around us like a warm greeting. We gravitate towards what’s now our usual spot, a sturdy wooden table near the hearth, still chuckling about our makeshift kitchen on the bus.
“We could whip up some eggs there,” Dezi remarks with a smirk, “but it wouldn’t come with the free entertainment here.”
“You mean your eggs wouldn’t be served with a side of scathing political commentary?” Revelin quips, sliding into his seat with that effortless grace unique to vampires.
Rev’s not wrong, but I don’t think he’s actually bothered by it.
As if on cue, the tavern owner’s wife bustles over, her apron dusted with flour and her eyes alight with the day’s grievances. “Morning, lads and lady,” she greets, before launching into a tirade about the council’s latest decree. Her words are sharp, slicing through the air like knives, and yet there’s no malice in her gaze when it lands on the prince.
“See?” Khol says to us, lowering his voice as she takes a breath between rants. “She despises the game, not the players.” He nods towards her retreating figure, admiration laced with understanding. “Reminds me of my crew. They know who the real villain is—Krystos.”
“Autocratic rulers leave a bloody mess behind,” Dezi muses after we order, leaning back with a sigh. “It’s the smart ones who last—those who treat kin right and keep idiots at arm’s length.”
“Then how did Louie ever survive?” I can’t help but ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
Dezi’s grin is all teeth. “That, witchling, is a tale too wild for breakfast. Let’s just say he narrowly escaped with his fangs intact more than once.”
I’ll just bet—that bloodsucker is insufferable sometimes.
We linger over our meal, savoring the flavors and the spirited atmosphere, until Khol leans forward with purpose. “So, Fiadh, ready to hit the streets? There’s magic to be found and secrets to uncover.”
