Willow tilted her head, thoughtful.“What if it isn’t just the building?What if it’s what’s under it?”
They all turned to look at her.Nolan frowned.“Under it?You mean the land?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Willow said, moving closer.“Think about it.Every time they’ve come for us, they’ve pressed hard here.What if the Druid Stone isn’t out there somewhere?What if it’s been here the whole time?”
Silence fell, the thought heavy.Jacob spun his laptop around, typing furiously, searching city archives.For a man who had been locked in a void for two hundred years he was very good with, and kind of addicted to, technology.Within minutes, he let out a low whistle.“She’s right.This building was constructed over New York’s old catacombs—tunnels tied to ancient druidic blood rites.If the Stone’s anywhere, it’s down there.”
Nolan exchanged a look with Isaac, his stomach tightening.“Then we’d better be ready.Because if it’s here, Adrian’s not going to stop until he has it.”
Isaac flexed his hand, the ink gleaming darkly against his skin.“Then he’ll have to go through us first.”
Chapter Ten
Later that day, theair in the tattoo parlor still carried the scorched tang of Adrian Veynar’s visit.No one said it aloud, but the coven felt the pressure of time pressing hard against them.They needed to move.Scrying bowls, candles, and herbs crowded the worktable, the flicker of flame painting everyone’s faces in restless light.The map Willow had found had been printed out and was spread wide across the counter, a water glass anchoring each corner.A bowl of dark water reflected shifting shadows, the rippling surface shimmering as the spell completed.
“There,” Saffron murmured, leaning forward, her mismatched eyes locked on the image swimming across the water.A faint shimmer highlighted a hidden doorway in the basement—the entry point to the catacombs.“That’s where it begins.”
A hush fell.The only sounds were the faint hiss of candle flames and the low creak of floorboards as someone shifted their weight.Even the wolves went still, instincts prickling, their ears tilting as if catching vibrations humans could not.The room seemed smaller, the air pressing down, as though the shadows themselves were waiting.
Ursula blew out a long breath, her lips quirking despite the tension.“Well.Guess field trips aren’t just for schoolkids.”
Isaac’s mouth twisted, his hand brushing Saffron’s back in a subtle reassurance.The warmth grounded her even as her stomach rolled.“And let me guess—it won’t be as simple as opening a door.”
Saffron smirked faintly, though her insides churned.She let her fingers skim the edge of the scrying bowl, feeling the chill that clung to the water.“Druidic rites never are.Catacomb doors were warded with blood magic—layered protections.Expect traps.Expect sigils that trigger when stepped on, or wards that infect if touched.”
“Infect?”Nolan arched a brow, his grin feral but edged, though tension rode beneath his humor.“As in, catching some medieval supernatural flu?”
“Exactly that,” she deadpanned.“Nasty little spells that rot the soul before the flesh.Or the other way around.Take your pick.”
“Wonderful.”Isaac gave Nolan a pointed look, the flicker of candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face.“And you were worried about your tattoo getting infected.”
“I like my skin intact,” Nolan shot back, tugging at the collar of his shirt with mock seriousness.His eyes darted to the shadows as he added, “Warlock germs sound worse than tetanus.”
Brielle rolled her eyes, swinging her legs idly from her perch on the counter, the muffin in her hand forgotten.“You two are impossible.”But her smile faltered quickly, her gaze flicking toward the basement door.“Still—better impossible than dying of the plague.”
The basement air was colder than above, heavy with damp and mildew.Old stone lined the walls, scarred and pitted with age, and the single lightbulb overhead swung lazily, shadows sliding like oil.The coven crowded close, their voices hushed despite the magic pulsing faintly from the far wall.
