“Or you’re being seduced by magic and lured to your doom.” I peg Asher with a look, and he shrugs. “What? We were all thinking it.”
Maybe I was thinking it, but I would’ve never said it out loud.
Orion gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Reid and I are going to shift and do a quick check of the town.”
“Sounds good. Stay together and keep your ears perked in case we need you.”
“Will do.”
The two of them strike off, and the rest of us crowd into the doorway. If I focus on the interior and let my eyes adjust, I can see inside.
The space is bigger than it should be—hammers and tongs hang on walls that stretch back farther than the building's exterior should allow. A massive anvil sits squat in the center, its surface scorched dark with use and age.
Mica moves through the workshop with reverence. She trails a caressing touch along the edge of a worktable, examines the bellows, traces the brickwork of the forge itself.
And when she reaches the anvil, she stops.
For a long moment, she just stares at it…
Then she pulls a rag from her pocket and wipes soot from the anvil's face. She works at it for a moment, and I feel the surge of her metal affinity taking hold in the air. When she’s done, the soot and scorch is gone, and the metal underneath gleams like captured starlight.
Then she straightens the tongs. Checks each hammer head, testing the weight and balance with the focus of someone who understands what good craftsmanship means.
“Beautiful,” she whispers, moving over to the forge itself.
With a few careful motions, she cleans out the old ash, checks a few pipe connections, then stirs the glowing coal in the basin until it’s giving off a warm orange glow. “The ancient energy coming off this forge is humbling. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be at one with a forge like this. What an honor.”
“Well, hopefully it’s an honor you’ll soon be allotted,” Sebastian says. “Do you think you’ll be able to work the forge to create the weapons we need to vanquish Tharuzel?”
Before she can answer, movement catches my attention. From the darkest corner, a gray animal darts across the room and leaps onto the worktable beside her.
“Mica, watch out! There's a cat!”
And yeah, maybe it’s just a cat, or maybe it’s a demon cat like S’Nark, or something like the ebony wolf sent here by Tharuzel to take us down.
Mica turns, startled, then her expression softens. "Oh. Hey there, puss. Sorry if I’m intruding. We’ve been searching for the Cinderheart Crucible, and it’s even more amazing than I dreamed.”
The cat is massive—a smoke-gray Persian with fur dusted in ash and eyes the color of old amber. His tail, singed with a bald patch at the tip, lashes once.
Mica reaches out. "Where did you come from, kitty?"
The cat pulls back, ears flattening. "I amnota kitty." His voice rolls through the forge, gravelly and ancient. "I am Brimstone, Guardian of the Cinderheart Crucible. And you would do well to remember it."
Mica's hand freezes mid-air. "Um…all right, I wasn't expecting that."
"I defy all expectations." The cat sits, wrapping his tail around his paws with deliberate dignity.
“Yes, you do. And what does the Guardian of the Cinderheart Crucible do?”
“I secure the forge, obviously.”
“Obviously. And you do an amazing job at it, too. The information on how to find it and where to use it was so obscure, we were wondering if the forge was even real.”
“Oh, it is real.” He struts to the edge of the worktable and leaps onto the hearth of the forge. "The witches who forged the first weapons bound me as a guardian spirit. I am old enough to recognize truth, corruption, and intent.”
“I assure you, my intentions are pure. There is a major demon terrorizing our town and about to break free to unleash his destruction on the world. We seek a way to send him back to Hell to safeguard the innocent.”
The cat lifts his paw and brushes his whiskers. “Your intention is honorable, but that alone does not give you the right to forge weapons.”
