The witches were still at work on that door.
I grabbed the metal railing and made my way down to the basement. It was a cavernous space, all concrete, and filled with lines of dust-laden, somewhat rusty metal shelving—all of which were empty. Whatever the inky barrier was protecting, it wasn’t this particular area.
I led the way through the shelving. Rozelle turned around as we approached. She was tall and pretty and looked all of twenty. Given that most witches didn’t usually begin training to be masters—which was what she was doing at the Brindle—until they were at least thirty, she’d either become very proficient at a very early age, or she was much older than she looked. I suspected the former, if only because Kiandra had placed a lot of faith in her.
“We’re almost through,” she said. Though her eyes were bright with excitement, her skin looked pale and the droop in her shoulders suggested weariness. “The spell protecting this entrance is nothing any of us has ever seen before. It’s been quite a learning curve unpicking all the interwoven threads.”
I glanced past her. Six witches sat within a protection circle in front of the section of wall that held the hidden doorway. The crisp, clear magic that rolled across my senses was emanating from them, but underneath it, I could still feel the caress of the sorceress’s dark and oddly dirty magic. But it was an energy that was flickering, fading, fast.
I returned my gaze to Rozelle. “So whatever the magic is protecting, it’s something our dark sorceress cares about greatly.”
Rozelle nodded. “We suspect it could be her ritual room. There is no other reason for a spell of this intricacy.”
“And if it is?”
“We destroy it. She will undoubtedly have other, minor rooms she could use to cast spells, but the loss of this one, situated as it is on a main ley-line intersection, will severely curtail her ability to create major blood magic.”
I frowned. “Why? Couldn’t she just make another one somewhere else?”
Rozelle shook her head. “Blood magic is a difficult and dangerous art, and it cannot be performed any old where. It would have taken her years to set up her ritual space so that she was secure and well protected from the forces she is summoning.”
“If that’s the case, why isn’t she here, protecting this place with everything she has?”
Rozelle’s cheeks dimpled. “Because we are not without some skill ourselves. She has not attacked because, as far as she is aware, this place is as safe and as secure as it ever was.”
“Using magic to counter magic. Nice.”
“We thought so.” She turned to face the circle, her gaze narrowing. “It shouldn’t be too long.”
“Do you think there will be any sort of spell or trap inside?”
“Possibly. We’ll ensure it’s safe to enter before anyone does so.” She glanced past me. “But in case it is protected by something more mundane than a spell, I would have your sword ready, reaper.”
Azriel didn’t comment, but Valdis’s flames flared brighter. Surprisingly, Amaya had nothing to say about being left out of the possible killing spree, but maybe she was merely waiting to see whether there was something worth attacking before she started complaining.
In the brief silence, there was a loud crack, and a doorway-sized section of the concrete wall began to shimmer, waver, fading in and out of existence and providing tantalizing glimpses of a rusted metal door. The flickering got faster, more violent, as if the magic that concealed the door was fighting back. Then, with a sigh rather than a bang, it bled away, and the solid metal door was revealed in its entirety.
I instinctively took a step forward, anxious to see what might lie beyond the door, but Rozelle grabbed my hand, stopping me from going any farther.
“Wait,” she said. “We’re not finished yet.”
I took a deep breath and tried to curb the impatience that rattled through me. We were dealing with a dark sorceress’s lair, and god knew how many traps might wait inside. But that still didn’t stop the need to get in there, to know whether Mike was just a lackey or our shape-shifting sorceress himself.
Though why I was so certain I’d find confirmation inside, I couldn’t entirely say. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
I crossed my arms and watched the witches continue to work on the door. Their magic was sharper than before, holding a knife-edge that bit into my skin without drawing blood—meaning, no doubt, there were even darker spells on the old metal door itself.
Five minutes passed. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to curb impatience and the growing need to know.
Their magic peaks, Azriel said. It won’t be long now.
As if his comment was a catalyst, the metal door began to groan, to creak. Its metal hinges seemed to get longer and longer, as if there were two opposing forces holding either end, stretching them thinner and thinner.
Then, with an explosive roar, they shattered, firing shards of thin metal through the air. Rozelle ducked, as did I, and the deadly missiles flew over our heads and pinged off the shelving behind us.
As the dust settled, it revealed the metal door lying at a downward angle, suggesting there were steps just beyond the doorway. The candlelit room beyond appeared to be large. Nothing moved within the room. Nothing leapt out at us.
I remained where I was. There might not be hellhounds and whatnot inside that chamber, but if there were candles lit, there might very well be magic.