Tarot Academy 4 - Sarah Piper Page 0,36

stepped out of the shadows carrying a black duffel bag. “Looks like she’s meeting Quintana, just like she said.”

“Another point for Casey.” I don’t bother hiding the relief in my voice.

Their conversation is indecipherable at this distance, but judging from the urgent gestures, they’re not exactly meeting up for APOA happy hour.

After a brief catch-up, they split up and do a quick sweep of the back area for any lingering witches or mages. Apparently satisfied they’re in the clear, they head down the corridor behind the elevators, disappearing into the darkness.

Doesn’t take a genius to figure out where they’re going—Casey all but admitted she already knew Trello murdered Phaines, which means she knows where the body is. The question is—why are they going down there at all? If it were simply to tape off the crime scene, collect the evidence, and remove the body, why all the sneaking around? Shouldn’t they be calling this in to the higher-ups at APOA?

Is it possible that Trello returned, and now she’s down in the basement waiting for them so they can concoct their cover story?

And what’s going on with Eastman? Casey intimated he was on the wrong side of this, but what does that mean, exactly?

How deep does this shit run?

We wait a few minutes until we’re sure Casey and Agent Quintana are out of range, then we follow the same path, keeping our eyes peeled for any surprises. Casey did a good job securing the area though—there’s not another witch or mage in sight.

After stashing Baz’s duffel bag in a supply closet, we head straight for the big metal door at the end of the corridor. Overhead, the busted security cameras hang at odd angles, totally useless, just like Stevie said.

Slowly, I inch open the big metal door, pausing to listen. Only silence echoes back.

Fairly certain Casey and Agent Quintana have made it into the inner chamber, I gesture for Baz to follow me inside, letting the door sweep closed behind us. On soft footsteps, we creep down to the basement in near-total darkness, sticking to the walls as best we can, not wanting to risk even one second with a flashlight.

We pass by towering bookshelves that almost rival the Breath and Blade lands, each one stuffed with old manuscripts and books. My heart breaks a little for all the lost knowledge, for the neglect, but I press on. We need to find that hidden door. We need to see what my sister’s up to. We need some damn answers, and for the first time in my life, I’m pretty sure we won’t find them in the dusty pages of these forgotten tomes.

“There,” Baz whispers, pointing at a metal desk across the room. “There’s a glow around the wall, just behind it.”

I peer over the top of my glasses, and sure enough, I spot it. A faint light illuminating the edge of a door no more than four feet high. On the right-hand side, there’s a small keypad.

“Fuck,” I say. “I don’t have the code.” I pull out my phone, debating whether to text Cass and Stevie, but Baz saves me the trouble.

“I’ve got this,” he says, grin glinting in the darkness.

“When the hell did you get the code? You were pissing yourself drunk half the night.”

“We don’t need a code.” He grabs my arm, then presses his other hand against the adjacent stone wall. “Me and rocks? We’re tight as hell.”

He whispers a quick spell, and then a sparkling purple light illuminates the darkness, enveloping us both.

“Brace yourself,” he warns, just as the portal magick takes hold. “I don’t know what’s waiting for us on the other side.”

The magick tugs on my gut, and then we’re hurtling through space-time, dumped at the base of a narrow staircase onto a packed dirt floor. Quickly and quietly, we scramble to our feet, then slip into the shadows against a side wall, taking in the scene.

The stench of death hangs heavy in the air, turning my stomach, but I force myself to stay focused.

We’re in the chamber below the storage room, one more level down. The space here is brighter, illuminated by the glow of dozens upon dozens of magick jars and bottles. On one of the taller bookcases, every jar on every shelf swirls with white, opalescent magick, mesmerizing and beautiful.

Essence, just like Stevie and Carly described.

Behind the shelves, the tell-tale bulletin board hangs ominously, every square inch tacked with tiny baggies of hair—hair that belongs to the owners of the magickal essence.