Chapter 8
The ley line snapped into place beneath us, thrumming with energy as it pulled us forward.
Relief filled me as the world around us blurred, transforming into streaks of greens, blues, and whites flashing by in quick bursts.
Cold air bit at my cheeks, sharp enough to sting, even through the ley line.
My heart pounded in rhythm with the magic humming beneath my hands, nerves and determination twisting together inside my stomach.
Beside me, Iris looked disturbingly happy.
We were heading toward one of the most depressing supernatural prisons on the continent, and my Dark witch friend looked like she was on her way to an amusement park.
Her black hair whipped wildly around her face as she leaned slightly into the current of magic. “I should do this every day,” she said over the rushing wind. “I really do love ley lines.”
“Normal witches enjoy brunch,” I shouted back.
“Brunch is overrated.”
“That sentence somehow made me uncomfortable.”
“Ancient magical transportation is beautiful.”
“Most people don’t use the word beautiful when describing violent magical launching systems.”
“Weak people.”
I laughed. On another day I would have appreciated that Iris looked happier than I’d seen her in weeks. But my brain wouldn’t let go.
Addison. Allison. Darian.
The images kept looping.
Addison standing on my porch. The measured look in her eyes. The accusation. The way Darian had started shifting the next day.
Maybe Marcus was right. Maybe this had nothing to do with Addison. Maybe Darian being some impossible supernatural hybrid had finally decided to become everyone’s problem.
But deep down? I didn’t believe it. Not fully. Not yet.
The ley line curved sharply.
Far ahead, through darkness and drifting mist, Grimway Citadel slowly emerged.
There it was.
Dark stone rose against the sky like something pulled directly from a nightmare. Tall watchtowers loomed over the fortress, glowing runes burning faintly along ancient stone walls. Massive iron gates sat at the front like silent warnings.
The prison looked exactly the same as I remembered: cold, unwelcoming, oppressive, and butt ugly.
The last time I’d come here was to rescue my husband, who’d been wrongly accused. We broke in and broke out.
Now? We were coming in through the front doors.
I wasn’t sure that was smarter. But if I wanted answers, proof about Addison’s involvement, I needed to speak to the guards or the wardens.
“There it is,” I said quietly.
Iris stared at the fortress. “Still beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” I nearly choked.
“Architecturally.”
“It looks like depression built a castle.”
“Strong lines,” she said thoughtfully. “I’d live here.”
I snorted. “No shit.” And it didn’t surprise me.
I pulled on the ley line, and it slowed. Cold air grew sharper. The massive front gates of Grimway Citadel grew larger and larger until they filled nearly my entire vision.
No sewer entrance this time. We were going through the front door.
The thought made my pulse rise because sneaking into a magical prison felt weirdly straightforward and exciting. Walking through the front doors? Not so much.
The ley line carried us lower. Closer. The prison loomed over us now. Stone, iron, and magic, it had been built to hold dangerous things.
Allison had lived here. Gotten killed here. And somehow… somewhere inside those walls… sat the reason my son was sick.
The ley line finally slowed. Magic shifted beneath my feet.
I released it carefully just as both Iris and I stepped down onto cold stone near the massive front entrance. Wind cut through my jacket. The prison felt quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel watched.
“This place still gives me nightmares,” I admitted.
“I love it,” said my Dark witch friend.
I looked at her. “You are strange.”
Iris beamed. “I know. It’s why you keep me around.”
The icy dampness seeped into my skin, the uneven ground making every step feel precarious. My senses were on high alert, every sound amplified along with the wind, the faint hum of distant machinery, and the steady rhythm of our breathing.
I adjusted my bag higher on my shoulder. Nervous energy crawled under my skin. “All right then. Here we go.”
The massive iron gates stood nearly twenty feet high, black metal worked with ancient symbols that glowed faintly beneath layers of frost. Thick stone walls stretched outward on both sides, disappearing into the mist. Watchtowers loomed overhead like silent predators keeping watch over the prison below.
Glowing ward runes pulsed slowly through the stone itself, old magic woven so deeply into the structure that the entire fortress felt alive.
Watching. Waiting. Judging.
Wind with the scent of sulfur and feces swept across the prison grounds hard enough to bite through my jacket as Iris and I moved toward the entrance. Our boots crunched over frozen gravel, every step sounding far too loud in the heavy silence.
No screaming inmates or dramatic prison noises. Because places like Grimway didn’t need noise to feel dangerous. They just existed, like depression.
“I still hate this place,” I muttered.
“Strong atmosphere,” Iris said beside me.
“See? That. That thing you do. That deeply unsettling appreciation for creepy environments.”
Iris shrugged. “What can I say? It’s in my blood.”
“Just remember that the prison wards block everything. Magic, ley lines, all of it.”
My Dark witch nodded. “I remember.”
“Okay.” I knew the prison would suppress our magic. It was risky coming back here. But for my kid, it was worth it.
The closer we got, the more oppressive the fortress felt. Massive iron lanterns burned along the walls with green mage fire, shadows shifting across stone darkened by decades of weather and magic.
Two figures stepped out from beside the gates.
Large. Very large.
Oh good.
Supernatural refrigerators with anger issues.
The first gave off a mixed scent of wet dog and bear aura. Werebear. Easily six-foot-seven, shoulders broad enough to block traffic, thick beard streaked with gray, and arms folded over a chest built like someone had stacked stone blocks together and taught them authority.
The second guard had my witchy instincts calling out werewolf. He was tall with hard eyes, and a scar cutting through one eyebrow. His dark uniform was pulled tightly over muscle that suggested violence as a hobby.
Both carried iron weapons strapped to their sides that gave off magical vibes. Neither looked friendly.
“Chief Marcus called ahead,” said the werewolf guard. “Said you were coming.”
“That’s right,” I told him.
The werewolf narrowed his eyes at me and Iris. “We know who you are.”
Fantastic.
“And that’s good, right?” I asked as I flashed him a smile.
Neither guard smiled.
“Follow us,” said the werebear.
“This looks promising,” I mumbled to Iris. “Nothing concerning about that.”
“This is great,” whispered Iris, practically skipping.
The iron gates groaned loudly as ancient magic shifted through them. The sound echoed across frozen stone. Somewhere deep inside Grimway Citadel, something screamed.
I stopped walking. “That sounded strangely human.”
“Probably,” said the werebear.
I stared.
He kept walking.
I looked at Iris. She looked delighted.
Cauldron help me.
I kept going. The hum of magic vibrated in the air, thick and oppressive, pressing against my senses like a heavy blanket.
The air felt heavier the farther we moved into the fortress, the oppressive hum of the wards settling into the stone itself like Grimway Citadel was breathing around us.
Ancient magic pulsed through the walls in slow waves, old and heavy and powerful enough that even my Nexari magic seemed quieter here—not that I could draw it but still.
Our boots echoed through the corridor while cold air drifted through the stone passageways. The place smelled faintly of damp rock, old wards, and something metallic buried underneath it all. Blood maybe.
“Chief Marcus asked us to bring you directly there,” said the werewolf guard, his voice rough like he didn’t use it often. He was more of a silent, beat-your-face-in type.
I looked him over as I walked. “There? Where’s there?”
“The wereape Allison’s holding section,” he answered.
“Right.” I shared a look with Iris, who was holding on to her bag. I knew Doris was in there, but I suspected so were a few curse bags and other Dark magic devices. They’d be useless here, though.
The werebear glanced back once. “Chief Marcus made calls. We follow orders.”
I cocked a brow. “Of course.” That explained some of it. Marcus had influence. Respect. Favors. But Grimway respected approximately no one.
Cold air curled through the corridor as we moved deeper. The prison changed the farther we walked. The front section felt official, controlled, structured. The deeper levels? Different, older, and darker.
Heavy iron doors lined stone hallways while glowing ward runes burned faintly overhead. Ancient magic crawled through the walls themselves.
Then I heard it.
A sound. Low and broken, like someone crying.
Human or mostly human.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Containment wing,” said the werebear simply.
Another sound drifted toward us. Metal hitting stone. Someone yelling. Another cry.
Cold slowly crawled higher up my spine. “I hate this place.”
“It’s growing on me,” said Iris.
I shot her a look. “I’m genuinely concerned about your standards.”
Iris smiled. “Stone architecture comforts me.”
“Again. Therapy.”
We turned another corner. More iron. More wards. More silence. The deeper we moved, the quieter my own magic felt. Because Grimway didn’t just imprison bodies. It controlled magic, suppressed it, bent it.
And suddenly, completely unhelpfully, my brain supplied Allison. Locked down here. Living here. Sleeping here. Breathing this air for weeks and months until she died.
My gut tightened. I’d hated her with every cell in my body. Hated her for what she tried to do. But now, walking along these hallways and smelling, feeling, what it’s like to be here. I felt sorry for her.
“Here,” said the werewolf.
We stopped.