19. Chapter 19
19
Chapter 19
Bronwen
The air inside the crypt was damp and suffocating, carrying a musty scent that clung to the back of my throat, thick and unrelenting. The stone walls wept with condensation, their surfaces cool and slick under my fingertips. The faint carvings etched into the walls seemed to shift in the dim light, worn down by centuries of neglect. Every breath I took felt heavy, as if the crypt itself resisted the intrusion of life. I found myself grateful that I wasn’t alone—even if it was just August.
The floor beneath us was uneven, a patchwork of cracked stone slabs and loose gravel that shifted underfoot with every step. The faint scrape of our movements echoed briefly before being swallowed by the oppressive silence. A chill hung in the air, carrying the metallic tang of damp stone and the faint, sour scent of decay. But it was the weight of the place—a tangible pressure that seemed to sink into my chest—that truly set my nerves on edge.
I paused, straining my ears. The faint drip of water echoed in the distance, each droplet striking like the tick of an unseen clock. Beneath the sound of August’s boots scuffing the gravel and his magic tapping, there it was again—the humming. Low and insistent, it resonated in the air, a vibration that seemed to seep into my bones, tugging at the edges of my awareness.
“Do you hear that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
August stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkness. “I hear nothing but your heartbeat, Winnie.”
I ignored his comment and took another step forward, my pulse quickening as the humming grew louder. I closed my eyes, letting the sound guide me as I moved deeper into the crypt.
The path sloped downward, the walls narrowing until we emerged into a small chamber. The air here was colder, the darkness heavier. At the center of the room stood a pedestal, its surface cracked and weathered, as though it had been forgotten for centuries. And there, placed neatly on the top of the pedestal, was a small box.
The humming intensified as I made my way to it, the sound now a steady vibration that seemed to sync with the rhythm of my own heartbeat. The box was unassuming—made of dark wood, its edges reinforced with tarnished metal bands.
“Careful,” August said from behind me, his tone sharper than usual. “Whatever it is, it’s bound to be cursed.”
I shot him a look over my shoulder to see a smile gleaming on his face but didn’t hesitate as I reached for the box. The wood was cold beneath my fingers, the metal bands biting into my palm as I lifted it. The humming seemed to quiet the moment I held it, as if the box itself had been the source all along .
With a deep breath, I pried the lid open.
Inside, nestled within a layer of decayed velvet, was a leather journal. The cover was worn and cracked, its once-rich brown color faded to a dull gray. Faint symbols were etched into the leather, their meanings lost to time. I hesitated for a moment before picking it up, the pages crinkling softly under my touch. The weight of it felt strange, heavier than the worn leather and brittle paper should account for, as though the secrets inside had a presence of their own.
My pulse raced as I flipped open the journal, its fragile pages filled with spidery handwriting that I couldn’t quite decipher in the dim light. Each word looked like it had been scrawled in haste, yet the precision of the symbols hinted at a careful hand. What was in these pages? And why did it feel like it had been waiting for me?
“What does it say?” August asked, his voice close to my ear now.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, turning the pages carefully. My fingertips brushed over the ink, which seemed to shimmer faintly, though I wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the faint light. “But whatever it is, it’s important. I can feel it.”
August stepped closer, his presence unnervingly close. “Important,” he repeated, his voice thoughtful but tinged with something else—something I couldn’t place. Distrust bubbled up in my chest. Why did he care so much about this journal? Had he known it was here all along? Was he leading me into this for his own gain?
“Why don’t I take it and see what I can figure out about the language?” he asked, his hand extending toward the journal. His tone was calm, almost too calm, as if he were trying to disarm me .
I quickly snatched it away, pressing it tightly against my chest. “I asked you to help me,” I said, my voice sharp, “but why do I feel like you wanted to find this just as much as I did?”
His eyes narrowed, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. The reaction was brief, his expression quickly morphing back into that maddening, easy smile. “I’m just trying to help, Winnie. It’s written in the old tongue. Do you know how to read it?”
I didn’t.
His smile widened as though he’d guessed my answer. “I could translate it for you, but it might take some time. It would be much easier for me to take it home and work on it. Unless, of course, you’d rather spend even more time with me?”
No. I couldn’t handle more time with August.
“Here,” I said, shoving it into his chest before moving around him to leave this suffocating place. The cool air from the crypt’s entrance beckoned me like a promise of relief.
Behind me, August let out a low chuckle, his amusement echoing softly in the confined space. His footsteps followed close, the steady rhythm a reminder that I wouldn’t be rid of him so easily.
As I stepped outside, the bright daylight struck my eyes like a blinding glare. I squinted against the sudden brightness, my vision struggling to adjust after the oppressive darkness of the crypt. August groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squinted his eyes shut against the daylight.
“I thought sunlight didn’t bother you,” I said, my voice laced with curiosity.
“Sunlight doesn’t set me aflame like most, but it’s still a nuisance. It gives me raging headaches and weakens my senses. ”
That little revelation sparked a fresh wave of curiosity. I couldn’t resist pressing further. “Why can you come out during the day while others can’t? And don’t say it’s because you’re special, because you are not.”
He studied me intently as if he were calculating just how much he should reveal. The silence stretched between us, heavy and taut. I half-expected him to deflect with one of his cryptic, infuriating remarks—something designed to confuse me or divert the conversation entirely.
But instead, he stayed silent, which only annoyed me more.
“Oh, now you choose not to speak?” I snapped, folding my arms tightly against my chest.
His eyes softened, the sharpness in his gaze dulling, but he still offered no explanation.
Frustration burned under my skin as I turned and walked out of the cemetery, the crunch of dead leaves and loose gravel marking my steps. Even though he stayed silent, his footsteps followed close behind, unrelenting in their steady rhythm. I didn’t stop until I was standing on the beach once again, the sea air doing little to cool the heat of my growing irritation.
August’s silence infuriated me more than his usual infuriating remarks ever had.
“I’m ready to go home,” I said sharply, spinning to face him just as he tucked the journal into the pocket of his jacket.
That journal . . . I had done all the work to find it. I was the one who wanted it. And yet, there it was, in his possession, as if he had any right to claim it. He couldn’t even answer one question that I had, and yet he expected me to trust that he would translate it for me?
“Come here,” he said, stretching his arms out as if ready to scoop up a helpless child .
My anger boiled over. “Oh no. That is not happening again,” I snapped, taking a firm step back.
“What do you suggest then?” he asked, tilting his head, his voice edged with amusement.
I stepped forward, narrowing the gap between us until I was close enough to feel the faint hum of his magic. “Payback,” I muttered.
Before he could respond, I gripped his arm, pulling the magic from him in a single, fluid motion. His body stiffened, a low sound of protest escaping him before he fell motionless. The magic coursed through me, sharp and electric, setting every nerve alight. It bent to my will, responding to my command as the world around me blurred and shifted.
When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the comfort of my small room, the journal clutched tightly in my hands.
Without August.
A faint smile tugged at my lips. He could bring himself back from Bodaira.