Chapter 10
ALLISON
T he thing wearing Dreschner's face smiles with too many teeth.
The spirits' voices layer through Dreschner's consciousness, and I realize they're not malevolent—they're confused.
Centuries of isolation have warped their purpose.
They were meant to protect, but Dreschner's selfish summoning offered them only hunger and revenge.
“What do you actually want?” I ask, addressing the entities directly rather than their unwilling host.
"We are legion. Warriors who refused the final crossing, shamans who bound themselves to sacred trusts, guardians who have waited centuries for purpose." The mask has fused to Dreschner's skin, gold flowing like liquid across his features. "This one called us. This one offered himself willingly."
"Let him go," I demand.
"Why? He sought power over life and death. We have granted his wish—eternal service as our vessel."
Dreschner's body moves with inhuman grace, rising from the ritual circle without apparent effort.
When his feet touch the stone floor, frost spreads outward in perfect geometric patterns.
The candles around the chamber flare bright enough to throw dancing shadows that look like warriors preparing for battle.
"You cannot stop what has already begun," the possessed figure continues. "The mask has tasted the life force of hundreds tonight. We have strength enough to manifest in your world permanently."
Nolan pulls out a small pouch of what looks like tobacco and ash. "You're wrong about one thing. I'm not just a keeper—I'm a guardian. My grandmother taught me the old ways."
" Seminole, " the spirits hiss through Dreschner's mouth . "Calusa blood runs thin in you, child of two worlds."
"Maybe," Nolan agrees, opening the pouch. "But thin blood can still remember what needs to be done."
He begins to chant in a language I've never heard him speak, his voice taking on harmonics that seem to resonate with the stone walls themselves. The tobacco and ash form patterns in the air as he scatters them, creating barriers that glow faintly in the candlelight.
The possessed Dreschner snarls and lunges forward, but stops abruptly when he hits the spiritual boundary Nolan has created. Where his skin touches the glowing ash, steam rises and he jerks back with a sound like metal striking stone.
" Impostor, " the spirits rage. " You have no right to the ancient protections. "
"I have the right of blood and training," Nolan replies calmly, continuing his chant. "And I have something you've forgotten in your centuries of hunger—I remember why the guardians were bound in the first place."
He pulls out a second pouch, this one containing what looks like crushed shells and dried seaweed. "To protect the people. To serve the community. To stand between the living and the things that refuse to rest."
The shells form a second circle, overlapping the first, and the temperature in the chamber begins to rise. The frost on the walls starts melting, sending rivulets of water across the Calusa symbols Dreschner carved into the stone.
"You were never meant to rule," Nolan continues, his voice gaining power with each word. "You were meant to guard. But you've been alone so long, you've forgotten the difference between protection and predation."
The thing wearing Dreschner's face writhes, and for a moment, I see multiple figures superimposed over his body—painted warriors, elderly shamans, faces that belonged to a civilization that died before my ancestors ever saw the New World.
" We hunger, " they say in unison. " We thirst. The living world calls to us. "
"Then answer properly," Nolan says. He gestures to me. "Through chosen guardians. Through willing vessels who understand the responsibility."
I feel the weight of his words, the invitation implicit in his ritual. I can sense the spirits' attention turning to me, measuring my resolve, testing my willingness to stand between the worlds of the living and the dead.
"What do you need me to do?" I ask.
"Accept the trust," Nolan replies. "Become what your bloodline was meant to be."
The possessed Dreschner laughs, a sound like breaking waves. "She has no training. No understanding. She will be consumed as this one was."
"No," I say firmly. "Because I'm not alone."
I step forward, crossing Nolan's protective circles, and place my hand on the mask that has become part of Dreschner's face. The gold is burning cold, but I don't pull back.
"I accept the guardianship," I say clearly. "I accept the responsibility. But I also accept the partnership."
The connection hits me like lightning, but this time I'm ready for it. Instead of being overwhelmed by the spirits' hunger, I feel Nolan's strength flowing through the ritual bonds he's created, anchoring me, keeping me grounded in my own identity whilst I negotiate with the ancient dead.
"You offer willing service?" The lead spirit's voice is different now, older, carrying the weight of genuine authority rather than desperate hunger.
"I offer partnership," I correct. "Service to a purpose we both understand. Protection of the innocent. Guardianship of sacred trusts. But on equal terms."
"And when you die? When your mortal flesh fails? Who will carry on?"
I look at Nolan, seeing in his eyes the same understanding that's growing in my own heart. "The children we train. The traditions we preserve. The communities we serve."
The spirits are quiet for a long moment, and I can feel them consulting with each other, weighing my offer against centuries of isolation and hunger. Finally, the eldest voice speaks again.
"We accept. But the vessel that called us—he sought power for selfish ends. His fate is sealed."
"Dreschner broke laws in both your world and mine," I agree. "Justice will be done."
The mask begins to separate from Dreschner's face, the gold flowing like liquid back into its original form. As it pulls away, Dreschner collapses, unconscious but breathing, the spiritual presence that rode him departing like smoke in the wind.
Nolan completes his chant, and the glowing circles fade. The chamber returns to normal temperature, the supernatural tension draining away like water finding its level.
I hold the mask, feeling its weight—not just physical, but spiritual. I can sense the warriors still bound within it, but their hunger is replaced by purpose, their rage transformed into protective vigilance.
"So what happens now?" I ask.
Nolan smiles, the expression mixing relief with something deeper—a recognition of shared destiny. "Now we learn how to be guardians together. The mask will need proper care, proper respect. And there are other artifacts, other responsibilities."
"Together?"
"If you'll have me. Guardian partnerships are... traditional."
I look down at the mask in my hands, then at the unconscious form of Victor Dreschner, then at the man who just helped me bridge two worlds. The weight of new responsibility settles on my shoulders, but it doesn't feel heavy. It feels like coming home.
"Together," I agree, and seal our partnership with a kiss that tastes of salt air and ancient promises.
NOLAN
Saltmoor never lets you forget where you are. The place breathes history. Tonight that breath tastes like salt and iron.
Allison shakes her head. “Was he always crazy?”
“Not certifiable like tonight, but he’s been on my radar for years. He was once a dealer with connections to every black market collector on the eastern seaboard. Dreschner wasn't just a dealer—he was a respected academic who genuinely believed in the spiritual power of indigenous artifacts.”
I shake my head before continuing, “When Ryan exposed his illegal trafficking, Dreschner lost more than his license.
He lost his identity as a scholar and his access to the objects he'd devoted his life to studying.
The exposure revealed he'd been funding his research through black market sales, convincing himself he was preserving artifacts that would otherwise be lost. Ryan's intervention destroyed not just his career but his entire worldview.
That's when Dreschner's academic interest in Calusa spirituality twisted into obsession—if he couldn't study these artifacts legally, he'd prove his worth by mastering their power.”
Allison mutters, “A vendetta.”
“Exactly. He doesn’t care about history. He cares about revenge… and money.”
“Is the mask that valuable?”
“Both because of the rarity of Calusa artifacts, but made more so by the use of gold. It wasn’t something they used, so finding it in the wreck of a Spanish treasure ship, where it was listed on the manifest, makes it priceless.”
“Define priceless.”
“Hard to say, but I could see it going for fifty million or more.”
“Bloody hell.”
I chuckle, though the sound is tight. “The thing is that Ryan wants to put it in a traveling exhibition, sort of like they did with King Tut.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Excuse me? What could you possibly have against King Tut?”
“It’s not Tut’s body I object to. It’s Dreschner’s.
“Dreschner is finished…”
“Well, someone should have told him.”
“Why?” I ask,
Allison raises her arm and points to the place Dreschner had lain only a few moments before. “Because his body and whatever is left of his mind is gone.”
I spin around and look where she’s pointing. Dreschner has vanished. We move, the house drawing its shadows close around us as though it means to keep its secrets.