Chapter 18 The Vault #2
“Okay,” I breathed, my voice quieter now, more uncertain as I stepped further inside, my gaze drifting over the rows.
“Now this definitely feels more like a bank.” Bo chuckled as he continued to scan the walls, clearly knowing what he was looking for. I then watched as he slowed near one section, his head tilting slightly as his gaze homed in on one.
“There,” he said quietly as he stopped in front of one box in particular, my eyes flicking instinctively to the number etched into its surface.
But of course.
“Box number 666… Subtle,” I muttered, something he chose to ignore.
Instead, he lifted his hand, snapping his fingers in a sharp, precise motion.
And just like that, a flame sparked to life at his fingertips.
Yet it wasn’t the expected orange kind but a vivid, unnatural green.
It also seemed to burn without heat and was void of any smoke.
Its ominous glow cast light across the brass surface of the box as he moved his hand slowly in front of it.
The color deepened as it passed over the metal, catching on something that hadn’t been visible before.
A symbol revealed itself slowly beneath the surface, faint at first and barely visible.
As though it had been etched into the metal long before the rest of the structure had been built around it.
As the green flame hovered closer, the lines sharpened and began to take form.
Lines that were delicate and symmetrical, shaping into a palm with an eye set in its center, a design I recognized instantly.
“The Hamsa,” I said quietly, the word slipping from me before I could stop it, recognition settling in just as quickly as the unease that followed. Bo glanced at me briefly before commenting,
“Given where I met your sister,” I’m not surprised you know what it is,” he replied, and well, he wasn’t wrong there.
My mum had kept them everywhere when we were growing up.
Small charms hung by the front door, stitched into fabrics, even tucked into drawers as though their presence alone could ward off anything unwelcome.
She had always said it was a symbol of protection.
Something meant to guard against the evil eye, against jealousy, against unseen harm that lingered too long or watched too closely.
The open palm acted as a barrier, while the eye at its center ensured nothing slipped past unnoticed.
A ward and safeguard. Something meant to protect.
Which was exactly why it felt so wrong seeing it here. Because this one didn’t feel protective at all. No, instead, it felt altered somehow. As though its true purpose was being twisted into something darker.
“Stay back,” he said quietly, though there was no real urgency in it, more instinct than concern.
The green flame at the tip of his finger flickered once more before disappearing entirely.
Then he pressed his whole hand flat against the center of the symbol.
For a moment, nothing happened, his palm resting there as though he were simply testing it.
But then a faint glow began to form beneath his hand, subtle at first before strengthening into a deeper green light.
One that spread outward through the etched lines, filling every curve of the Hamsa until the symbol illuminated from within.
Something shifted beneath the surface as it did.
Then he pulled his hand away, and what remained was no longer the same.
The once delicate lines of the Hamsa had darkened, burned into the metal as though branded there.
Now an imprint of his hand was left in its place, one stretched and distorted into something unmistakably inhuman.
The fingers were longer, sharper, tapering into talon-like points that left behind a scorched, blackened mark across the surface.
And the eye…
The eye had changed completely.
Where it had once been smooth and watchful, it now seemed warped, as though something within it had opened. Something aware and far from gentle, staring back with a presence that felt distinctly, undeniably demonic.
The air tightened for a brief moment, and then there was a loud click. The sound echoed faintly through the vault as something shifted behind us, like a lock giving way.
My breath caught as I turned instinctively toward the entrance, where the open doorway still revealed the lobby beyond.
More importantly, the sight of people chatting away and seemingly unaware that something had undeniably changed.
The air between them and us shimmered faintly now, like heat rising from stone and distorting the edges of everything just enough to make it clear.
As if we weren’t part of that world anymore.
“They won’t see us,” Bo said, as if reading my thoughts. He stepped back then, turning slightly as something behind the wall shifted again. Something much heavier this time and distinctly mechanical.
I frowned, my gaze snapping back to the rows of safety deposit boxes just in time to see them move.
At first, it was subtle, almost easy to miss.
A single door clicking open, then another, and another after that.
Each one followed in sequence like a chain reaction spreading across the wall.
Brass fronts shifted and slid open, whilst others were already closing.
The sound of metal-on-metal echoed softly through the vault as the entire structure began to rearrange itself.
The boxes shifted in sections now, sliding inward and outward, whilst others rose and fell in a way that made my breath catch.
The once solid wall began to break apart before my eyes.
Lines formed where there had been none, gaps widening, the illusion of immovability dissolving into something far more fluid.
And then, the whole wall parted. Rows of boxes now framed a doorway that seemed to have been hidden within them all along. Bo stepped closer to the entrance and paused long enough to glance over his shoulder at me.
“Well, are you coming or not?”
Half of me wanted to ask what would happen if I said no, because it didn’t exactly look inviting.
Not with that dark tunnel looming beyond.
One that stretched ahead of us, the walls carved from old stone that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.
Something that would undoubtedly become a problem for this human and most definitely a health risk if he expected me to walk aimlessly in the dark.
But once again, as if reading my mind, he seemed to flip some unseen switch, and a string of lightbulbs I hadn’t even noticed hanging from the ceiling flared to life. Well, it looked like there was no excuse now, as I followed him inside.
The air felt cooler here, carrying a faint metallic tang that settled low in my chest with every breath.
The further we walked, the more the outside world seemed to fall away entirely.
The only sound was the echo of our footsteps, stretching out into the space ahead of us as though the tunnel had no end.
“How far does this go?” I asked quietly, my voice sounding smaller than intended.
“As far as it needs to,” Bo replied without looking back, his tone easy, as if this was nothing. As if walking into hidden tunnels beneath a bank was just another Saturday for him.
“Helpful,” I uttered dryly, my attention drifting to the way the walls seemed to change the further we moved.
The stone gave way to something older, with markings faintly etched into its surface, worn with time but not entirely lost. Faded symbols, demonic in nature, lined the passage in a language I had no hope of understanding.
Then it appeared at the end of the tunnel.
A door.
Its shape mirrored the grand entrance of the bank above, tall and imposing.
But where that had been polished and ornate, this was something darker.
It was made of metal, for one, and was blackened, almost scorched.
Its surface etched with the same ancient symbols that lined the walls, only here they were sharper, as though carved with intent rather than time.
The handles were shaped and curved into something that resembled talons.
The faintest glow pulsed through the grooves of the design, like something alive beneath it.
However, Bo didn’t hesitate as he reached for it, and the moment his hand met the surface, the door gave as the symbols flared brighter at the contact.
Which meant that one second, we were in the tunnel, and the next the world expanded so suddenly I gasped, not expecting it.
We had entered a sort of chamber, one that stretched out before us, its ceiling arcing high above.
Grand, aged stonework that echoed the original bones of the bank supported it.
And yet everything beyond that structure had been completely transformed into something else entirely.
Light spilled from everywhere at once, pouring down from vast chandeliers suspended high above.
Their blackened metal frames twisted into jagged, almost skeletal shapes that looked less crafted and more grown.
Hooks and barbs curled outward like claws.
Each one cradled flickering flames that burned in unnatural hues, casting restless shadows that crawled across the stone.
Between them, chains dripped from the ceiling, strung with lanterns that swayed slowly despite there being no breeze to move them. Their glass was darkened and stained, and the light within shifted constantly, bleeding from one color into another in a way that felt too alive.
It wasn’t warm, and for a human, it certainly wasn’t welcoming.