Chapter Seventeen
“The grout work looks really good.”
Damon stood in the west wing’s main hall, admiring Malcolm’s crew’s handiwork.
Two weeks had passed since their visitors had left, and the transformation was startling.
Apparently, when it came to building, clearing out the old stones and mess, and then laying in the prep work took the longest time.
But when the building work actually started, Damon had seen improvements every single day.
Fresh mortar sealed the stones, and new timber beams reinforced the equally new ceiling, and there was even glass in actual window frames, letting in the afternoon sun and warming the repaired flagstone floors.
Malcolm grinned, his cast propped on a stool. “Another two weeks for the finishing touches - baseboards, final paint, and plumbing fixtures - then you’ll have a proper livable space.”
“You’ve done amazing work.” Redford joined them, brushing stone dust from his shirt. He’d spent the morning strengthening the wing’s foundations, work invisible to the human crew but vital for long-term stability.
“Aye, well.” Malcolm nodded. “It helps when the owners are this invested. I’ve never seen two people more committed to a restoration.”
Damon could feel Redford’s quiet satisfaction.
His mate had changed over the past weeks - the perpetual tension in his shoulders had eased, the dark circles under his eyes fading.
Wilson still called occasionally, but Redford would just say something along the lines of “you’re doing great, Wilson, you’ve got this.
I have absolute faith in you,” before hanging up and ignoring any follow-up calls.
He’d even mentioned submitting his resignation letter in the next month or so, although that might have been the sex talking. Horny Redford would agree to damn near anything to stay in bed with Damon.
“We’ll let you finish up,” Damon said, pushing the sexy thoughts out of his mind. “We’ll be working on the east tower again for another few hours.”
“Just be careful.” Malcolm adjusted his crutches. “That structure’s still dodgy, and I don’t want to come up in the morning and find you guys buried under a pile of stone. My missus would have my hide if I tried lifting them off you.”
“That’s why you have a crew to do the lifting for you,” Damon chuckled.
The east tower was still off limits to Malcolm and his crew, so Malcolm had no idea how much progress had actually been made.
Working together, and occasionally with Simon during his weekly visits, Damon and Redford had reinforced the foundation with gargoyle magic, supplemented Beatrice’s ancient wards, and stabilized the worst of the cracks.
The tower wasn’t in danger of collapsing anymore, but it was easier for Malcolm to believe it was still dangerous until more had been done.
They left the west wing as the crew packed up for the day.
Duncan waved from his mail van. He’d found excuses to visit at least three times a week so he could spread the news about the restoration to the rest of the village.
More scones had arrived from the pub yesterday along with a note saying how lovely it was to see the old castle coming back to life, and it was lovely – so were the scones.
Back at the cottage, Damon heated leftover stew while Redford checked his phone.
“Kolton says they’ll visit this weekend.” Redford looked up and smiled. “Warner’s been fussy. Simon thinks he misses your humming.”
“My humming?” Damon snorted as he ladled stew into bowls. “You’re the magic hummer between the two of us, not me.”
“Haven’t you noticed? You hum when you hold him, just the same as I do. I always figured it was the hellhound version of gargoyle resonance.” Redford accepted his bowl with a smile, their fingers brushing. “He settles immediately with you as well.”
“Kids always liked the hounds in the Underworld.” Damon sat across from him. “We’d let them climb all over us sometimes.”
“There were children in the Underworld?”
“Not spirit ones.” Damon laughed at the look on Redford’s face.
“Evil spirits don’t reproduce once they’re dead, but there were always some crazy little demon babies who would catch a hellhound napping and want to climb all over us.
While most people think of fire and brimstone when they imagine the Underworld, for hellhounds and the demons it’s just home.
Admittedly, it was a home with a red sky and no sun, and I wouldn’t recommend going anywhere near the pits for a barbecue, but it was normal to us. ”
Redford’s dark eyes held his. “But you prefer Earth, don’t you?”
“I prefer it here.” Damon tapped his chest, then Redford’s. “With you.”
They ate in comfortable silence. JC had messaged earlier through the pack link, checking on the documents – he was making inquiries about a paranormal historian who specialized in sanctuary networks.
The Highland Pack alpha, Moira Campbell, had visited the week before, just to see how things were coming along. Everything was quietly moving forward.
After dinner, they walked to the east tower. Night had fallen, and the tower loomed against the sky.
“Ready?” Redford asked.
Damon nodded. They’d been methodically working through each floor, checking Simon’s ward reinforcements and documenting any additional hidden spaces. Their plan for the evening was to tackle the very bottom of the undercroft where the foundations met the bedrock.
The tower door creaked open. Damon created glowing orbs that floated ahead, illuminating the spiral staircase. They descended past the ground floor, down to the undercroft entrance.
“I hate that this door is so far down,” Redford muttered, ducking under a low beam. “Gargoyles roost on towers for a reason.”
“This would’ve all been part of the sanctuary’s original plan, I imagine.” Damon reached the heavy oak door that was now heavily warded. “The hardest place to reach means the safest place for refugees.”
The main undercroft was circular, maybe thirty feet across, with a vaulted ceiling and stone pillars supporting the weight above. Damon inhaled, making sure no one had been snooping, but all he could smell was earth and stone.
“I’m almost certain there’s another magical signature here.
” Redford moved deeper into the space, one hand trailing along the wall.
His gargoyle senses read stone better than any instrument.
“I thought it might have been Simon’s originally, and didn’t think much of it, but he’s not here, and I’d swear the feeling is getting stronger. ”
“Is it dangerous?” Damon was on instant alert, hovering by his mate’s side.
“No, nothing like that. It could be more protective wards, but it has a different feel than Beatrice’s. Can you feel it?”
Reaching out, Damon touched the nearest stone.
His hellhound seemed more curious than anything else.
It took him a moment – Damon didn’t have the same affinity to stone that Redford did, but after a moment, he let out a low whistle.
“I get what you mean. It’s old, whatever it is, but…
” he trailed off because what he was thinking didn’t seem possible.
“Were you going to use the word ‘aware’ in your next sentence? Because if you were, then that’s what I’m thinking too. It’s like something is watching us.”
They exchanged glances. Damon felt Redford’s curiosity mixed with caution, but yep, he and Redford was on the same page.
“Should we…?”
“Find it? Yes.” Redford’s eyes gleamed. “Definitely yes.”
They circled the undercroft, tracing the strange magical signature. Now that they were aware of it, Damon could tell that unlike the other wards, this one had a rhythm to it, almost like a heartbeat.
“Here.” Redford stopped at the north wall. “It’s coming from behind this stone.”
Damon pressed his palm flat against the granite, searching for any hidden mechanism. It took a few moments, but then he found it - a tiny gap, barely visible, that was covered in a Beatrice ward.
“I think this is one of those cases mentioned in that letter,” Damon said. “If we both press here…”
Redford’s palm rested beside his, and Damon felt his mate’s gargoyle becoming attuned to the vibrations of the one tiny spot.
Within seconds, the harsh sound of stone grinding against stone filled the undercroft as a section of the wall swung inward.
The hidden chamber beyond stole Damon’s breath, and Redford audibly gasped.
Massive crystalline structures had been embedded directly into the bedrock.
Each crystal stood taller than Damon, their faceted surfaces catching the dim light from Damon’s orbs and turning it into rainbows that colored the walls in patterns.
Runes covered every inch of what could be seen.
But the most startling aspect was that the crystals were pulsing with a soft light… as if the crystals were sleeping.
“By the stones,” Redford breathed. “What is this?”
Damon moved closer. The magical signature was overwhelming to the point where it was saturating the air. It was clearly old magic – that would be expected – but what Damon didn’t expect to see was the complex layers of that magic, as if woven from multiple traditions.
“I kinda feel like we need a user manual for this thing.” Redford ran his hand through his hair. “What does this even do?”
Along the far wall, stone shelves held more documents. They were older than the sanctuary records, and not as well preserved. The vellum was brittle, and the ink had faded considerably. Damon carefully lifted one, reading and mentally translating the archaic script.
“It’s instructions.” His voice echoed off the crystal, even though Damon deliberately kept his tone low. “If what this record says is true, this is the instruction manual for creating and maintaining the...heart of the sanctuary?”
“Heart?”