Chapter 23 #2
I grab my jacket and shrug it on. “Yeah, we are. Sebastian has probably harnessed Mica’s instinct into a target by now.”
Wylder leads the way outside to where Orion, Izzy, Clara, Reid, and Rowan are waiting. “It won’t be hard for him to piggyback the scrying spell to get a location. The only question is whether the forge will still be there.”
The power of the Hallowind standing stones builds with Sebastian’s intention and targets Mica’s scrying spell. The nine of us stand with our hands linked as the runes on the stones glow pale blue and the portal opens.
Traveling through a standing stone portal is a bit like the first moments of a carnival ride. My body turns into a weightless mist and then I’m sucked into the swirl of a magical vortex.
My stomach lurches like I’m on that centrifugal force carnival ride that sucks you backward against the walls, and pressure builds in my ears.
Wind whips around us, carrying the scents of the surrounding forest: pine, ozone, and the power of my ancestors, ancient and wild.
The ground falls away, and then suddenly, the chaos is gone, and our bodies reform. My feet plant on solid ground and I stumble to the side, colliding into Wylder, who holds me upright until the world stops spinning.
I wait until my mind stops sloshing inside my head.
There is nothing but stillness for a long beat, and then I gather myself enough to straighten and look out at the red rock and endless blue sky beyond.
Hot air rolls through our group, pulling my hair away from my face. “So… somewhere in the Southwest?”
Wylder ensures that I’m steady on my feet and then pulls off his jacket. "Arizona? Maybe New Mexico?"
"Does it matter?" Rowan twirls a dagger, restless energy incarnate. "We're not here for the scenery."
No, that’s true. I tie the arms of my jacket around my waist and assess our surroundings. “Everyone stays close. No wandering off, and no one-man heroics."
Asher snorts. "You are literally describing yourself.”
Rude. “Fine. Do as I say, not as I do.”
Orion laughs. Sebastian grins. The girls all snicker.
I flip them all my middle finger and get moving.
We arrived in the middle of a packed-earth street, worn smooth by wagon wheels and hooves. The ground is cracked, and fine red sand drifts over our feet in the breeze.
Buildings sag on either side of us, their wooden facades weathered to the color of old bones. Window frames gape empty. A sign dangles from rusted chains, too faded to read.
“I’ve never been to an actual ghost town," Rowan murmurs, fingers twitching toward the daggers at her belt.
Asher grins. “You can buy them. Poppy and I went through a phase when we dreamed of buying a town and filling it with all our friends.”
I laugh. “Yeah, we started by looking at small villages in Italy and Spain and ended up shifting our sights lower and lower until we got to ghost towns.”
“Which we still couldn’t afford.” Asher is looking at me when his face lights up, and I know exactly what’s coming out of his mouth next. “Poppy!!! You’re rich now. We could totally buy a Scottish castle and the village around it.”
I laugh. “Hallowind money compounds through the generations for Hallowind interests. My sisters and I are meant to ensure the house and our place as Emberwood Elites is secure for generations to come.”
Asher sighs. “So, no castle?”
“Not anytime soon, no, but I’ll take you to one.”
“Can we spend a week at one of those D&D cosplay castles? I could be a bard and get a lute. You can be a princess… nah, not a princess. You could be a dragon!”
I laugh. “Sure, that sounds fun, but for now, let’s focus on why we’re here.”
I realize then that everyone is staring at us, blinking. “What?”
Izzy shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s just fascinating to listen to the two of you and to follow your mind mayhem.”
I wave away her comment and laugh. “It’s best not to try. Come on. We’ve got a mythical forge to find, weapons to hammer out, and a demon to vanquish back to hell.”
Orion's already shifted into predator mode, his shoulders rolling forward, ready to pounce, his keen cat-slit eyes tracking every shadow. “There are no scents of anything recent. This town is truly abandoned. Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
Mica presses her hand against her chest and nods. “Oh, yeah. It’s here. My blood is vibrating in my veins.”
And that’s good enough for me. “All right, then let’s find ourselves the Cinderheart Crucible.”
“Way ahead of you, girlfriend.” Mica points to a building at the far end of the street. Smoke rises from a chimney—a ribbon of thin gray, threading into a cloudless sky. “That’s where we need to be.”
We move as one down the echo of what would’ve been this town’s Main Street. Sand and rocks crunch under our feet. A tumbleweed blows across our path and catches against a collapsed porch railing off to the side.
Straight ahead, the blacksmith's shop hunches between a saloon with a caved-in roof and something that might've been a general store. It's smaller than I expected—just a leaning wooden structure with a horseshoe nailed above the door and a chimney far too large for the building's size.
Up close, the smoke smells wrong.
It’s not quite wood smoke, but it’s not quite coal either.
“The windows are blacked out." Sebastian leans close to peer through the glass, shifting position to see inside with no luck. Soot coats the panes so thick they might as well be painted.
I edge toward the door, my hand outstretched—
And hit an invisible wall.
"What the—" I press my palms against the barrier and push harder. I feel like I’m doing a bad mime impression, but the air refuses to yield. It remains as solid as stone despite looking like empty space.
"Is it a warding?" Wylder tries next, then Rowan, then Orion. Same result.
"Let me try." Mica steps forward and raises her palms, crossing the line of the barrier without resistance. She opens the door and steps inside, her boots echoing on the wide-plank floorboards as she disappears into the shadows.
I swallow, trying to see inside. “Mica? Don’t go in alone.”
“I’m fine, Poppy. More than fine, actually. Nothing I’ve done has ever felt so right.”
“Or you’re being seduced by magic and lured to your doom.” I peg Asher with a look, and he shrugs. “What? We were all thinking it.”
Maybe I was thinking it, but I would’ve never said it out loud.
Orion gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Reid and I are going to shift and do a quick check of the town.”
“Sounds good. Stay together and keep your ears perked in case we need you.”
“Will do.”
The two of them strike off, and the rest of us crowd into the doorway. If I focus on the interior and let my eyes adjust, I can see inside.
The space is bigger than it should be—hammers and tongs hang on walls that stretch back farther than the building's exterior should allow. A massive anvil sits squat in the center, its surface scorched dark with use and age.
Mica moves through the workshop with reverence. She trails a caressing touch along the edge of a worktable, examines the bellows, traces the brickwork of the forge itself.
And when she reaches the anvil, she stops.
For a long moment, she just stares at it…
Then she pulls a rag from her pocket and wipes soot from the anvil's face. She works at it for a moment, and I feel the surge of her metal affinity taking hold in the air. When she’s done, the soot and scorch is gone, and the metal underneath gleams like captured starlight.
Then she straightens the tongs. Checks each hammer head, testing the weight and balance with the focus of someone who understands what good craftsmanship means.
“Beautiful,” she whispers, moving over to the forge itself.
With a few careful motions, she cleans out the old ash, checks a few pipe connections, then stirs the glowing coal in the basin until it’s giving off a warm orange glow.
“The ancient energy coming off this forge is humbling. I can’t imagine how it must feel to be at one with a forge like this. What an honor.”
“Well, hopefully it’s an honor you’ll soon be allotted,” Sebastian says. “Do you think you’ll be able to work the forge to create the weapons we need to vanquish Tharuzel?”
Before she can answer, movement catches my attention. From the darkest corner, a gray animal darts across the room and leaps onto the worktable beside her.
“Mica, watch out! There's a cat!”
And yeah, maybe it’s just a cat, or maybe it’s a demon cat like S’Nark, or something like the ebony wolf sent here by Tharuzel to take us down.
Mica turns, startled, then her expression softens. "Oh. Hey there, puss. Sorry if I’m intruding. We’ve been searching for the Cinderheart Crucible, and it’s even more amazing than I dreamed.”
The cat is massive—a smoke-gray Persian with fur dusted in ash and eyes the color of old amber. His tail, singed with a bald patch at the tip, lashes once.
Mica reaches out. "Where did you come from, kitty?"
The cat pulls back, ears flattening. "I am not a kitty." His voice rolls through the forge, gravelly and ancient. "I am Brimstone, Guardian of the Cinderheart Crucible. And you would do well to remember it."
Mica's hand freezes mid-air. "Um…all right, I wasn't expecting that."
"I defy all expectations." The cat sits, wrapping his tail around his paws with deliberate dignity.
“Yes, you do. And what does the Guardian of the Cinderheart Crucible do?”
“I secure the forge, obviously.”
“Obviously. And you do an amazing job at it, too. The information on how to find it and where to use it was so obscure, we were wondering if the forge was even real.”
“Oh, it is real.” He struts to the edge of the worktable and leaps onto the hearth of the forge. "The witches who forged the first weapons bound me as a guardian spirit. I am old enough to recognize truth, corruption, and intent.”
“I assure you, my intentions are pure. There is a major demon terrorizing our town and about to break free to unleash his destruction on the world. We seek a way to send him back to Hell to safeguard the innocent.”
The cat lifts his paw and brushes his whiskers. “Your intention is honorable, but that alone does not give you the right to forge weapons.”
“Well, no. With a mythical forge like this, I would need to apprentice with a master to hone my metal affinity and understand what this forge can do.”
The cat seems to consider her answer and approve. Well, as much as I can tell if a cat is considering anything.
"No one has been worthy for quite some time." The cat's gaze sweeps over her, measuring. "Most see this place as a means to power. They come demanding, expecting the forge to serve them."
"That's not—" Mica glances at the tools she'd straightened, the anvil she'd cleaned. "I would never."
Brimstone's ears perk forward. "You see it as craft. As art. You treated the space with respect before you even knew I was watching." He straightens, arching his back with feline deliberateness. "I believe you are worthy. Will you stand as the smith of this magical forge?”
“Yes, of course. It would be my honor.”
Brimstone flicks his tail. "Then welcome to your destiny, Mikayla."
The door slams shut in my face, and the force of the magical burst that comes with it knocks us all back.
I sit up, blinking…
The building is gone.
Where the blacksmith's shop had been, nothing remains but sand and the ghost of chimney smoke dissolving into the sky.
"Mica!" I scramble to my feet, but there's nothing there. “Sebastian, can you follow the magical energy?”
Sebastian frowns, shaking his head. “No, Mica was the one with the connection to the forge.”
I spin around, meeting the looks of shared shock. “Okay, thinking caps. How do we find her? How do we get her back?”
Wylder grabs my arm. "Poppy, calm down.”
"It took her!" My heart hammers against my ribs. "The building just—it disappeared with Mica inside!"
"The guardian accepted her," Izzy says quietly. "That's what it looked like, anyway."
"So what? We just wait and hope it spits her back out?"
"The Crucible exists in a pocket dimension." Rowan says. "If it chose her, it'll reveal itself again, but on its own terms."
I stare at nothing—at the space that held ancient magic forge, a talking cat, and my friend.
"She better be okay," I mutter. "Because I am not explaining to her parents that we lost their daughter to a haunted blacksmith shop."