Owen snatched it mid-fall.
The sword hummed.
He swung.
The creature howled—and dissolved into black smoke.
More shadows surged upward behind it.
“NOW!”
I slammed the lid shut as something punched upward beneath it, nearly throwing me back.Owen leapt forward, white light flaring from his hands and sealing the trunk in a binding glow.
Silence crashed down.
I collapsed to the floor, shaking.
“That wasn’t… a haunting,” I whispered.
“No,” Owen said grimly.“It was a containment anchor.”
My breath hitched.“For what?”
“Unstable crossings.Alice didn’t open doors—she locked them.”
“They came for me,” I said.
Owen knelt in front of me, firm grip on my shoulders.“Because you’re the Guardian of the Crossroads now.”
My blood ran cold.
“We need to move this,” he said.“Before it tears wider.”
“Where?”
He met my gaze.“My father.”
The truth settled like a final, echoing bell.This wasn’t Alice’s legacy.
It was mine.
Chapter Thirteen
Ittookbothofus to get the trunk out of the attic—and even then, it felt like it resisted every inch of movement.
The wood was heavier than it should have been, the weight uneven, as if whatever was inside shifted against us while we dragged it down the narrow stairs.My foot slipped, my heart lurching as the trunk tilted dangerously forward, and for one breathless second I was certain it would take me with it.
We wrestled it into the back of Owen’s pickup, breathing hard, hands shaking.
I leaned against the tailgate, chest heaving—and then froze.
“The grimoire,” I said suddenly.“I left the grimoire in the car.”
I scrambled around to the passenger side and dug beneath the seat, pulling out the thick, weathered book.The leather cover felt warmer now, alert beneath my fingers.
Owen frowned.“That needs to be translated.Soon.”
“Mrs.Rollins,” I said.“Tomorrow.”
