Page 48 of Another Man’s Treasure

Even her.

I was more than a little enraged at how Saint treated him, and I might have let it get the best of me. Truth be told, as I watch Oz disappear down the dark stairs with Willa, that protectiveness rises again.

One of the only things I got from my troll lineage… I’ve always heard protectiveness is a troll trait. But I’ve never really experienced it until last night. If Saint Ashbourne had been present when Oz got home, I’m not even sure what I would have done. Being in close proximity to him brings out a darkness in me I didn’t even know existed.

Moving past Lemon, who’s still standing at the top of the stairs staring fretfully into the darkness, I step down and follow Oz. His and Willa’s voices echo from below, revealing them to be thankfully still alive and headed downward. Rushing carefully forward, I don’t stop until I can touch Oz just ahead of me.

Lemon and Bluebell come down next, the only sound Bluebell munching on her biscuit. Below, something clicks on and casts a faint ray of light around the stairwell.

“You had a flashlight this whole time?” Oz hisses at my sister.

Willa snorts out a mischievous laugh. “You can’t have an exploratory nature like I do without taking a flashlight and knife everywhere.”

That knife hasn’t always served her all that well, but she carries it nonetheless. The flashlight is far more useful.

I press my hand to Oz’s hip, hooking a finger through his belt loop. “Can you see the bottom, Wills?”

Willa places the flashlight under her chin and makes a spooky face up toward Oz and me. “Why, big brother, you gettin’ cold feet?”

“Just don’t want to walk off a cliff,” I say as I resist the temptation to hold Oz close.

“The bottom’s right here, silly,” she says as she disappears from view again. There must be a wall, because one minute she’s there, and the next she’s completely gone.

We make it to the bottom, where Willa lights a small landing surrounded on three sides by stone walls. Behind her there’s an emerald-green door, the paint faded with age. Once our whole group is at the bottom, we crowd around to examine it.

“No doorknob.” Oz runs his fingers over the aged surface.

“Wait, look.” I step around Oz, staring hard at the door. “Wills, there are carvings.”

She joins me and holds the flashlight close. Swirled lines that almost look like leaves cover the surface in wild circular shapes, spinning out from a green stone inlaid in the very center.

“The fuck is that?” Bluebell mumbles around a mouthful of biscuit. “Are those flowers?”

“Flowers?” I squint at the lines, and I do see leaves, but not⁠—

“Step back.” Oz pulls me away from the door. “If you get a little distance from it, some of these do look like flowers, but also letters?”

Willa mumbles. “Anyone ever seen anything like this?”

Our group falls silent except for the sound of Bluebell chewing.

My sister looks up the stairwell. “House, any chance you’ve got a clue for us?”

The grandfather clock at the top of the stairs shakes from side to side like it’s saying no, but nothing moves down where we are.

Willa frowns. “So she can’t really interact with us down here, it seems, and she doesn’t know. Curious. Very curious.” She strokes one of her tusks as she stares at the doorway.

“So what now?” I run a hand through my hair, looking from Willa to the indecipherable door.

“Well,” she says, “the bar started us down this path for some reason. We’ve got to be smart. What would Sipan do?”

That’s a good damn question, but unfortunately, it doesn't seem any of us has the first clue how to answer it.

Oz

We spend hours trying to get through the door with no luck. We tried manhandling it. We tried pickaxes. We even tried fancy little tools courtesy of Furyon’s tool kit.

Nothing worked. Eventually we gave up for the day and went back to Wilder’s place to change and get ready for dinner at Bluebell’s. There hasn’t been a single moment to talk about last night or anything other than Willa’s intense desire to get through that damn door.