Page 74 of Too Hexed to Handle

His heat is everywhere, wrapping itself around me, and I’m extremely aware the last time we were this close, fewer clothes were involved. I sway on my feet, wanting to be nearer. His fingers slide across my jaw, up my cheek, and he’s studying my mouth like he can’t shake the memory of last night either. Time stills. His breath stutters.

And then he clears his throat and releases me. ‘We should carry on.’

‘Right.’ I sound like I’ve recently climbed the mountain again, both my lungs and heart working overtime as I trail after him, following the line of footprints leading to a door in the corner of the room. The temple remains eerily silent, as though the owners of those prints simply . . . vanished.

Astin nudges the door open.

The smell hits me first.

Blood, and lingering terror, like the emotion has saturated the walls and floors.

A scream threatens to tear from my throat as we enter the room. Flaming torches nailed to the walls illuminate the bodies covering the floor.

Bodies I recognise.

Elbows – the man we met in the Duck in the Dark – lies near my foot, eyes glassy, his mouth wide, as though he died yelling as loudly as I want to. Nausea rises within me, and I choke, bile battling with my continued urge to scream, and scream, and scream.

Astin pulls me into chest. ‘Don’t look.’

It’s a little late for that. I’ve already seen too much. All those footprints leading in here. Dozens of them. I shake uncontrollably, and Astin rubbing my back isn’t enough to soothe me. I can’t smile and pretend everything is fine any more. Nothing about this is fine.

These people came here with such hope, for a better life, a better future, for the rewards Damian promised. If only he’d considered there might be more enchantments protecting the potion than whatever Eira did to stop him retrieving it himself.

Speaking of – I wrench from Astin’s grasp and scan the room, trying to ignore what’s on the floor. ‘What killed them?’

This room must have been used for storage. Empty cabinets line the back wall, all with the doors thrown wide open. ‘Do you think the cure was in one of these?’

Maybe they all arrived at the same time and a fight took place. A stampede of humans grabbing and hurting and stabbing and destroying, all to get their hands on one potion. My chin wobbles.

And people say Souleaters are the problem.

But shouldn’t a fight have had a winner? That wouldn’t explain why there were no prints leaving the building.

‘Look.’ Astin points towards a pile of bodies I’ve been avoiding.

Near the outstretched hands of one of the dead lies a bottle containing a thick black fluid, with gold lines swirling through the centre. There’s nothing special about it. The glass is indiscriminate, smudged with dirt in places. The potion itself doesn’t glimmer or froth or look in any way capable of stealing a Souleater’s powers. It doesn’t even fill the whole bottle.

Is this tiny, pathetic thing what we’ve all been desperate to get our hands on?

Is this what I’ve wanted to get my hands on?

‘Surely someone would have survived and taken it.’ Maybe they succumbed to their injuries before they could escape. But it seems impossible nobody survived, not unless . . .

Not unless something else was going on.

Astin has no such reservations. His limp visibly improves as he strides towards the potion – I guess there’s no amount of pain that’ll stop him from getting his hands on something that’ll eliminate a Souleater.

He’s doing this for the reward. He’s doing this for me.

He grins. ‘Looks like we’ll be saving the inn after all.’

Elation swells. He’s doing this for me.

His hand wraps around the bottle.

Something shrieks.

No. My insides lurch, because I know that sound – we’ve both heard that sound. A shadow wraith rushes through the open doorway, wings outstretched, aiming straight for Astin. It’s different to the one in the maze; its body more silver than black, its wispy arms ending in six-inch talons rather than claws.