Page 31 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

Faded murals covered the walls, the paint ghosted and thin—winged figures kneeling before a glowing orb, runes radiating from it like a corona. The artifact’s pull grew stronger with every step, tugging us along the central aisle.

The path ended at a raised platform. Set into a pedestal of carved obsidian, wrapped in layers of spellwork and protective sigils, something glowed—a sphere of crystal, no larger than my fist.

The artifact.

Even from several feet away, its power pressed against my skin. The air around it shimmered, distorting gently as though heated.

Con took a step forward, but I caught his arm before he could get close. “I said don’t touch anything.”

He glanced down at my hand on his sleeve, one brow lifting. “You’re assuming I was going to.”

“You were.”

His mouth curved, but he let it go.

I released him and approached the dais, slow and deliberate. Power thickened with every step—dense, electric, threading through my veins like liquid fire. I kneeled, studying the ring of runes inscribed around the pedestal.

“These are binding sigils,” I murmured. “Old. They’re anchored into the ley line under the temple.”

“Can you break them?” Con asked, gaze still sweeping the shadows.

“I can.” My fingers hovered above one of the symbols. It vibrated, like the skin of a drum. “But if I do, whatever’s holding this place together might give out. The ward is what’s keeping the structure intact.”

He looked up at the pillars, at the spider-web of fine cracks tracing through the stone. “So the moment you break it, the temple may start collapsing on top of us.”

“Pretty much.”

He sighed. “Wonderful.”

I inhaled slowly and reached for my magic again. The air thickened at once. The runes brightened, sensing another power leaning in.

The pattern was intricate—layers of sigils folded over each other, some witch-born, others vampiric. Not just concealment. Containment. Whatever this artifact really was, it hadn’t just been hidden. It had been caged.

I began to unweave the circle, thread by thread. The magic fought me at first, snapping at my touch, but I pushed through, stitching my own power into the fractures.

Light surged. The runes flared from gold to a deep, molten-red as the ward rose in protest. The floor vibrated beneath my knees, a low rumble building in my bones.

“Cass,” Con warned, “the ceiling’s starting to shift.”

Dust fell in soft sheets around me, but I kept my focus locked on the last sigil. It pulsed violently, resisting, then cracked under my will with a sound like a bell struck underwater.

The magic snapped.

The hum vanished. Silence crashed in so suddenly my ears rang with it.

All that energy recoiled, folding back into the pedestal. The glow around the artifact settled into a steady, contained radiance. Its shape was clear now—another point in the pentagram, identical in design to the ones we’d already recovered.

I rose carefully, muscles aching with the strain.

Con stepped closer, eyes on the crystal. “Grab it?”

“Not so fast.”

He reached out, then stopped, glancing at me first this time.

I shook my head. “Let me.”

My fingers closed around the artifact. Warmth surged through me—not searing, but intimate. Curious. Like it was tasting my magic as much as I was feeling its.